Lunch was over.
By east building custom, on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, Liu Tang would spend half an hour in the afternoon coaching the guards in basic fist and foot techniques.
As an outer disciple of Baolin Martial Hall, he couldn’t pass on the hall’s core combat skills, so he taught only common moves.
But coming from a ninth-rank bone-tempering martial artist, even basic techniques carried deeper aning.
After all, in all of Forty-Nine City, beyond martial halls and warlord camps, where could you find a ranked martial artist?
Even Qingfeng Street’s deputy police chief, Sun, had pulled strings to get his brother Fat Yong into Harmony as a guard, all for Liu Tang’s status as a Baolin outer disciple.
Sadly, today was Tuesday, and Xiangzi missed Liu Tang’s lesson.
In the east building’s ground floor, a spacious room served as the guards’ training hall.
Compared to Baolin Martial Hall, the setup here was far humbler.
A few rickety wooden dummies, so hanging sandbags, and stone weights of various sizes piled by the wall.
Just past lunch, the hall was sparse.
Guards practiced in twos and threes: so shadowboxed, others sparred, a few pounded sandbags.
The scrape of coarse cloth shoes on the floor, the thud of fists and shins on sandbags, mingled with the sweaty air, pulsing with life.
One figure stood out—a lean silhouette slowly walking through stances in the corner.
Compared to the morning, Xiangzi’s steps were much smoother, surprising a few guards.
But stance work was just basic training. What good is smooth if it doesn’t awaken or build vitality? A picture-perfect stance was just a hollow show.
At eighteen, starting martial arts—could he really break the vitality barrier with basic stances?
The guards smirked to themselves, losing interest.
They were all aiming for ninth-rank bone-tempering; no need to fuss over a late starter.
As the sun dipped west, the training hall dimd, leaving only two figures.
One was Xiangzi, the other a shirtless middle-aged guard practicing stances and forms.
The man’s knotted muscles glead in the twilight. Finishing his set, he exhaled deeply, steadying his breath, and was about to leave when his gaze fell on Xiangzi, diligently walking stances in the corner’s shadows.
The middle-aged guard paused.
It was none other than Uncle Jie, who’d bailed Xiangzi out under the locust tree.
For years, he’d been the last to leave the training hall—until today.
Arms crossed, Uncle Jie watched Xiangzi’s steps, his brow twitching. This kid’s stance has reached beginner level!
Mastering a stance in one day? Not bad talent.
“Four-square—head level, shoulders level, hands level, legs level,” Uncle Jie said, stepping forward, eyeing Xiangzi’s footwork. “Relax your joints. Don’t force stability. Move like you’re walking naturally.”
Xiangzi blinked, realizing the advice was for him.
He loosened his rigid posture, and his stance flowed smoother.
Soon, a prompt flashed in his mind:
[Four-Square Horse Stance 2]
[Progress: 9/100 (Beginner)]
Xiangzi’s heart leaped. An afternoon’s training earned six points; Uncle Jie’s pointer added two more!
One true word outweighs ten thousand scrolls.
Uncle Jie watched Xiangzi’s form grow fluid, surprise in his eyes. This puller’s got real talent.
He began coaching in detail, from steps to breathing.
As he spoke, Xiangzi’s mind flashed with [Four-Square Horse Stance 2] prompts, his stance taking on a rounded, seamless quality.
Lost in practice, a commotion outside broke his focus—dinnerti had arrived.
Uncle Jie smiled. “Well done. That’s enough for today. Youngsters need to know when to stop, or you’ll wreck your body.”
Xiangzi stopped, bowing deeply. “Thank you, Uncle Jie. I’ve learned so much today.”
Uncle Jie’s smile widened, and he asked, “Your accent’s from Wanping County, right? Which village?”
Xiangzi paused. “Mo Village.”
Uncle Jie nodded, a nostalgic glint in his eyes. “Mo’s nice… I rember the old well at the village head. In drought years, it was gold—folks from miles around ca begging for water.”
Stepping closer, he patted Xiangzi’s shoulder. “I fled famine to Forty-Nine City. I’m from Wanping too.”
Xiangzi understood why Uncle Jie treated him differently.
An old hotown bond.
They chatted about ho—village locust trees, wild jujube groves on the back hills—growing closer quickly.
When Xiangzi ntioned his few acres of land seized by warlords, Uncle Jie’s face darkened.
Clearly, Xiangzi’s story stirred old wounds.
He sighed, muttering through gritted teeth, “This damned world!”
Shaking off his lancholy, Uncle Jie said, “You’ve got a foothold as a guard here. Most urgent now is saving money to awaken vitality and break the barrier before twenty.”
He had no idea Xiangzi, with his panel, had already awakened a wisp of vitality on his first day.
Xiangzi caught a key detail. “Uncle Jie, why save money to break the vitality barrier?”
Uncle Jie sighed. “You heard Tang earlier—‘dicine and thods,’ right?”
“thods are fine. You’ve got talent for stances. Train hard, and you’ll awaken vitality eventually.”
“But martial artists need dicine. Relying on stances alone to build vitality? Slow as squeezing foreign toothpaste.”
“If you’d started young, before your fra set, you might’ve broken through. At your age…”
“Despite your talent, reaching full vitality by twenty? Tough.”
Full vitality?
First ti hearing it, Xiangzi pressed, “Uncle Jie, does full vitality break the vitality barrier?”
Uncle Jie nodded. “The barrier’s not too hard. With enough money for dicinal als per the recipes, most can build it in three to five years.”
Xiangzi asked, “And after? Does breaking the barrier rank you?”
Uncle Jie shook his head, a bitter smile forming. “Martial arts has two hurdles: the vitality barrier and the bone-tempering barrier.”
“The vitality barrier’s got hope. The bone-tempering barrier’s the real killer.” His voice dropped. “I started young, broke the vitality barrier at eighteen. Now at forty, I’m still stuck outside bone-tempering.”
Xiangzi blurted, “Is it because you lack the bone-tempering broth?”
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