A Sure Thing

"Now, even if I stepped onto the Ascending Dragon Conference arena, I was finally no longer cannon fodder who got knocked out in the first round."

Cheng Yang slowly exhaled a breath of stale air, and the heavy, condensed blood and qi in his chest and abdomen gradually settled.

He lowered his head and examined his palms. His knuckles were rough, and his palms gleamed with a dim luster. Then he rolled his shoulders and neck, and a string of fine, orderly crackles rang through his bones, like the lingering toll of an ancient bell spreading layer by layer from within and reaching the tips of his limbs.

Then he suddenly clenched his fist.

The sound of his knuckles colliding was deeper, duller, and more solid than ever before.

It felt as if he were holding two pieces of aged bronze in his palm. At the slightest knock, they gave off a crisp clang, the echo lingering endlessly in the gaps between his bones.

"So this is Copper Bone..."

He rolled his wrists, but his gaze gradually darkened.

Among Qinglin County's younger generation, Copper Bone already counted as outstanding. Even at the Ascending Dragon Conference, he could wrestle with the favored contenders for the championship.

But it was nowhere near enough. The situation before him was like three blades pressed against his waist at once.

The Four-Ping Gang of unknown origins, the Gu Family with whom he had formed a mortal feud, and Commander Wei, whom he had personally offended just now.

If all three parties made a move at once, whom could a mere frame of Copper Bone withstand?

Cheng Yang stood where he was for a while, turning several matters over and over in his mind. Then he made a decision: if Copper Bone was not enough, then he would keep stacking stance arts.

There was actually another path before him. He could ask his master for the follow-up method and directly break through from the Bone Tempering Realm into a Force Tempering Martial Master. His strength would soar in a short time, and he would be better able to handle the threats before him.

But was that truly meaningful?

A Force Tempering Martial Master was the path his master, Chen Feiyi, had walked his entire life.

Yet even someone as strong as his master could only swallow his anger and stand helpless before Wei He's thousand City Guards.

Moreover, if he broke through early, his future path would be severed. His master was only at this realm himself and had no subsequent techniques left to teach him.

Drinking poison to quench thirst, overdrawing his potential in exchange for a momentary peace.

Cheng Yang understood the calculation clearly. It might seem worthwhile in the short term, but in the long run, it was a dead end.

The only path he could take was slower, clumsier, but also more solid.

He would cultivate enough stance arts to Perfection, temper his foundation to its limit, and squeeze every last drop of potential from every inch of his body. By then, even without entering Force Tempering, his strength would not fall short in the slightest.

As for breaking through early, it was absolutely not an option.

Having thought it through, Cheng Yang wasted no more time and went straight to the rear courtyard to find his master, Chen Feiyi.

"Master, this disciple wishes to learn the follow-up methods of the Rock-Still Stance and the Wild Bull Stance."

Chen Feiyi was sitting on a stone stool airing tea leaves. Hearing this, he looked up at Cheng Yang, his gaze carrying a hint of scrutiny. "Have both stance arts reached Great Accomplishment?"

"Yes."

Chen Feiyi did not answer immediately. He raised his teacup and took a sip before speaking slowly. "Why the rush? How long has it even been since you entered the Muscle Tempering Realm? It is commonplace for others to spend two or three years polishing themselves in this realm, but you seem to want to leap up a step every day. Excess is as bad as deficiency. Martial training is no different—the more haste, the less speed. You should understand that."

"Master," Cheng Yang said solemnly, "there are fewer than twenty days left until the Ascending Dragon Conference. Nineteen days remain. In the time left, this disciple wishes to see whether I can charge into the Bone Tempering Realm."

After a brief pause, he added, "And this disciple does not believe I am being hasty."

With that, he took a step back and assumed a stance in the open courtyard, performing the Vajra Fist from beginning to end. His fist wind howled, every move carrying dense, fierce power. When his fists swept through the air, they even produced low, booming sounds of tearing wind.

Chen Feiyi watched that Minor Accomplishment Vajra Fist flow like drifting clouds and running water, and the hand holding his teacup unknowingly froze in midair.

Two stance arts at Great Accomplishment, and his fist art had already reached Minor Accomplishment. How many damn days had it even been?

At his age, he considered himself to have seen quite a few geniuses. Which of those young people called "martial prodigies" had not been refined through mountains of resources from their Lineage and the wholehearted instruction of famous masters? But what about his own disciple? At most, he had been at the martial hall for half a month. Every day, he did nothing but train. His resources had been pieced together from here and there, while his techniques were all learned and memorized on the spot.

And this person had walked in half a month the road others needed half a year to finish.

Chen Feiyi stared at the figure standing in the courtyard with his fists withdrawn, the complicated feelings in his heart churning for a long while.

He even had an absurd thought: perhaps he should go back into the womb and be remade?

This disciple's talent was truly enough to make one feel both gratified and choked up.

The longer he spent with Cheng Yang, the less his master—who had spent half his life being a man who always kept himself taut—could hold it together.

If this continued, the composed image he had painstakingly maintained for years was bound to be ruined beyond saving.

"Enough, stop." Chen Feiyi set down his teacup and let out a long breath. Much of the lecturing tone had left his voice. "I admit it. You truly do not need to over-polish yourself in the Muscle Tempering Realm."

He rose to his feet, his gaze toward Cheng Yang filled with unconcealed envy. Heaven truly was unfair, he thought. Yet he still maintained the dignity of a master aloud. "Come. I will teach you the follow-up methods for these two stance arts now."

"Thank you, Master."

As Cheng Yang thanked him, the corners of his mouth lifted slightly. Sure enough, explaining ten thousand sentences was not as useful as directly showing off a fist art.

There was no suspense in the teaching that followed. As usual, Chen Feiyi demonstrated only once. This was already the understanding they had formed between them—once was enough; anything more was redundant.

Cheng Yang stood to the side and watched the full demonstration. In his mind, he had already memorized seven or eight tenths of every movement and every point where blood and qi circulated.

After Chen Feiyi withdrew his stance, he looked at Cheng Yang. Cheng Yang nodded. "I remember."

Chen Feiyi had grown accustomed to those three simple words.

He no longer chased after him as he had in the beginning, asking, "Do you really remember?" or "Should I show you once more?" Because every time he asked, Cheng Yang would reproduce it exactly as it was, with precision as though it had been measured by a ruler.

This teaching method was certainly easy.

But whenever Chen Feiyi finished teaching Cheng Yang and turned to teach the other disciples, he inexplicably felt exhausted.

It was like gnawing on coarse cornbread after feasting on delicacies from land and sea—the gap was enough to make one sigh.

Sometimes, he could not help secretly thinking how wonderful it would be if every disciple in the martial hall possessed Cheng Yang's comprehension, himself included.

Of course, it was enough to think about such things. Saying them aloud would be too embarrassing.

Having obtained the follow-up stance methods, Cheng Yang was already finding it hard to hold himself back and was preparing to find a place to start training.

But Chen Feiyi suddenly called out to stop him, his tone turning several degrees heavier. "Disciple, did something happen between you and Commander Wei?"

Cheng Yang halted and turned back toward his master, surprise appearing on his face. "How did Master know?"

"The list for the bandit suppression operation five days from now has been released. Wei He forcibly drafted you into it." Chen Feiyi's brows furrowed almost imperceptibly. "I guessed there might have been some unpleasantness between you."

Understanding dawned on Cheng Yang. In his heart, he added another mark against Wei He's petty-mindedness. Just because Cheng Yang had refused to marry into his family, Wei He had turned around and stuffed him into the bandit suppression roster.

For the dignified commander of the City Guard to be narrow-minded to such an extent was a rare sight indeed.

"Master, I'm sorry." He lowered his voice. "Because of me, I may have implicated you and the martial hall."

Chen Feiyi waved a hand, without the slightest trace of blame in his tone. "You are the core disciple I chose. Having entered the gates of my Chen Clan Martial Hall, we share glory and share ruin. Tell me, what exactly happened?"

Cheng Yang explained the course of events in a few sentences, from Wei He's letter of recommendation to the condition of marrying into the family, then to his face-to-face refusal. He spoke calmly, but after hearing him out, Chen Feiyi fell silent for several breaths. The look he gave Cheng Yang was as complicated as a deep well kneaded together from too many emotions.

This foolish disciple... such a wonderful chance to live off a woman, and he just let it go.

If it had been me when I was young, Chen Feiyi thought, I might really have hesitated.

But he also understood Cheng Yang's temperament. True geniuses all had a spine within them that refused to bend. Asking them to lower their heads, change their surname, and cling to another family was harder than killing them.

"It's just, Disciple..." A trace of regret entered Chen Feiyi's voice. "That concerned your future, after all."

"It's all right, Master." Cheng Yang smiled, his tone so certain that it did not sound like consolation at all. "I do not believe that without that letter of recommendation, my martial path cannot continue. There is more than one road to the Five Elements Sect. Aren't there still nineteen days left?"

Chen Feiyi opened his mouth. The words, "Even if you really break through to Bone Tempering in nineteen days, you still cannot defeat championship favorites like your third senior brother," nearly slipped out. But when they reached his lips, he forcibly swallowed them back.

Nineteen days.

Bone Tempering, then fighting the favored contenders for the championship.

For any other disciple, those would have been words from a madman's dream. But for Cheng Yang... why did he somehow feel that perhaps, maybe, possibly, there truly was a sliver of hope?

Chen Feiyi recalled every shift in his attitude toward Cheng Yang over the past half month. He suddenly realized that Cheng Yang had slapped his face so many times that he was almost used to it.

Holy shit. Could he really pull it off?

Once that thought surfaced, it could no longer be pressed down. Chen Feiyi was silent for a moment. In the end, he still swallowed the words, "You cannot beat your third senior brother," and changed them to:

"Go and try. Your master believes in you. Give it everything you have. If you need anything, tell me directly."

Cheng Yang heard the subtle shift in his master's tone, and the curve of his lips deepened a little more.

It's in the bag, Master.

Just rest easy.