On this day.
Chen Jichuan moved like a living dragon and tiger in the courtyard, practicing set after set of martial arts.
At his level,
whether still or in motion, everything was cultivation.
Yet Chen Jichuan still retained the habit of practicing several rounds of fist forms every day. Only then did he feel, psychologically, that his sinews and bones had fully stretched.
After all, he had cultivated day and night for forty-seven years in the Great Yan World. Then, in the Liang World, sixty-five years had flashed by, and Chen Jichuan had cultivated without rest for thirty-three years.
A habit forged over nearly a century could not be changed overnight.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Round after round of fists and kicks came out smooth and satisfying.
Outsiders watched the spectacle; experts watched the craft.
Only figures who had reached Hidden Force, or even the Transformative Force Realm, could see that when Chen Jichuan's fists moved, his feet moved, and his heart moved. Every fist and kick appeared ordinary, yet contained vast and surging power. Once unleashed, it would surely be like mountains roaring and seas crashing, taking lives and sweeping all before it.
Unfortunately,
Chen Jichuan lived alone in the courtyard, with no one there to cheer him on.
As he practiced his fists and kicks, he also mobilized his Hidden Force to cleanse his five viscera and six bowels, not even sparing his teeth, tongue, nails, and hair—the four extremities.
Dancing beneath the clear shadow.
Dust rose and settled upon Chen Jichuan. But every strand of his hair seemed to possess a spirit; trembling lightly, they shook all the dust away.
After practicing for quite some time,
not a speck of dust remained on him. He was still clean and refreshed.
By the Liang World's reckoning of age, Chen