The dormitory was assigned by number plate.

The room, fairly clean, had a row of neatly made bunk beds, the bedding folded into crisp tofu-block squares.

Stepping inside, Xiangzi paused, a wry smile rising. After escaping the bunkhouses at the rickshaw yard, here I am again.

Still, the martial hall’s facilities far surpassed Harmony Rickshaw Yard’s.

Used to rough conditions, Xiangzi didn’t complain. He found his bunk and sat down.

But the other young apprentices, less adaptable, wore grim expressions.

Coming from well-off families, they’d braced for hardship, but their youthful hearts still balked at the conditions.

—

Jiang Wangshui strolled in, his brow furrowing.

Trailing him was the chatty chubby youth.

The two had been whispering all the way, seeming closer than they had at the gate.

Spotting the big fellow in the corner, Jiang Wangshui’s face lit up. “Well, what a coincidence! Didn’t expect to share a dorm with you, brother.”

Xiangzi paused, sensing the deliberate warmth in his tone.

The chubby youth, acting familiar, piped up, “This is Young Master Jiang, from the Jiang family of Four Seas Gambling House in East City.”

Xiangzi’s brow twitched faintly, but he stood and cupped his fists politely.

Having roamed South City as a rickshaw puller, he’d heard of Four Seas Gambling House.

As the city’s biggest den of vice, its longevity hinted at deep backing.

Yet, word was the gambling house’s master was a shrewd woman, not surnamed Jiang.

So where did this so-called Jiang heir come from?

Xiangzi didn’t care to dwell on it—he was here for the trials.

Besides, the probing undertones in the two youths’ polite words left him uneasy.

Perhaps from years of toiling in his past life, or the bloody chaos of South City, Xiangzi had picked up the grit of the underclass. He had little patience for the polished cunning of these youths, so mismatched with their age.

After exchanging names, they sat. Xiangzi made a few lukewarm remarks, then closed his eyes, feigning rest.

His aloofness only deepened the others’ curiosity.

The chubby youth, Chen Jiashang, whispered, “Young Master Jiang, I swear I heard right. That old man at the gate called someone ‘Senior Brother’ when he saw his letter.”

Jiang Wangshui froze. His brother had told him the hall ranked by cultivation.

To earn a “Senior Brother” from that old martial artist meant at least ninth-rank perfection—maybe even eighth-rank!

Stunned, Jiang Wangshui felt a pang of disappointment. As my brother said, even a lowly apprentice yard hides dragons and tigers.

Stealing a glance at Xiangzi’s sturdy frame, clearly tempered, he wondered about the state of his skin and muscles.

Doubt crept in.

Jiang Wangshui had thought his brother’s guidance, years of training, and family wealth would make him stand out among apprentices.

Now, he resolved to watch this big fellow closely during the trials.

—

Compared to the lodging, the hall’s food was impressive.

At noon, each apprentice received a small bowl of snowy white rice, a serving of braised pork, a bowl of cabbage with pork fat, and a bowl of beef bone soup.

In this city, it was a rare balanced feast.

The braised pork, marbled with fat, glistened with sauce-soaked richness, the fat shimmering a tempting brown.

Even more lavish were the spices—cinnamon, star anise—rare luxuries Xiangzi seldom saw at the East Building.

Xiangzi ate heartily. The dishes were substantial, the rice free of husks, far surpassing the rickshaw yard’s fare.

No wonder it’s Baolin Martial Hall. Even apprentices eat like this. Outside, this meal would cost at least a dozen silver dimes.

Xiangzi twirled his chopsticks, scooping the last bit of rice, circling the bowl’s edge until it was spotless, then savored the final bite.

But while Xiangzi relished the meal, others in the dorm were less impressed.

Jiang Wangshui took two bites, then set down his chopsticks.

Chen Jiashang, grinning, said, “Young Master Jiang, it’s good stuff. Don’t waste it.”

Before finishing, his chopsticks dove into Jiang’s bowl.

Jiang Wangshui’s brow creased, his gaze cooling as he glanced at Chen Jiashang, who ate obliviously.

Noticing Xiangzi’s enthusiasm, Jiang Wangshui paused, then smiled. “Brother Xiang, you’ve got quite an appetite.”

Xiangzi grinned. “The food’s good.”

“Well… decent enough,” Jiang Wangshui said, eyeing the glistening dishes with an awkward smile before adding eagerly, “But this is nothing. My brother says the first-class apprentices eat the real good stuff.”

“And if you become a ranked outer disciple, you might even get free demon beast meat.”

Xiangzi caught the key point. “Free? So, if we apprentices have the coin, we can buy demon beast meat too?”

From his days in the mines, Xiangzi knew demon beast meat’s value—top-tier for nourishing blood energy and recovery.

Jiang Wangshui smirked proudly. “Of course. My brother’s an outer disciple—how could that be false?”

“Not just demon beast meat. With enough coin, apprentices can buy precious medicinal brews right here in the hall.”

“After all, for us martial artists, it’s all about the four arts: eat, soak, nourish, train.”

Eat, soak, nourish, train?

Xiangzi had heard this from Uncle Jie, but as a mere Blood Energy Barrier martial artist, Jie only grasped “train.” The other three were beyond him.

Yet, “train” ranked last. Hard training in stances and fists paled compared to consuming elixirs.

Xiangzi cupped his fists to Jiang Wangshui. “Thanks for the lesson, brothers!”

His humility caught Jiang Wangshui and Chen Jiashang off guard.

Especially Jiang, who’d meant to show off. Xiangzi’s response felt like punching cotton.

Just then, a stern-faced youth in a black robe entered.

“All apprentices, the blood energy trial is here. Follow me to the outer courtyard.”

Xiangzi exhaled softly and stood.