Time sped on like a horse urged under the whip; the years flowed away like fallen blossoms on water.
In the blink of an eye, another three days had passed.
The sky had only just begun to brighten when a faint aroma of meat drifted from Yang Jing’s room in Datong Ward.
The horse meat in the clay pot had been stewed until it was tender and falling apart. With the hot broth, he ate a solid jin and more, and that familiar warm current in his belly slowly spread through him, soothing his muscles and bones, adding a few degrees of warmth to the early morning.
After tidying up the bowls and chopsticks, he tucked his only two hundred copper coins into his clothes and headed out toward the Sun Martial Hall in Chengping Ward.
The bluestone slabs were damp with morning dew, slightly tacky underfoot, but his thoughts had already begun to churn.
The little money in his sleeve would not last five days even if he spent it sparingly.
He knew very well that every coin needed for his martial training had been squeezed out of the family’s food rations, saved by everyone tightening their belts.
The hopes of his entire family pressed down on him. That weight, heavy and沉, was far heavier than any burden he carried while practicing his fists.
The silver he had obtained from Feng Lei earlier had long since been withdrawn and spent by Yang Jing. Now, not a single wen remained.
If things continued like this, his family would find it very difficult to keep supporting his martial training. If he could not even afford horse meat, then his progress in martial arts would slow down by a great deal again.
One had to know, his innate aptitude was already poor to begin with, and his progress was slower than that of the other disciples. If it slowed even further...
“I have to find a way to earn silver. From now on, everything needed for martial training, and the regular dues at the martial hall, will all require money.”
Yang Jing unconsciously clenched his fists, his fingertips turning white.
At that thought, his heart sank slightly.
Fortunately, he was now close to cultivating the entry stage of Mountain-Crushing Fist to its limit. He was only a thin layer of paper away from developing force and breaking through to the Mingjin realm.
“Perhaps... I can break through to the Mingjin realm today.” Yang Jing thought with some excitement.
Once he broke through to the Mingjin realm, he would become an official disciple of the hall master, Sun Yong. The apprenticeship fee would be greatly reduced, saving him a considerable sum of silver.
Moreover, once he reached the Mingjin realm, he could be considered an “expert” in Yuhe County.
Many large clans, shops, and escort agencies would extend olive branches, inviting martial hall disciples to take up nominal posts with them—something akin to part-time work.
The remuneration for a Mingjin expert holding such a post was very considerable. At the very least, when the time came, Yang Jing would no longer have to reach out to his already cold and hungry family for money.
He quickened his pace, following Vermilion Bird Avenue until he arrived at Chengping Ward near the inner city.
In the distance, the outline of the Sun Martial Hall grew clearer and clearer. The bronze bells hanging from the eaves rang softly in the wind.
“It all depends on today!”
Yang Jing murmured to himself, his gaze sharp as a knife.
Arriving before the main gate of the Sun Martial Hall, Yang Jing reached out and pushed. With a creak, the gate swung open.
Yang Jing stepped inside.
The front courtyard was quiet. A thin layer of frost still clung to the bluestone slabs, and only the bronze bells beneath the eaves occasionally chimed in the morning breeze.
Yang Jing did not pause. He first took off his upper garment, revealing a firm and compact upper body, then walked to the center of the practice ground. Raising both arms level, he first assumed a horse stance, then began lifting stone locks to temper his qi and blood.
His breathing shifted from fast to slow. Each exhalation carried a faint sound of airflow, and the energy stored in his body from eating horse meat transformed into waves of warmth, rising within him.
Half an hour later, Yang Jing had finished warming up. He lowered his waist and gathered his breath, unfolding the opening stance of Mountain-Crushing Fist.
His fist wind broke through the frost, striking dull echoes through the empty courtyard. Every move was steady as a boulder, carrying a ruthless edge of one who had staked everything on a final throw.
The sun slowly climbed higher. Golden light spilled over the wall, and only then did the disciples of the martial hall arrive one after another.
Footsteps came in twos and threes. Most of them were young faces, with male disciples making up the majority and only a scant few female disciples. Altogether, there were around thirty-odd people.
Seeing that Yang Jing was already practicing in the field, many of them could not help but feel admiration. A few newly arrived disciples even called out respectfully, “Senior Brother Yang.”
Hearing the voices of these new disciples, Yang Jing’s heart stirred slightly.
When he had first entered the martial hall, he had still been the greenhorn following behind others and calling them “Senior Brother.” Now, without realizing it, he had actually become the “Senior Brother” in the mouths of his juniors.
Only he himself knew how much hardship and bitter endurance were hidden behind that title.
The disciples dispersed to practice their fists, and the front courtyard gradually grew lively.
Yang Jing glanced over the crowd. Of the disciples who had entered the martial hall around the same time as him, only two or three were still in the corners, training with their heads down. The rest had long since disappeared.
The rule set by the hall master, Sun Yong, was utterly impartial—if one could not break through to Mingjin within half a year of entering the hall, one could only pack up and leave.
Today was already the sixth month since he had entered the hall. In theory, the time left to him was only the final half month. In the eyes of many, he had not even reached the point of making a single attempt at the barrier, so the possibility of him breaking through to Mingjin was zero. This would also be his final half month in the Sun Martial Hall.
He thought of those fellow disciples who had left.
Some truly could no longer be supported by their families. When their parents came with bundles on their backs to fetch them, the guilt in their eyes was heavier than their reluctance to part.
Some failed their attempts at the barrier—even twice, even three times—injuring their meridians. Watching their own hands and feet grow duller by the day, knowing they had no hope of entering force, they could only pack their things with reddened eyes and leave.
As for even more disciples who left the martial hall, it was said that some returned to their rural hometowns to farm, working at sunrise and resting at sunset. Some went to the docks, carrying cargo and scraping out a living amid wind and waves. Some became guards for wealthy households, surviving by reading their masters’ expressions... Just thinking of such days made Yang Jing feel stifled in his chest.
He abruptly withdrew his fist, and his knuckles smashed against the wooden stake with a dull bang.
He took a deep breath and assumed his stance once more, his fist wind carrying the resolve of one who had burned his boats.
He would never allow himself to walk such a path!
Fortunately, he was different from others.
At that moment, before Yang Jing’s eyes, a line of text appeared that only he could see—
[Mountain-Crushing Fist Entry Level (199/200)]