The sports rep was dead tired? Sorry, I hadn't even broken a sweat!

Six thirty in the evening.

Heat shimmered above the rubber track, and the air was thick with the sour stink of sweat.

"Tweet-"

At the shrill blast of Instructor Zhao Tianlong's whistle, hundreds upon hundreds of relieved groans erupted across South Playground.

"Dismissed!"

That single word sounded sweeter than heavenly music.

The formations that had stood ramrod straight instantly crumpled as though their bones had been pulled out.

The freshmen collapsed in every direction.

Some lay flat on their backs on the scorching turf, limbs splayed, unwilling to move so much as a finger.

Others leaned against their classmates, mouths open as they gulped air like fish freshly hauled ashore.

This was only the first day of fourteen days of hellish military training, and these pampered college students had already had half the life wrung out of them.

The view shifted to the rubber track around the field's perimeter.

Zhang Liang lay spread-eagled facedown at the edge of the track like a dog on the brink of death.

Five laps.

A full two thousand meters.

With temperatures over thirty degrees Celsius and the agony of his knocked-out front tooth, he had only managed to finish because Zhao Tianlong's murderous gaze had stayed fixed on him from behind.

On the final lap, he had felt as though his lungs would burst, his legs heavy as if filled with lead.

Now that the whistle had sounded, the taut string inside him finally snapped.

"Urgh-"

Zhang Liang rolled over, bent over the edge of the lawn, and dry-heaved violently.

The little food he had eaten at noon had long since been digested. All he brought up now was yellow-green bile that burned his throat raw.

He weakly raised his head. Through his blurry vision, he saw Zhou Zihao heading toward the field's exit with three other lackeys.

Zhou Zihao had changed into a clean Armani T-shirt and held a bottle of chilled Perrier, discussing with someone beside him where to have an upscale Japanese dinner.

"Young... Young Master Zhou..." Zhang Liang reached out a trembling hand, his voice rasping from his throat like a broken bellows.

Zhou Zihao paused.

He turned and cast a disgusted glance at Zhang Liang on the ground, his brows knotting together.

His gaze was as though he were looking at a pile of stinking garbage.

"What fucking rotten luck," Zhou Zihao cursed under his breath.

He pulled several hundred-yuan notes from his pocket and tossed them beside Zhang Liang's feet as though fobbing off a beggar.

"Take that and get your tooth checked at the infirmary. Stop making a spectacle of yourself everywhere."

With that, he led the others away without looking back, offering not one extra word of concern.

He had already booked the most expensive Japanese restaurant downtown for tonight. Where would he find the time to bother with this useless idiot who had botched everything?

Zhang Liang looked at the notes whirling in the wind, then at Zhou Zihao's heartless retreating figure. His eyes abruptly reddened.

Hurt and humiliation mingled with the bloody taste in his mouth and surged straight to the crown of his head.

What had he done it all for?

For a lousy pair of shoes, he had knocked out his front tooth and utterly disgraced himself in front of the whole university, only to be kicked aside in the end.

Zhang Liang clenched the banknotes tightly as tears mingled with sweat and splashed onto the rubber track.

The view returned to Third Company's formation.

Fatty Wang lay sprawled on the turf, his camouflage uniform so soaked that half a basin of water could have been wrung from it.

"I'm done... Lord Fatty's going to meet his end here today..." Fatty rolled his eyes, even his lips pale. "How is this military training? This is a fucking giant barbecue. I feel like I'm nearly cooked."

Liu Chen was hardly any better, lying spread-eagled beside Fatty without even the strength to curse.

"Stop talking... save some spit." Liu Chen groaned feebly.

Chen Mo was slightly better off, barely managing to sit against the railing.

But his usually immaculate hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, and his chest heaved.

The girls' formation was in even worse shape.

Ruan Qingwu braced her hands on her knees, her small face deathly pale.

Her already fair skin now had a frail translucence.

A few damp wisps of hair clung to her cheeks. Though she was still so beautiful it was hard to look away, there was no hiding her exhaustion.

Biting her lower lip, she forced her aching, weak legs to carry her toward the boys.

She was still worrying about that lazybones.

He complained about walking even a few extra steps on an ordinary day. After standing at attention all day today, he had better not actually have fainted on the field.

When Ruan Qingwu reached the group from Room 502, she stopped short.

Lin Bei.

The guy had both hands tucked into his camouflage trouser pockets and was lazily watching the sunset clouds on the horizon.

He was not panting.

He was not drenched in sweat.

Even his stuffy, oversized camouflage uniform was as dry and fresh as though it had just been taken out of the wardrobe.

Among everyone around him, looking like muddy monkeys fished out of the water, Lin Bei was absurdly fresh.

The setting sun fell across his smooth, fine-featured face, on which not even a pore was visible.

Lin Bei was actually rather helpless about it, too.

He was now at qi refining first layer perfection, and his sinews and marrow had just been cleansed last night.

This body had long since undergone a complete transformation.

To him, the outside temperature of over thirty degrees was no different from a gentle spring breeze.

Whenever his skin temperature rose, the spiritual power within his dantian automatically began circulating.

That cool spiritual power traveled through his extraordinary meridians and eight vessels, not only shutting out all the heat but also continuously nourishing his muscles and bones.

Never mind standing at attention for a day.

Even if he were made to carry Fatty Wang ten kilometers around the field right now, he would not so much as breathe hard.

Training at this intensity did not even count as a warm-up for him. At most, it was a stroll before dinner.

"Holy shit..."

Fatty Wang swallowed and struggled up from the ground.

He reached out a trembling, chubby hand and squeezed Lin Bei's arm as though touching some rare animal.

The muscle was firm, with a normal body temperature.

But there was not a single drop of sweat!

"Brother Bei... are you the fucking Terminator?" Fatty's eyes widened like bronze bells. "You've been roasting under this blazing sun all day, and not one sweat pore has leaked? Are you even human?"

Liu Chen scrambled over as well, grabbed the hem of Lin Bei's uniform, and sniffed it.

"This is seriously fucking weird!" Liu Chen shouted. "Did you secretly install an air conditioner inside your clothes?"

Chen Mo pushed up the glasses that had slipped to the tip of his nose.

"When humans fail to sweat in high temperatures, their core body temperature rises too high, causing heatstroke. But your skin temperature is completely normal, and your breathing remains at sixteen breaths per minute, the same as at rest."

Chen Mo stared fixedly at Lin Bei, his tone certain.

"This defies basic biology."

Ruan Qingwu walked up to Lin Bei and looked him up and down.

Her anxious heart settled, replaced by utter disbelief.

She reached out and poked Lin Bei's arm, a hint of playful reproach in her voice.

"Did you secretly bring some high-tech cooling patches? How are you completely fine?"

Faced with their looks, as though they wanted nothing more than to dissect him, Lin Bei's mouth twitched.

He could not tell them about cultivating immortality, so he could only make something up.

He cleared his throat, took his hands out of his pockets, and clasped them behind his back.

"Since you've asked with such sincerity, I suppose I'll reluctantly tell you."

Lin Bei sighed, his voice carrying the weight of someone weathered by life's vicissitudes.

"The truth is, my family not only comes from a long line of traditional Chinese physicians, but also has deep martial arts roots."

Fatty froze.

"Martial arts? Like the Eighteen Dragon-Subduing Palms?"

"More or less." Lin Bei spouted nonsense with a perfectly straight face. "Ever since I was little, my grandfather forced me to practice an internal martial art called the Turtle Breathing Technique. Its principle is that a calm heart naturally keeps you cool. By adjusting your breathing rate, you lock in your body's moisture and heat."

He pointed at his nose.

"You see me not sweating, but the true qi inside me is constantly circulating to resist the heat outside. That's why I usually look so lazy. I need to conserve my strength to keep my true qi circulating."

"True qi travels through the extraordinary meridians and eight vessels. External evils cannot invade, and internal fire cannot arise. Get it?"

His fabrication had all the convincing details. Coupled with Lin Bei's air of an unruffled master, it left everyone present completely stunned.

Liu Chen's mouth fell open.

"T-Turtle Breathing Technique? True qi? Isn't that stuff from fucking wuxia novels?"

"Wuxia novels draw from life, too." Lin Bei patted Liu Chen's shoulder. "When Zhang Liang rammed into me today, I used the internal martial arts technique Four Ounces Deflect a Thousand Pounds, turning his own force against him to send him flying."

Now it all fit!

Fatty slapped his thigh, suddenly enlightened.

"No wonder! I was saying, that bastard Zhang Liang weighs over eighty kilos. How could he just go flying for no reason? So you're a martial arts master, Brother Bei!"

The fat on Fatty's face trembled with excitement as he grabbed Lin Bei's arm.

"Brother Bei! Teach me! I want to practice the Turtle Breathing Technique, too! I don't want to sweat anymore!"

Even the ever-rational Chen Mo sank into thought.

Though something felt off, traditional practices such as Chinese medicine and internal martial arts did indeed have many wondrous aspects that modern science could not explain.

Taken together with Lin Bei changing the feng shui with his bare hands yesterday and recognizing the counselor's uterine cold at a glance today.

Chen Mo actually found this explanation... very reasonable.

Ruan Qingwu rolled her eyes.

She and Lin Bei had grown up together. His grandfather really was an old practitioner of Chinese medicine, but where had these supposed martial arts roots come from?

This guy was clearly running a whole train of nonsense out of his mouth.

But looking at Lin Bei's dry clothes and rosy complexion, she could find no grounds to refute him.

"All right, stop listening to him spout nonsense." Ruan Qingwu gave Lin Bei an exasperated look, though a smile hid in her eyes. "Let's go eat. I'm starving."

"Let's go, let's go! Time to eat! Brother Bei has to treat us today to celebrate our dorm producing a martial arts alliance leader!" Fatty immediately started egging them on, as though his legs no longer ached and his back no longer hurt.

Lin Bei casually took the military training cap from Ruan Qingwu's hand and played with it.

When it came to fooling people, as long as your skin was thick enough and your expression convincing enough, even a lie could become the truth.

The group headed toward the dining hall, chatting and laughing.