Interception

These three hundred silver dollars.

Were Qu Yuzhi's secret savings, amassed over several years.

As a teacher at National No. 3 Secondary School, his income placed him somewhere in the middle tier in a major city like Peace City.

He earned 176 silver dollars a month.

Yet as a live-in son-in-law, he handed most of his monthly salary over to his wife, keeping only thirty silver dollars for himself. With daily necessities and books to buy, and the occasional restaurant meal to treat friends, he could save only a few to a dozen or so silver dollars each month.

This time, to pay his nephew's placement fee, he had taken out nearly all his secret savings.

Steward Chen accepted the documents and envelope. He first tore open the kraft-paper seal, counted the banknotes, and verified their authenticity before nodding. Then he picked up the documents and began reading. "Jiang Second Dog? What kind of rustic, lowly name is that? And... why isn't his surname Qu?"

"He is my distant nephew. Once he enters the martial arts school, we will change it to a more meaningful name."

Qu Yuzhi said with an ingratiating smile at his side.

"...He is already eighteen this year."

Seeing the age column, Steward Chen smacked his lips, his walrus moustache twitching along with them. "Starting martial arts at this age is truly rather late. Even if he becomes an apprentice, his chances of entering the inner school are only one in ten. This placement may well go down the drain. You should think it over carefully!"

The best age to train in martial arts was between twelve and sixteen.

If one was too young, the body had not fully developed. One could only lay foundations, eat more meat and vegetables, and nourish the blood and vitality. One could not begin martial training directly, or else growth would be stunted and blood and vitality depleted.

At an older age, the bones, muscles, and sinews had already taken shape.

It was not that one could not train, but for those of average talent, or no talent at all, beginning martial arts at that age meant painfully slow progress and dim hopes. Even after bitter cultivation for ten years or more, they could not truly set foot in the realm of a Martial Master.

The martial path.

One step ahead meant every step ahead.

That was why martial arts experts mostly came from aristocratic clans and powerful families, rather than poor households or the bottom rung of society.

Poor households rarely produced distinguished children, though every now and then, one or two experts could emerge.

After all, some poor households had merely once been glorious aristocratic clans that had fallen into decline. They still possessed foundations, wealth, and secret medicines.

Those destitute commoners at the bottom, or country folk, were the ones who could not produce a single martial arts expert. If they were lucky enough to seize an opportunity and become an official Martial Master, they were already considered geniuses among their kind.

"One in ten is enough, one in ten is enough."

"I merely wish to seek a sliver of opportunity for my distant nephew."

Hearing Steward Chen's assessment, Qu Yuzhi was not discouraged in the slightest and merely repeated himself.

He was only a schoolteacher and did not understand such things. The Qu Household did indeed have capable martial artists within it, but that had nothing to do with him, a live-in son-in-law of the Fifth Branch. He had never had any chance to come into contact with them.

"Fine, fine, then..."

Steward Chen shook his head and smiled helplessly, about to agree.

"Sir Steward! Steward Hu has something he asked me to pass on to you!"

At that moment, a young menial suddenly ran out from inside the training grounds, then leaned close and whispered several words into his ear.

Steward Chen's expression was calm at first, but then his brows slowly furrowed.

"Go back and report to Steward Hu. Tell him I understand."

He waved the menial away.

Then Steward Chen sighed. "Brother Li, Brother Qu, I'm afraid I cannot handle this matter after all."

As he spoke, he returned the documents and the opened kraft-paper envelope.

"Ah? This..."

Qu Yuzhi's smile froze, and he did not reach out to take them at once.

Li Zhongru had remained silent until then. Now, his brows furrowed as well. "Brother Chen, why is that? Wasn't this already agreed upon?"

It had clearly been nearly settled just moments ago.

A menial suddenly came over and whispered a few words, and just like that, the matter fell through?

"There are no apprentice placements left in the martial arts school this year."

Steward Chen was also somewhat helpless. "Brother Li, I failed to see this matter through. Next weekend, I'll treat you to a meal at Willow Moon Tower as an apology. Bring Brother Qu along as well."

"How could there suddenly be no placements? Didn't you tell me a few days ago that there were still two apprentice placements?"

"Just now, Steward Hu sent someone to tell me that the Qu Household's Seventh Branch will be sending over two illegitimate sons tomorrow. They have taken those two apprentice placements, and Steward Hu completed their procedures long ago."

"How could this be? How could this be?"

Li Zhongru was nearly speechless. The placements had suddenly been snatched away, and by members of the Qu Household at that. He could not make head nor tail of it.

"Cough!"

Seeing that the atmosphere had turned awkward, Steward Chen merely coughed a few times, then directly stuffed the documents and kraft-paper envelope into Qu Yuzhi's hands. "Brother Qu, I heard you are from the Qu Household's Fifth Branch. Could it be that these people from the Seventh Branch bear a grudge against you? No, that cannot be right. How could this possibly be such a coincidence?"

Even if they had old grievances, there was no way it could have happened to land exactly at this moment.

"No, the Seventh Branch has an excellent relationship with our Fifth Branch."

Hearing Steward Chen's words, Qu Yuzhi's face turned pale. "Whether this succeeds or not, Brother Li and Brother Chen have already shown us tremendous kindness by helping. I should still be the one to host next weekend's meal. However, there is an urgent matter at home, so I will not impose any longer. I'll take my leave first."

After saying that, he left the martial arts school in a daze, as though his soul had fled his body.

"Brother Qu! Brother Qu! Wait!"

Even Li Zhongru's calls from behind seemed not to reach him.

"Brother Qu may be a schoolteacher, but he runs rather fast. Looks like he does not neglect exercise in his daily life."

Seeing that the man had already gone far away, Li Zhongru could only return helplessly. He then said to Steward Chen, "Brother Chen, if the apprentice placements are full, aren't there still menial positions? I heard that if martial arts school menials perform well, they can become apprentices after one or two years."

Seeing how utterly carefree this man was, Steward Chen merely waved his folding fan and stroked his walrus moustache. "Brother Li! Anyone with eyes can see that there is a serious conflict within the Qu Household."

"Even if there are still a few menial positions in the school, I would not dare risk offending people again."

Though he coveted those several hundred silver dollars, the affairs of an aristocratic clan had yet to be resolved. Only someone with too much food in his belly and nothing better to do would take on such a thankless, strenuous task for an overage apprentice.

The loss outweighed the gain.

"Is that really so?"

Li Zhongru frowned slightly after hearing this.

They were all part of the same great family. Would they really make such a fuss over a martial arts school apprentice placement?

Having studied abroad in the Western Ocean since childhood, he found it difficult to understand.

"...What else could it be?"

Steward Chen's walrus moustache trembled as he gave a bitter smile.

He truly could not tell whether this rich young master's confusion was an act or genuine.

After Jiang Jingnian stepped into the realm of a Martial Master, he pulled his rickshaw with even greater vigor and ran even faster. At the same time, he could use it to train the circulation of his blood and vitality.

Training the Blood Core.

Meant using and practicing it diligently, making the quality of one's blood and vitality tougher and denser.

By applying the Blood Core's power to his legs intermittently—using it for a moment, stopping for a moment—he not only ran faster while pulling the rickshaw and dispelled fatigue, but also refined the quality of his blood and vitality.

After merely one day.

The Blood Core in his Cinnabar Field had grown slightly stronger.

"I train so diligently, and my progress is not bad. Perhaps I count as a once-in-ten-thousand martial arts prodigy."

"Once I enter the martial arts school, I will have a legitimate identity for training. Then I can quietly build my strength and soar into the sky in this chaotic age."

After becoming a Martial Master, Jiang Jingnian was still full of hope for the future.

The reason he had swallowed his pride and begged Fifth Uncle to help him secure a martial arts school placement was because the concession had a "Martial Restriction Order."

It was like a work permit.

All martial artists in the concession had to be registered. It granted them certain privileges and resources, while also making them easier to manage.

When martial artists fought on the arena or challenged schools, there were indeed casualties. Neither the foreign Patrol Bureau nor the Chen State military police in Peace City would concern themselves with that.

If one or two people died occasionally, so long as the matter did not escalate into mass civilian casualties, it remained within acceptable bounds.

After all, martial artists themselves belonged to a privileged class.

But the prerequisite.

Was that the martial artist had been legally registered.

Since ancient times, heroes had used martial prowess to defy prohibitions.

Without management, registration, rules, and regulations to deter and restrain them, the foreign patrol force would likely have to fight public-security battles in the alleys every day. Wealthy people would be robbed, murdered, and kidnapped daily, while ordinary citizens could be killed at a casual whim.

If that happened, Peace City would not even be able to maintain its superficial order.

Other than legal martial artists.

The illegal ones either fled elsewhere or entered the Stockade and became Black Warriors.

As usual, Jiang Jingnian pulled his rickshaw until dusk. Then, carrying today's earnings of one silver dollar and ninety cents, he went to a shop to repay some money.

With his pockets empty again, he found another familiar restaurant. After pestering the proprietor for a while and playing dumb, he borrowed another six silver dollars.

Ordinary people, especially laborers at the bottom of society, would never borrow money unless driven to the bitter end.

Yet that gave rise to a counterintuitive misconception.

Because once they truly reached the point of no return, nobody dared lend them money. Anyone borrowing at that stage was clearly at the end of the road and certainly unable to repay it.

Jiang Jingnian seemed to borrow money easily because he was strong and healthy, had a steady income, did not borrow much, and repaid often. He borrowed quickly and repaid quickly, making him the sort with "excellent credit."

Though most of the money he repaid came from robbing Peter to pay Paul, borrowing new debts to repay old ones—essentially using loans to sustain loans.

But this world had neither big data nor a credit system. Investigating things slowly by primitive methods, so long as nothing immediately blew up, it would take more than a few months to sort everything out.

It was all about exploiting gaps in timing and information.

Jiang Jingnian happily took the money to a nearby market. For one silver dollar and twenty cents, he bought three jin of fine braised beef and several savory sesame flatbreads, wrapped them up, and carried them into the neighboring alley to eat.

One did not flaunt one's wealth.

It was normal for a rickshaw puller to eat an extra meat meal every so often. But if he ate lavish meat and fish every day, in large and plentiful portions, anyone who saw it would inevitably become suspicious and cause unnecessary trouble.

Therefore, when he bought meat, he never visited the same shop twice within a week.

He also chose different alleys to eat in. He did not go to crowded alleys, only secluded corners with few people.

After wolfing down dinner like a whirlwind sweeping away clouds, he prepared to call it a day and go home. He did not intend to pull the rickshaw that night.

He wanted to properly practice the Taiji Vajra Art's boxing forms.

The current Jiang Jingnian desperately lacked both a training ground and someone to spar with. At home, he could only curl up in his tiny room to practice boxing, with nothing to use as a reference.

And the only path available to him rested entirely on Fifth Uncle.

As for revealing his current identity as a martial artist to Fifth Uncle.

He had naturally considered it.

Yet when he thought of Fifth Uncle's circumstances, as well as certain uncertain risks, he ultimately weighed the pros and cons and endured it.

Once he joined the martial arts school in the future, he would have a proper explanation anyway.

Jiang Jingnian dragged his rickshaw back to the courtyard residence at 129 West River Road.

The moment he stepped through the main gate.

He heard people arguing in the inner room.