The next morning, Zhang Xiaohua came beneath the tree as usual. Old Yu had not yet arrived, so Zhang Xiaohua planted his stance and began practicing his incomplete set of fist techniques. Knowing that Old Yu would teach him swordplay, he no longer cared as much about whether he might forget this fist technique. It was like a naughty child who treasured his beloved toy, only for an adult to suddenly give him an even more amusing one; the child's attachment to the old toy faded, and even if it were lost, he would not cry and fuss as he had before.
Though he had such thoughts, when Zhang Xiaohua completed the fist technique he had learned the night before from beginning to end, his heart still surged with excitement. Based on his experience, this incomplete fist technique had endured a whole night's trial by his formidable memory, and he could still perform it now. Surely he would not forget it in the future. Zhang Xiaohua nearly threw back his head and howled at the sky. Heaven had pity on him at last—he, Zhang Xiaohua, could finally practice a complete, almost-complete fist technique!
And soon, there would be some sucker coming to teach him swordplay, something he had never even dreamed of learning. This good fortune was truly beyond words. Could it be the concentrated eruption of over ten years of his good character?
He could not help raising his head to look at the rising morning sun. Taking a deep breath of cool air, he thought, This truly is the happy life of a country boy named Zhang Xiaohua.
Just as he was basking in it, a figure swept past. Zhang Xiaohua's brows lifted. Though he could not see clearly, he could still sense that person's aura. It had