Zhang Feng’s work tenure isn’t long enough, so he hasn’t been allocated a house and is currently renting.
The train conductor helped Zhang Feng find a cheap place.
"Zhang, why don’t you stay at my place for a few days?" a security officer offered while eating a boxed al, "There’s an empty room at my ho."
"I mainly don’t want to make extra trips," Zhang Feng declined the goodwill, "I’m thinking that sleeping anywhere is the sa as sleeping on the train, it saves two trips."
"As a security officer, you have mandatory rest periods during overnight stops," the train conductor shook his head first, then thought for a mont, and suggested to Zhang Feng:
"If you’re after convenience and fewer trips, our station has a guesthouse.
The conditions just aren’t great; I’m afraid you might not endure the hardship."
"Then the guesthouse it is," Zhang Feng could endure hardship the most.
Afterwards, the conversation ended.
Zhang Feng also followed Brother Fatty to look for a place. He knew people at the guesthouse.
anwhile, on the way there.
Zhang Feng was also recalling the train’s procedural information.
First of all, in most cases, this train runs for a day, reaches another province’s station, rests overnight, then returns.
It’s basically like a regular day shift.
In the evenings, everyone returns to their respective hos.
When traveling long distances, people on the train must rotate sleeping because of mandatory rest regulations.
But now it’s the terminal station, so one must go ho and can’t stay overnight.
After roughly recalling,
Zhang Feng realized that regulations are regulations, and so things just won’t work through formal channels.
...
The so-called guesthouse.
Was actually just a small alley house outside the station.
When it ca to the price, Brother Fatty did know people, so the price wasn’t really expensive.
But the conditions were just a small room, with a shared water basin and toilet in the yard.
However, Zhang Feng found it quite good; wasn’t it just like a replica of the Kowloon Walled City?
Compared to squeezing into police cars or sharing tables at Chef Zhang’s restaurant.
At least there’s a bed here, much better indeed.
...
One night.
Opened up more than half of his internal organs.
The opening of the internal organs was relatively slow; fully opening them takes about 12 hours.
However, as he got more familiar, this ti was gradually reducing.
At this mont.
After Zhang Feng got tired of opening up, he got up and moved his body, seeing that it was already daylight.
A new workday had begun.
It was also like changing to a different place for cultivation.
Zhang Feng prepared to focus mainly on cultivating inner strength in the coming ti.
...
In the blink of an eye.
Fifteen years passed, and snowflakes floated outside the train window.
Zhang Feng no longer looked youthful but wore a naturally smiling mature adult appearance.
"Drink less."
At this mont.
Zhang Feng walked past a carriage and looked at the drunkard who liked eating roast chicken and drinking on the train.
He would see him once or twice a year.
Once in spring, once in winter.
"Hehehe..." The guy had gotten used to Zhang Feng’s words and dared to joke back with a grinning face, "Chief, have a sip to ward off the cold?"
Zhang Feng ignored him and continued patrolling the carriages,
"Everyone, take care of your belongings."
Zhang Feng repeatedly reminded, having beco accustod to saying a sentence in each carriage.
Fortunately, in these fifteen years, there hadn’t been any petty theft incidents.
Because during these years, there was an incredibly skilled old train police officer stationed on this train.
Zhang Feng had seen him catch people several tis; he was quick, precise, and ruthless.
His grappling skills were impressive, with a constitution of at least 15.
At the sa ti, as he was thinking about the old train cop, this fifty-sothing-year-old officer coincidentally ca from the opposite side.
Back when they t, he was in his thirties.
But then again, Zhang Feng thought, he himself was thirty-five this year.
Unknowingly, he’d spent fifteen years on the train.
"Everything alright?"
He asked Zhang Feng when they t.
"Yes," Zhang Feng nodded, and they passed by, continuing their patrol.
And in the gaps during patrol.
Zhang Feng looked at his physique and constitution.
In these fifteen years, Zhang Feng had been mainly focusing on cultivating inner strength, with no ti for ’bulking up and building muscle.’
This made his physique look quite well-balanced.
But his constitution had reached [107].
The share from inner strength was 39 points.
And it was still steadily increasing.
’As a passenger, it’s indeed impressive to co up with a martial arts-like thod in this Spiritless World.’
Thinking this.
Zhang Feng felt the ’qi’ in his dantian and five organs.
This qi wandered continuously throughout his blood vessels and ridian pathways, naly the Eight Extraordinary ridians.
Yet there were still so capillaries that hadn’t been expanded and perfected, and were sowhat fragile.
Perhaps this was the ’blocked ridians’ or ’fragile ridians’ ntioned in martial arts novels.
But to Zhang Feng, the blocked ridians actually ant these ’tiny blood vessels’ couldn’t circulate inner strength as abundantly as the ’main vessels.’
However, with the constant circulation and expansion by inner strength, strengthening them.
Sooner or later, they would circulate inner strength abundantly like the main vessels.
Moreover, while strengthening them, his constitution was constantly rising.
’For the passenger to have figured out a martial-art-like cultivation thod in this Spiritless World, it’s impressive.’
He thought to himself.
Zhang Feng was curious about how far this ’Cultivation Technique Creator’ passenger had advanced in his training.
However, he hadn’t seen him in these fifteen years.
Boss Long hadn’t appeared either.
The phone number he gave had long been reassigned to soone else.
So it was a complete loss of contact.
Seeing no short-term chance of finding them.
Zhang Feng decided not to worry about it, but instead focused on figuring out how to level up himself.
To see how he could beco a ’Legendary Train Conductor.’
Zhang Feng still didn’t know if this was a proper literary career or a martial one.
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