The Old Man

The old man in white pointed to the first person on the left side of the line and said:

"We'll start with you. Each of you will demonstrate the basic sword moves so I can see how well you've mastered them."

The first person on the left was a boy of about fourteen or fifteen, with a youthful face and a blue tracksuit.

He stepped forward into an open space and took his position.

Before he even began, he was trembling. His sword slipped from his hand and fell to the floor. He hurried to pick it up, but nearly toppled over from moving too forcefully.

The other applicants drew sharp breaths. The tension spread through the line, and their hands clenched into fists.

Chen Yiming felt nothing of the sort. With his level 1 swordsmanship talent, the basic moves came easily to him. He was certain he would pass.

A few moments later.

"Stop. Next," the old man in white said.

The boy in the blue tracksuit sheathed his sword awkwardly and returned to the line, dejected.

He had barely performed two basic moves before being stopped. He didn't need to wait for the result to know he had failed.

The next applicant stepped forward for his test.

Compared with the first boy, the second applicant did even worse. Perhaps the earlier performance had shaken him.

He couldn't even muster the courage to raise his sword. After standing there for a few moments, he gave up and returned to the line.

Chen Yiming was sixth. None of the five before him performed well; their movements fell far short of the required standard.

That was a relief. He had worried that the martial arts school might limit its intake. If too many people could perform the basic moves to standard, he might be squeezed out.

It seemed the sudden surge in applicants had come from people sensing that troubled times lay ahead. In their desperation, they had thrown money at the first hope they saw.

"Next."

The moment the old man in white spoke, Chen Yiming opened with a thrust, shooting more than half a meter forward.

His wooden sword carried the force of his entire body. It pierced through the air with a sharp vibration, and he used his momentum to flow straight into a leaping slash...

The whole sequence was fluid, without the slightest stiffness. Compared with the applicants before him, the difference was plain.

"Pass."

The old man in white gave his verdict before Chen Yiming had demonstrated every basic move.

Chen Yiming returned to the line wanting more. He had planned to show the combinations he had created, but the school master hadn't singled him out or asked him to continue.

When everyone had finished testing.

As expected, the two applicants after him failed as well. Chen Yiming was the only one who passed.

The other seven had essentially spent five thousand yuan apiece to hear the school master assess their grasp of the basic sword moves.

They were dejected. Failing to become students meant they couldn't seek shelter under the martial arts school's wing as the world grew more unstable.

The old man in white had remained calm throughout. At the end, he offered his assessment:

"Anyone can master the basic sword moves through diligent practice. Those who didn't pass this time will have another chance, especially the newcomers of fourteen or fifteen who have only just begun training in martial arts."

He paused to let the applicants take in his words, then continued:

"A person's energy is limited. You can't master everything. What matters most for a beginner is choosing a direction and sticking to it, solving each problem as it comes. Don't switch to fists or blades the moment swordsmanship frustrates you. Spread your efforts too thin, and you'll master nothing."

Finally, he stressed:

"Mantis Snake Swordsmanship is also built from combinations of basic sword moves. Beginners must patiently hone their foundations. Once those foundations are solid, you can come back and join us at any time. I hope more of you pass next time."

The old man in white spoke incisively, getting straight to the heart of training. The seven who had failed soon regained their composure, and hope rekindled in several of them.

On the surface, Chen Yiming thought the advice made sense. But the more he considered it, the more puzzled he became.

By the school master's reasoning, the body's original owner should also have had a chance to join the martial arts school.

Yet according to his memories, the original owner had started practicing swordsmanship at about fourteen or fifteen. By the time Chen Yiming crossed over, this body was nearly eighteen, and its progress with the basic moves was still slow.

Take the thrust. The original owner had practiced it for years but still couldn't aim it accurately, no matter how many times he repeated it.

Or the forward rush: he could never get the distance and rhythm of each step right. He either went too far or fell short.

That was a lack of talent. It was hardly something he could overcome just by patiently persevering, as the old man in white had claimed.

On the first floor, inside the storeroom.

It was where the martial arts school kept its everyday supplies and miscellaneous items.

Chen Yiming wore a brand-new, loose white training outfit with a golden sword emblem on the chest. On his feet were cloth shoes made from mutated beast hide.

According to his senior fellow student Wang Bowen, there was no need to worry about wearing out the specially made shoes. He could push off as hard as he liked.

Shen Jia, the saleswoman, stood beside Chen Yiming with two more training outfits in her arms. Her eyes gleamed as she helped smooth his clothes while they looked in the mirror, leaning so close she was nearly pressed against him.

She had handled Chen Yiming's contract and knew his family's landline number. She meant to make the most of her head start.

Wang Bowen glanced at Shen Jia from where he leaned against the wall and teased:

"Junior Chen, don't take what Master said just now too seriously. It sounded nice, that's all."

"What do you mean?"

Chen Yiming turned toward him, puzzled.

"He was feeding those who failed a little encouragement, making them think they might pass next time so they'll come back and apply again."

"So that's what it was!"

Chen Yiming's mouth fell open.

He hadn't expected his suspicions to be right. The school master had openly coaxed people into wasting their money.

Wang Bowen thought nothing of it and went on:

"Don't go telling people about this. Master can say certain things, but we can't. Otherwise, someone might give you trouble."

"It's an unspoken rule in our circles. The test fee is five thousand yuan a time, and it adds up over the years. No martial arts school would pass up money that costs it nothing to earn."

"Talent matters more than anything in martial arts. Either you have it or you don't—unless you've eaten mutated beast meat regularly since childhood to improve your physique. But where would ordinary people even buy it?"

Hearing this confirmed Chen Yiming's earlier doubts. He said earnestly:

"I see. I'll be counting on your guidance from now on, Senior Wang."

Wang Bowen waved a hand.

"It's nothing. We'll be seeing plenty of each other. Your records say you live in the east part of the city, so you'll definitely be assigned to train at the East City Branch first. Seventh Junior Brother and I are in charge there."

"Your foundations are solid. You're a little old to be joining the school, but you still have prospects in training."

"But let me make this clear: I'm strict when it comes to training. I won't go easy on you just because your foundations are good, so don't slack off to play around."

For a student who was about to join the branch he oversaw, Wang Bowen had offered encouragement first, then followed it with a stern warning to establish his authority.