By Baolin Martial Hall’s tradition, the apprentice trials consisted of three rounds, one per week.

Those who earned top grades in all three could ascend directly to first-rank apprentice, enjoying the hall’s precious medicinal brews.

These rare treasures, if sold outside, might not be had even for piles of silver dollars.

More crucially, first-rank apprentices received them free.

Thus, the wealthy youths, driven by martial ambition, had been drilled by their families to aim for top grades.

If Chen Jiang’s gruesome failure had shocked the crowd, the unremarkable chubby Chen Jiashang’s top-grade success left them dumbfounded.

“What? Top grade?”

“Chen Jiang couldn’t do it, and this guy did?”

“Chen Jiashang? Who’s this kid? Some hidden prodigy?”

Murmurs rippled as eyes fixed on the chubby youth.

Jiang Wangshui’s face turned paper-white.

He couldn’t fathom that this fawning, unassuming tagalong, always seeking his advice, had claimed top grade.

Seeing Jiang’s expression, a fleeting scorn flashed in Chen Jiashang’s eyes, swiftly masked by a shy, genial smile.

“Goodness… I don’t know how it happened. Pure luck to get top grade!” Chen Jiashang chuckled.

Jiang Wangshui forced an awkward smile, his earlier bravado vanished.

Top grade was out of reach. If Chen Jiang failed, how could he dare hope?

But then Jiang paused, recalling Chen Jiashang’s claim of barely brimming blood energy.

How did he manage top grade?

Eagerly, Jiang pressed, “Brother Chen, please share your method. If I could get top grade, I’d owe you greatly.”

At “owe you greatly,” Chen Jiashang’s eyes lit up, but he waved dismissively, grinning. “What method? Honestly, I’m still dazed. No idea how I lifted that iron horse.”

Jiang, trusting, sighed softly.

Chen Jiashang relished a rare thrill, his smile unwavering. “Young Master Jiang’s blood energy far surpasses mine. Top grade’s in your grasp. No need to fret.”

“Uh… thanks for the kind words. Let’s hope so,” Jiang replied, his smile strained.

Chen Jiashang patted Xiangzi’s shoulder. “Brother Xiang, you’re next. Don’t be nervous—just do your best.”

Xiangzi sensed a shift in the youth’s tone but only smiled, saying nothing, and turned to enter the courtyard.

Watching Xiangzi’s back, Chen Jiashang’s eyes turned cold. His keen instincts caught the subtle distance behind Xiangzi’s polite facade.

If not for your backing, why would I, Chen Jiashang, bother with a mud-legged nobody like you?

Lowly cur, acting high and mighty!

Chen Jiashang lowered his head, hiding the gloom in his eyes.

—

Stepping inside, Xiangzi froze.

He’d expected a room, not a spacious courtyard.

Three square tables stood within, occupied by three martial artists—two in black short robes and the third, an older man not in hall attire, Old Liu from the gate.

Still reeling from Chen Jiashang’s surprising top grade, the two black-robed disciples frowned at Xiangzi’s age.

This old to join the trials?

Only Old Liu wore an intrigued smile.

Noticing his juniors’ expressions, he tapped the table without a word, pointing to a dossier.

The disciples glanced at it and froze—this unremarkable big fellow was recommended by Senior Brother Lin Junqing?

They sat up straighter.

—

Before Xiangzi stood three dark iron horses, labeled “first,” “second,” and “third” grade.

A black-robed disciple briskly explained the rules.

Simple: lift an iron horse, any method, and hold it for ten breaths to earn the corresponding grade.

“Begin.”

“Note, you can think, but don’t touch the iron horse. Once you do, your choice is locked,” Old Liu said, smiling. “Choose wisely and know your limits, or end up like that fat kid earlier.”

No touching?

Xiangzi caught the hint.

Does touching reveal something?

Recalling Chen Jiang’s fate, a realization dawned as he studied the iron horses.

They looked plain, unpolished, barely glinting in the morning light.

Even the largest, first-rank iron horse was only the size of a small table.

Xiangzi’s eyes sharpened—something’s off!

From the youths’ chatter, past iron horses were solid steel.

Joking aside, if it’s not steel, is it wood? Why call it an iron horse?

But Xiangzi was certain these weren’t pure steel—or at least, not entirely.

At their size, even solid steel would weigh only a few hundred pounds.

That wouldn’t stump Chen Jiang, a burly youth trained from childhood, let alone break his leg!

There’s a trick.

—

Seeing Xiangzi’s thoughtful demeanor, Old Liu’s lazy facade hid an inward nod.

People say martial artists need precious elixirs, but a martial artist is still a person, defined by a keen, clear mind.

Without it, even a high-realm martial artist is no better than a demon beast.

Today’s young martial artists in the hall obsess over realm, elixirs, and pills, forgetting to temper their hearts and minds.

No wonder Forty-Nine City’s martial artists decline with each generation!

Old Liu sighed, recalling the old master’s parting orders, his face twisting into a bitter grimace.

Senior Brother, you left me to clean up this mess!

But seeing the big fellow’s actions, he froze, then shook his head. Just praised his caution, and now he’s reckless.

A commoner, untrained with elixirs, daring to choose the second-rank iron horse?

Does he think it’s ordinary?