System

That evening, the family gathered in the courtyard for dinner. As usual, it was thin porridge and lumps of pickled vegetables.

Zhou Yan sat in the corner, finished his porridge, and set his chopsticks on the rim of the bowl.

As usual, no one gave him a second glance.

After dinner, once the bowls and chopsticks had been cleared away, Madam Liu urged everyone back to their rooms to sleep.

The Zhou Family's rammed-earth courtyard was not large, with three rooms.

His parents occupied one, his second brother and younger brother another, while Zhou Yan slept alone in a small partition beside the kitchen.

Calling it a partition was generous. It was really just half a wall of mud bricks, with a straw mat carelessly spread on the ground.

In winter, the wind poured through it; in summer, it was stiflingly hot.

Zhou Yan lay on the straw mat without taking off his clothes.

The oilcloth bundle pressed against his chest, hard and uncomfortable.

From the time he returned from the mountain until now, he had endured an entire afternoon.

Hauling water, chopping firewood, eating—his face had not revealed the slightest abnormality.

Yet those two booklets were like two pieces of red-hot iron pressed against his chest, scorching him until he could neither sit nor stand at ease.

When could he practice?

Where could he practice?

There was no place in this home that belonged to him.

His parents could appear at any moment, and his second brother and younger brother were right next door.

The courtyard walls were low. If the neighbors merely raised their heads in their own yards, they could see over here. Daytime was out of the question.

He could only wait until night.

Zhou Yan lay with his eyes open, staring at the pitch-black roof beams.

Outside, insects chirped one after another. A dog barked twice in the distance, then fell silent.

After waiting about half an hour, Zhou Dazhuang's snores came from the main room, heavy and low.

After a while longer, Madam Liu's snores began as well.

Zhou Yan sat up, moving slowly enough that even the straw beneath his mat made no sound.

In the dark, he put on his straw sandals, took the oilcloth bundle from his clothes, and gripped it tightly.

He rose to his feet and edged toward the door one step at a time.

He pushed open the wooden door, squeezed sideways through the crack, and left it slightly ajar behind him.

The moonlight in the courtyard was bright.

Zhou Yan stood in the courtyard and swept his gaze around.

He did not go far. He circled behind the house, crossed a patch of knee-high weeds, and entered his secret little grove.

Calling it a grove was also an exaggeration. It was merely a few crooked locust trees growing sparsely along the slope.

There was a small clearing in the grove, only two or three zhang across.

No one came here during the day, much less at night.

Zhou Yan crouched down, unwrapped the oilcloth, and revealed the two booklets.

Under the moonlight, he could clearly see the words and diagrams on the pages.

He opened Basic Stance Art first.

It was only a dozen or so pages long. Each page came with a human figure demonstrating a stance, with the key points written beside it in small characters: feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, relax the waist and sink the hips, hands held loosely before the chest as though embracing something, chin slightly tucked, tongue pressed to the upper palate, breathe naturally.

Zhou Yan turned through it page by page, then opened Mountain-Breaking Fist.

Mountain-Breaking Fist consisted of three forms: Stele Splitter, Stone-Rending, and Mountain-Crushing.

Each form had a human figure showing the opening and closing movements.

The first form, "Stele Splitter," was the simplest: twist the waist, turn the hips, drive the right fist straight out from the waist, and deliver the force to the face of the fist.

Just looking at the diagrams did not reveal much.

After reading through both booklets, he spread the oilcloth on the ground, laid the booklets open, and rose to his feet before the figure on the first page of the stance art.

He began the stance!

Following the instructions in the booklet, he spread his feet slightly wider than shoulder-width.

He bent his knees, raised his hands, and held them loosely before his chest as if embracing a tree.

He tucked in his chin, pressed his tongue against his upper palate, drew a deep breath, and slowly exhaled.

His posture was generally similar to the one in the diagram, but as he stood there, he realized something was off.

His knees were not bent enough. The person in the diagram squatted lower than he did.

He lowered himself a little further, and his thighs immediately began to ache.

His lower back stiffened as well, and his spine felt as though something were pressing against it.

His breathing became disordered too.

His inhalations were too shallow, his exhalations too hurried, and his shoulders kept bobbing up and down.

Zhou Yan closed his eyes briefly and steadied his mind.

He bent his knees another inch. The soreness and swelling in his thighs became even more pronounced, as if a tendon had been pulled taut.

He shifted his attention away from the ache and focused on his breathing.

When he inhaled, his belly expanded; when he exhaled, it contracted. After trying several times, his breathing gradually steadied.

A cool breeze passed through the grove, making the leaves rustle. After standing for about the time it took an incense stick to burn, his thighs began to tremble.

His knees wanted to rise, and his entire thighs shook faintly, completely beyond his control.

The stiffness in his lower back turned into a dull pain, as though a knife were pressed against it.

He gritted his teeth and persisted for another half an incense stick's worth of time.

His legs shook more and more violently, and the pain in his lower back bored into his spine. Just as he was about to adjust his posture—

Suddenly.

Several lines of words appeared in the center of his vision.

Zhou Yan froze.

[Martial Dao Limit-Breaking System]

[Heaven moves with vigor; thus the noble man strives unceasingly for self-improvement]

[Host: Zhou Yan]

[Realm: Mortal]

[Basic Stance Art Beginner: 1/100]

He stared at those lines, his mind feeling as though someone had struck it hard with a hammer.

A system?

A term he had seen countless times in novels in his previous life had now appeared before his eyes, tangible and real.

It was not an illusion. It was real!

Zhou Yan stood rooted to the spot, moonlight falling across his face.

He assumed the stance again.

This time, his legs did not tremble as badly as before.

Keep standing!

His thighs shook even harder. Sweat dripped from his chin and struck the fallen leaves by his feet with a patter.

Suddenly, the progress increased by one point.

He did not stop.

His legs shook so badly that he could barely remain standing. His knees began to weaken, and his body swayed back and forth a few times.

He clenched his back teeth hard, his toes digging into the soles of his straw sandals.

[Basic Stance Art Beginner: 3/100]

He could not help stopping. His legs gave out, and he dropped into a squat, bracing both hands against the ground as he gasped for breath.

Sweat ran down from the tip of his nose and dripped onto the ground.

He had stood for nearly over an hour, then rested for the time it took half a cup of tea.

He got up and opened the first page of Mountain-Breaking Fist again.

The first form was called Stele Splitter.

The diagram was clear: left foot forward, right foot back, twist the waist, turn the hips, and drive the right fist straight out from the waist.

Four characters were written beside it: force reaches the face of the fist.

Zhou Yan assumed the stance.

He stepped his left foot half a pace forward, bent his knees slightly, pushed off with his right foot to stabilize his center of gravity, twisted his waist left, turned his hips with it, drew his right fist to his waist with the palm facing up, took a deep breath, twisted his waist, turned his hips, and punched straight out.

Huff!

His fist gave a muffled crack through the night wind.

The progress in his vision jumped.

[Mountain-Breaking Fist Beginner: 1/100]

Zhou Yan looked at that number and smiled despite himself.

Keep practicing!

Twist the waist, turn the hips, throw the punch!

Again and again.

The night wind blew against his face, yet his entire body was drenched in sweat. His coarse linen clothes were soaked through and stuck to his back.

His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, veins bulging along his forearms. Every time he threw a punch, he could feel blood surging toward the face of his fist.

He practiced for who knew how long.

The chill in the grove grew heavier and heavier.

[Mountain-Breaking Fist Beginner: 2/100]

He stopped. The face of his right fist was already red, and his knuckles throbbed faintly.

Zhou Yan crouched down, stacked the two booklets together again, wrapped them tightly in the oilcloth, and tucked them back against his body inside his clothes.

The oilcloth had become damp with sweat, but the pages inside remained dry.

He swept his gaze over the fallen leaves again, checking whether he had left any footprints.

Fortunately, the leaves had already been scattered in disarray. There was little difference between the places he had stepped on and those he had not.

He headed back.

Zhou Yan squeezed sideways into the room, closed the door, and lay back down on the straw mat.