As the saying went, "The poor study literature, the rich practice martial arts." For poor people seeking to rise, studying was the most practical path. Though it was expensive, it was not truly beyond the reach of anyone willing to grit their teeth. Ordinary people could still attend school; even if they failed to distinguish themselves in the Imperial Examinations, with such learning, they could make a living as an accountant.
But trying to endure one's way to prominence through martial arts was far more troublesome. Not only did one need to eat well and eat one's fill every day to build up one's physique, one also had to study supreme arts under renowned masters and seek out friends for frequent sparring.
Without supreme techniques, one could train for a lifetime and still find it difficult to reach the pinnacle.
Bo Yan's family had not been poor either; his household possessed no small amount of wealth. But because they were not a martial arts family, even with his murky ties to the Imperial City Office, he could only learn second-rate skills.
Which family that possessed a supreme art did not hide it away like a treasure? He simply could not obtain one. He could only rely on talent and practice, honing and tempering himself bit by bit, seeking a breakthrough and enlightenment in some fleeting moment.
To put it plainly, he had forcibly tempered his saber techniques from second-rate to first-rate. But that consumed an enormous amount of talent and heart's blood. By now, he had already begun to feel the bottleneck.
The saddest thing in the world was when there was no road ahead—or when one could no longer keep walking.
Of course, among those of the martial world, there were also heaven-blessed prodigies. Even if they learned only