System

That evening, the family ate dinner in the courtyard. As usual, it was thin porridge and pickled vegetable lumps.

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

As usual, no one spared 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 earthen courtyard was small, with three rooms.

His father and mother had one room, his second brother and younger brother shared another, while Zhou Yan slept alone in a tiny partition beside the kitchen.

Calling it a partition was generous. It was really just half a wall made of mud bricks, with a straw mat carelessly laid down.

It let in drafts in winter and became stifling in summer.

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

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

From the moment he came back from the mountain until now, he had endured the entire afternoon.

Fetching water, chopping firewood, eating—he had not shown the slightest hint of anything unusual.

Yet the two booklets were like red-hot irons against his chest, making it impossible for him to sit still.

When should he practice?

Where could he practice?

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

His parents could appear at any time, 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 awake, staring at the pitch-black roof beam.

Insects chirped outside one after another. A dog barked twice in the distance before falling silent.

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

After a while longer, Madam Liu began snoring as well.

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

In the darkness, he put on his straw sandals, took the oilcloth bundle from his chest, and clenched it in his hand.

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

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

The moonlight in the courtyard was bright.

Zhou Yan stood in the yard and glanced 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 generous. It was only a few crooked locust trees, scattered sparsely across the slope.

There was a 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 and unwrapped the oilcloth, revealing the two booklets.

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

He opened Basic Stance Art first.

It was a thin booklet of just over a dozen pages. Each page had a diagram of a human figure demonstrating a stance, with small notes beside it listing the key points: feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, relax the waist and sink the hips, hold the hands loosely before the chest, tuck in the chin slightly, press the tongue to the roof of the mouth, and breathe naturally.

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

Mountain-Breaking Fist had three forms in total: Stele Splitter, Stone-Rending, and Mountain-Crushing.

Each form came with a human figure diagram showing the opening and closing movements.

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

There was not much to be learned from the diagrams alone.

After reading through both booklets, he spread the oilcloth on the ground, laid the booklets open, and stood before the human 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 apart.

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

He tucked in his chin, pressed the tip of his tongue against the roof of his mouth, drew in a deep breath, and slowly exhaled.

His posture was roughly the same as in the diagram, but as he stood there, he noticed something was wrong.

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

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

His lower back stiffened as well, as if something were pressing against his spine.

His breathing became uneven too.

His breaths were too shallow, his exhalations too rushed, and his shoulders kept rising and falling.

Zhou Yan closed his eyes briefly and steadied himself.

He bent his knees another inch. The soreness in his thighs grew more obvious, as though a tendon had been pulled taut.

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

His stomach expanded when he inhaled and contracted when he exhaled. After trying several times, his breathing gradually steadied.

A cool breeze swept through the grove, rustling the leaves. After standing for about the time it took to burn one incense stick, his thighs began to tremble.

His knees started lifting, and his whole thighs quivered faintly beyond his control.

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

He gritted his teeth and held on for another half incense stick's time.

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

Suddenly.

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

Zhou Yan froze.

[Martial Dao Limit-Breaking System]

[Heaven moves with vigor; a gentleman strives tirelessly for self-improvement]

[Host: Zhou Yan]

[Realm: Mortal]

[Basic Stance Art Beginner: 1/100]

He stared at those lines, feeling as though someone had struck his head hard.

A system?

A term he had seen countless times in novels in his previous life now appeared vividly before his eyes.

It was not an illusion. It was real!

Zhou Yan stood where he was, moonlight falling over his face.

He resumed the stance.

This time, his legs did not shake as badly.

Keep standing!

His thighs trembled even more fiercely. Sweat dripped from his chin and struck the fallen leaves beside his feet with a soft patter.

Suddenly, the progress increased by one point.

He did not stop.

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

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

[Basic Stance Art Beginner: 3/100]

Unable to help himself, he stopped. His legs gave out, and he sank into a crouch, bracing both hands against the ground as he gasped for breath.

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

He had stood for nearly more than an hour before resting for the time it took to drink half a cup of tea.

He rose to his feet 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 words were written beside it: force reaches the fist surface.

Zhou Yan assumed the stance.

He stepped his left foot half a pace forward, bent his knees slightly, drove off with his right foot, steadied his center of gravity, twisted his waist to the left, turned his hips with it, drew his right fist back 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 made a dull sound as it cut through the night air.

The progress in his vision jumped.

[Mountain-Breaking Fist Beginner: 1/100]

Zhou Yan looked at the number and smiled despite himself.

Keep practicing!

Twist the waist, turn the hips, punch!

Again and again.

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

His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, veins bulging along his forearms. Every time he punched, he could feel blood rushing toward 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 striking surface 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 chest.

The oilcloth was 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 fallen leaves had been scattered to begin with, and 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.