Xiangzi, wincing and clutching his shin, hobbled to his third-floor room.

Along the way, a few guard brothers saw him and greeted him with grins.

Those smiles hid plenty of amusement.

An ordinary man who hasn’t awakened vitality—how could he endure the east building’s stance training?

But Xiangzi ignored them.

Back in his room, he pulled a bottle of safflower oil from the drawer.

The cool oil soothed the burning bruise.

First time training, and already a rough start!

But the thrill of gaining experience felt damn good.

Having awakened his vitality, he’d taken a crucial step toward the martial path.

From Liu Tang’s earlier explanation, Xiangzi learned this world’s martial arts had nine ranks.

Ninth-rank bone-tempering, eighth-rank tendon-forging, seventh-rank membrane-condensing—the three levels of Bright Force Realm.

Liu Tang hadn’t elaborated on “bright force,” as most east building guards had only broken the vitality barrier.

As Liu Tang said, breaking the vitality barrier was merely glimpsing the martial path, not a ranked status.

Before ranking, there were three stages: vitality awakening, first pillar of vitality, and full vitality.

The third stage, “full vitality,” was the vitality barrier.

The world said the martial path was harder than scaling the heavens.

For ordinary folk, even the “simple” vitality barrier was a chasm.

Only with stance training mastery could one attempt it.

Even with his panel, it took Xiangzi half a morning to unlock the stance skill’s progress.

Martial training was no small feat.

If stance training, the mere foundation, was this tough, what about the formal ranks?

Thankfully, he had the profession panel.

With the four-square horse stance logged as a skill, his path was clear.

All he needed was time.

And while martial training was hard, the rewards were staggering.

Take Xiangzi now—merely awakening vitality had boosted his leg strength immensely.

What if he broke the vitality barrier? Or reached a formal martial rank?

What changes would his body undergo?

The thought set Xiangzi’s heart ablaze with anticipation.

This world’s thriving martial culture made sense.

After treading on thin ice so long, finally some hope!

But his excitement was doused by a prompt in his mind.

[Profession: Martial Artist (Inactive)]

[Activation Conditions: 1. Break the vitality barrier; 2. Bone-tempering medicinal bath]

Xiangzi’s brows furrowed.

This prompt appeared after unlocking the stance skill.

Clearly, activating the martial artist profession required two conditions.

First, the vitality barrier.

For Xiangzi, with the stance skill on his panel, this wasn’t too daunting—just a matter of time.

The issue was the second condition: what the hell is a bone-tempering medicinal bath?

He recalled Liu Tang mentioning “medicine and methods.”

Per Liu Tang, this world’s martial arts hinged on two things.

First, techniques—inner or outer—guarded jealously by martial halls. Teach the disciple, starve the master. Even kin were taught sparingly.

Second, medicinal brews and pills.

Even with his profession panel, Xiangzi couldn’t bypass this “bone-tempering medicinal bath.”

Strange.

Xiangzi pulled bedding from the cupboard, spreading it on the bed.

The cotton quilts, provided by the yard like meals, cost nothing extra.

Such coarse cotton quilts fetched over a silver dollar at the market—beyond even rural landlords’ means.

In the second-class yard, they slept on straw and chaff.

To think Harmony’s guards get cotton quilts?

Not bad at all!

After a month on the second-class yard’s hard kang, Xiangzi’s bones ached.

Now, the soft cotton under him felt heavenly.

The faint scent of sun-warmed cotton seeped from the seams, comforting.

For a moment, he felt worlds apart.

Xiangzi sighed, tucking his fifteen silver dollars under the mattress.

The east building was secure—no worry of thieves for now.

But hiding money under bedding wasn’t a long-term plan. He’d need to visit a reliable bank soon.

And he’d have to ask about that “bone-tempering medicinal bath.”

For now, with his stance training still raw and the vitality barrier unbroken, there was no rush.

He sank into the warm bedding, rubbing half a bottle of safflower oil on his shin, easing the swelling.

Fine, fill the stomach first, then back to stance training!

Lunch was lavish as ever.

Slabs of pig’s head meat and ears soaked in brine, spiked with red Sichuan peppers, filled the air with rich, intoxicating aroma.

Stewed mutton, tender and piled high, dripped glistening fat.

Even the staples—white rice or steamed buns—were free to choose.

Xiangzi broke open a palm-sized bun, stuffing it with mutton, savoring each bite.

As head guard, Liu Tang ate separately, with his own stove, not crowding with the others.

The guards feasted under the big locust tree.

A sharp-eyed guard spotted the inch-deep dent in the tree, exclaiming, “Brothers, look! Who’s been practicing legwork here? That’s some force!”

A few, bowls in hand, inspected it, chuckling. “That’s real power. Only Brother Yong could manage that, right?”

Sun Yong, nicknamed “Fat Yong,” was gnawing pig’s head meat. He sneered, “I don’t waste time kicking trees.”

Young, Fat Yong’s brother was once a platoon leader under Marshal Zhang, now a deputy police chief overseeing Qingfeng Street.

With that backing, Fat Yong stood a head above the rest at the yard.

Seeing him deny it, the sharp-eyed guard scratched his head. “Odd, the tree was fine this morning.”

He turned to Xiangzi. “Xiangzi, you were the last to leave—did you kick it?”

Xiangzi’s heart skipped, but he said nothing, lifting his tea bowl and gulping it down.

Fat Yong scoffed. “Him? He hasn’t even broken the vitality barrier. That kind of strength?”

His words were blunt, not aimed to target Xiangzi.

After all, Fat Yong only showed respect to Liu Tang, calling him “Brother Tang.”

The other guards joined in, laughing.

Yeah, a guy who hasn’t broken the vitality barrier—where’d he get that power?

An older guard, Li Jie, growled, “Can’t mutton shut your mouths?”

The laughter died down.

Li Jie, called “Uncle Jie,” was the east building’s veteran, trusted most by Liu Tang.

Liu Tang, a martial obsessive, spent most of his time training, leaving daily affairs to Uncle Jie despite his title as head guard.

With Uncle Jie speaking, no one dared mock Xiangzi further.

Xiangzi cupped his hands to Uncle Jie, grinning sheepishly and stuffing another bun in his mouth.

A bit of teasing? No big deal.

This mutton-stuffed bun was worlds tastier than the second-class yard’s coarse cornbread!