“Lu Haoran, Grade C!”

“Shen Junxiang, Grade B!”

“Lu Qi, Grade C!”

One by one, the apprentices entered with bated breath, only to emerge with drooping heads, their spirits utterly drained.

By now, half of them had gone in, yet not a single one had achieved Grade A.

Worse still, some apprentices came out coughing blood, carried away on stretchers—the brutality of this skin-membrane test far surpassed last week’s iron horse blood energy trial.

When the pale-faced, short-statured Lu Qi staggered out, his eyes red and his entire being dazed, he looked as if his soul had been snatched away.

Two consecutive Grade Cs, regardless of the bone-strength test, meant Lu Qi would never touch the edge of a first-class apprentice in his lifetime—his path to becoming a ninth-grade martial artist was effectively severed.

Of course, he could continue participating in the weekly assessments, but the chasm between Grade C and Grade A was not something a poor boy like him could bridge in just a few months. Without money for medicinal nurturing, and even if he became an apprentice, he’d still have to toil in the kitchen. What chance did he have to rise?

For commoners like him, the only hope was to rely on innate talent, secure a first-class apprentice position in a short time, and gain access to the martial hall’s free medicinal brews.

As the saying goes, one step behind, every step behind. That was the harsh truth.

Xu Xiaoliu sighed, unable to spare much sympathy for his friend, and stepped forward into the testing ground.

—

“Xu Xiaoliu, Grade B!”

“Chen Jiashang, Grade A!”

Only after most had been tested did the second courtyard finally welcome its first Grade A!

It was, as expected, the chubby Chen Jiashang.

But at this moment, the little fatty’s face was as pale as paper, his smile tinged with exhaustion. Where was the energy to boast?

Clearly, this skin-membrane test was no ordinary trial. Even someone as capable as him had barely passed.

By contrast, Xu Xiaoliu’s dark face showed a trace of guilt, though his vigor seemed stronger than Chen Jiashang’s.

Glancing at Xiangzi, he lowered his head and whispered, “Xiang-ge, it’s the ore.”

With martial hall disciples watching, Xu Xiaoliu dared not say more, but Xiangzi caught the word “ore” clearly.

It aligned with his suspicions. This skin-membrane test likely had something to do with that mysterious five-colored ore.

After all, while practicing Iron Shirt Thirteen Tensions this week, Zhao Mu had practically ordered the servants to smear ore powder directly onto the apprentices’ bodies.

Typically, apprentice selections focused on blood energy, skin-membrane, and bone strength. But Baolin Martial Hall’s recent trials felt peculiar—

Could it be they were selecting martial artists capable of withstanding the five-colored ore?

Xiangzi shook his head, pushing aside these tangled thoughts. If that’s the case, I might actually have an edge. Why overthink it?

Stepping into the courtyard, he saw three massive hammers, each larger than a human head, lined up with small wooden plaques labeled Grade A, Grade B, and Grade C.

Zhao Mu stood with his hands behind his back, silently observing.

Old Liu spotted the tall figure and drawled, “Same old rules. Pick a hammer, and whatever you can withstand determines your grade!”

Xiangzi scrutinized the dark, heavy hammers and noticed faint golden veins running through them.

His pupils contracted—this was no ordinary iron but a hammer mixed with five-colored gold ore, possibly even laced with rare vein ore.

Using hammers infused with vein ore to test skin-membrane strength? No wonder those young lads couldn’t endure it.

With clarity in his mind, Xiangzi didn’t hesitate. Clasping his fists, he declared, “I choose Grade A.”

Old Liu raised an eyebrow but said nothing—Zhao Mu’s strikes were precise; even if the kid couldn’t handle it, he wouldn’t lose his life.

Zhao Mu, ever the cold-faced man, said little. Hearing Xiangzi’s choice, he hefted the hammer and said icily, “Activate Iron Shirt Thirteen Tensions!”

The massive hammer, in his hands, seemed as light as a child’s toy.

Xiangzi didn’t remove his clothes. He planted his feet in a stance, slowly performed half a set of movements, and then activated Iron Shirt Thirteen Tensions.

His clothes visibly rippled—his skin-membrane beneath was writhing.

Both Zhao Mu and Old Liu froze—this kid had the makings of a dark horse. Since when had he mastered such skin-grinding skill?

Judging by the aura of his skin-membrane, it was truly rare among apprentices.

Old Liu’s cloudy eyes gleamed with newfound respect as he slowly straightened in his seat.

“The hammer’s coming down. Steady your blood energy, don’t lose control!” Zhao Mu warned coldly.

Then, with a ferocious roar, the hammer slammed down.

—

A muffled bang echoed from the courtyard.

The apprentices outside froze at the sound. What’s that big guy doing in there? There wasn’t such a noise before!

Before anyone could react, the servant at the gate shouted, “Li Xiang, Grade A!”

Two Grade As in a row?

The crowd was still reeling when the tall figure strode out of the courtyard gate.

Unlike the others, who emerged dejected and listless, this big guy’s face was calm, his posture as upright as a pine.

Jiang Wangshui stared at Xiangzi, a bitter taste rising in his heart. Over the past few days, he’d pieced it together—this big guy was the “mud-leg” Chen Jiashang had mentioned.

On the first day of learning Iron Shirt Thirteen Tensions, Jiang Wangshui had secretly gloated, thinking he was picking it up faster than Xiangzi.

Who could’ve imagined that in just a week, Xiangzi would earn a Grade A!

Jiang Wangshui’s gaze shifted to Chen Jiashang, and a wave of irrepressible frustration surged within him. Even the chubby kid who’d always fawned over him had gotten a Grade A!

Gritting his teeth, he strode into the courtyard. No matter what, I, Jiang Wangshui, won’t let anyone look down on me. Today, I’ll claim a Grade A!

—

“Jiang Wangshui, Grade B!”

As the servant’s shout rang out, Jiang Wangshui was carried out on a stretcher.

Blood seeped from the corner of his mouth, making his already pale face look like paper.

Zhao Mu had been measured with his strike—this hammer wasn’t heavy. Jiang Wangshui’s pitiful state was largely due to his reckless attempt to withstand the five-colored vein ore, forcibly driving his dantian’s blood energy and suffering the backlash.

Perhaps out of pity for his resolute spirit, Old Liu had granted him a Grade B despite his failure to endure the hammer.

Two consecutive Grade Bs weren’t ideal, but they left a sliver of hope.

Yet, lying on the stretcher, Jiang Wangshui was utterly lost, his eyes vacant. The pride and confidence he’d held moments ago seemed to have shattered with that hammer.

He weakly turned his head, scanning the crowd. In his vision, every gaze seemed tinged with mockery.

At that moment, Jiang Wangshui wished he’d died under the hammer rather than endure this torment.

—

In truth, no one was paying attention to Jiang Wangshui.

Living in the same courtyard, they’d long figured out his capabilities. With his skills, how could he achieve Grade A?

Besides, this young master, with his haughty airs, had insisted on challenging the Grade A test despite his limits. It was no surprise to anyone.

At that moment, all eyes were fixed on the old martial artist slowly walking out.

Old Liu took a booklet from a nearby servant, glanced at it, and announced in a clear voice, “Next, I’ll declare the first-class apprentice selections. Those named will report to the first-class apprentice courtyard in three days!”

Even though they had their guesses, everyone’s hearts hung on the old martial artist’s actions.

Old Liu cleared his throat, hefting the booklet—the apprentices’ hearts trembled in sync.

“Chen Jiashang, double Grade A, promoted to first-class apprentice.”

“Qi Yu, double Grade A, promoted to first-class apprentice.”

Hearing these familiar names, Xiangzi shrugged slightly. No regrets, but it’s a pity. Joining the first-class courtyard a week late means missing a week of free medicinal brews.

Letting out a long breath, Xiangzi suddenly froze.

The old martial artist set down the booklet, a smile spreading across his face as he pointed to someone in the crowd and said softly, “And… Li Xiang, for outstanding performance, specially promoted to first-class apprentice.”

A wave of shock rippled through the crowd.

—

“Well done, all of you. I hope you’ll maintain this progress in the first-class courtyard!”

Old Liu, hunched over, raised his hand, revealing four small cloth pouches.

Before anyone could see what he did, the pouches landed in the arms of the selected few.

“Here are two Skin-Grinding Pills. After you collect your wooden plaques from Zhao Mu, head to the rear courtyard.”

“If you have questions, take the plaque and ask a miscellaneous courtyard senior brother. They won’t dare slack off when they see it.”

“Oh, and a word of caution: with your current physiques, use a Skin-Grinding Pill no more than once a week. Don’t get greedy. If your skin-membrane collapses under the pill’s potency, the loss won’t be worth it.”

Miscellaneous courtyard senior brother?

Xiangzi paused at the term, then recalled the senior brother overseeing last night’s medicinal bath in the rear courtyard. Didn’t he have a “miscellaneous” character embroidered on his chest?

It seemed Baolin Martial Hall was divided into several departments by role.

Made sense—a massive martial hall couldn’t function if it was full of reckless martial artists.

Xiangzi looked at the cloth pouch in his hand, his heart surging. Finally, the reward for a Grade A!

And in three days, he’d enter the first-class courtyard!

Bone-Strengthening Broth was within reach!