Dawn’s light broke, the rain easing.
The skies cleared, and Forty-Nine City’s smog lessened, letting the spring breeze carry the fresh scent of locust blossoms.
Tomorrow marked the “Buddha Light Festival,” set by Marshal Zhang to honor his mother’s birthday.
All public offices in Forty-Nine City would close for three days, a gesture of piety, and the rickshaw yards were no exception.
Marshal Zhang, kind-hearted and unable to bear suffering, allowed even the gaunt refugees outside the city to draw lots at the gate during these days. A long lot ant a chance to enter and seek a living.
With a rare holiday, and after a night of heavy drinking at Bargain House, the rickshaw pullers slept soundly on their communal bunks.
The East Wing guards, exhausted from the night’s chaos, rested too.
For once, the usually noisy rickshaw yard was quiet.
In the East Wing’s training room, Xiangzi, after practicing his stances, radiated heat.
[Four-Square Horse Stance 2]
[Four-Square Horse Stance 2]
As expected, after reaching two pillars of vitality, his Four-Square Horse Stance progressed faster.
Xiangzi stopped, glancing inward.
[Four-Square Horse Stance]
[Progress: 668/1500 (Mastery)]
At this rate, he’d perfect the stance in a few months.
Though a common technique, reaching perfection was rare.
What would my vitality be like then?
This ant he needed a new technique.
But new techniques weren’t easy to co by.
Join a martial hall? He lacked money and connections, and at his age, he’d barely qualify as an apprentice.
Find a master? In all his years in Forty-Nine City, Xiangzi never heard of common folk eting hidden experts.
This wasn’t a film or a storyteller’s tale—where were these prodigies tempering themselves in the mortal world?
Martial cultivation here boiled down to two things: elixirs and inheritance.
Elixirs ant consuming resources—demon beast blood, at, bones, or special minerals—to boost vitality and strengthen muscles.
Take bone-setting broth: only the three halls and six societies’ martial halls could produce it.
Without becoming an apprentice, you’d never even see its dregs.
Uncle Jie was stuck at the Blood Energy Barrier for over a decade, held back by the lack of such broth.
Inheritance ant techniques.
From basic stances to advanced fist or kick thods, the best and fastest results ca from martial halls.
Street techniques were either slow or too taxing on vitality.
Take Harmony Rickshaw Yard’s Four-Square Horse Stance—had any puller or guard truly mastered it?
Was it lack of talent or effort?
Heaven rewards diligence? That’s just a lie!
Even Wen San, loose-lipped as he was, diligently practiced stances. Who didn’t dream of becoming a warrior?
Yet in all these years, had anyone from Harmony Rickshaw Yard—or any of the six major yards in Forty-Nine City—risen to greatness?
Beyond elixirs like vitality broth, the crude techniques damaged the body too much.
Only Xiangzi, with his unique advantage, had progressed smoothly.
For ordinary people, the martial path led only to the halls.
Poor Old Ma, slaving his life away, selling everything, just to get his grandson a chance as an apprentice at Baolin Martial Hall.
Xiangzi sighed.
Even an apprentice test cost nearly two hundred silver dollars.
Where would he find that kind of money to touch a martial hall’s threshold?
At his age, past the pri for building strength, he’d likely be expelled as an apprentice, his money wasted.
Frustrated, his punches grew sloppy.
“Xiangzi, fists draw power from the root, force from the spine. The ‘root’ is your dantian’s vitality. Your mind’s scattered!” Liu Tang, in black training clothes, entered the room, frowning at Xiangzi’s form.
Xiangzi’s heart jolted, his dantian stabilizing, his movents sharpening.
Sharp cracks filled the air, his breathing steady, exuding a fierce aura.
Liu Tang nodded slightly. This kid’s got talent!
Suddenly, Liu Tang crouched, his right foot stomping, launching toward Xiangzi.
His fist arrived before his body.
Xiangzi twisted his waist, his left palm deflecting the strike. Though he used a force-dissipating technique, a surge of energy numbed his arm.
His right hand ford a cannon fist, hamring toward Liu Tang’s chest with seventy percent of his strength—enough to make even the ninth-rank Luo Er dodge.
But Liu Tang advanced, his waist twisting like a millstone, deftly redirecting the fierce blow.
They closed in.
Bang, bang, bang.
Fists and feet clashed, each hit like an electric shock, numbing Xiangzi’s body.
Only his panel’s aid kept his movents steady.
Even so, he blocked just a few more strikes before being flung toward the wall like a sandbag.
Liu Tang, quick to act, caught him mid-air, preventing a crash.
Xiangzi, aching and sweating, felt his bones nearly shattered.
Liu Tang stood with hands behind his back, smirking slyly.
Couldn’t Tang hold back a bit?
But Xiangzi’s frustration turned to dismay.
With two pillars of vitality, he could only manage seven or eight moves against Liu Tang?
This numbness… it’s new.
Noticing Liu Tang’s sharper deanor, Xiangzi blurted, “Lord Tang, have you awakened your force?”
Liu Tang nodded, feigning nonchalance, but his grin betrayed him.
Xiangzi gasped—Bright Force!
A power not every ninth-rank minor achiever could grasp!
At under twenty-five, Liu Tang had mastered Bright Force—an extraordinary talent.
Bright Force, unique to ninth-rank warriors, followed “power from the ground,” channeling the body’s full strength for a “linked surge” effect.
The numbness Xiangzi felt was this penetrating force.
If ninth-rank entry was a lifelong barrier for most warriors, Bright Force was an impassable chasm for many ninth-rank masters.
Many ninth-rank perfections never touched this elusive force, trapped forever.
In this world, a saying went: Those who grasp Bright Force face no obstacles below seventh rank.
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