The sun hung high, its early summer rays carrying a touch of scorching heat.

Half an hour had passed, and though the tall newcomer’s movements still seemed clumsy, his ability to endure the Dragon Bone Tiger Tendon Art for so long left everyone stunned.

This technique was notorious for grinding down muscles and tendons. For an ordinary apprentice to hold out for the time it takes an incense stick to burn was already impressive.

Yet this Li Xiang, this towering figure, stood like he was forged from iron. How could he last this long?

It wasn’t just a matter of abundant blood energy—clearly, his muscles and tendons were far stronger than those of an average martial artist!

Even more baffling was that his dantian’s blood energy was nearly depleted, yet his movements remained flawlessly smooth, without the slightest hint of error.

It was almost like the steel machines in the embassy district!

This bizarre spectacle was why Old Liu had stopped Zhao Mu, who had intended to interrupt earlier.

Sunlight filtered through the locust tree, casting dappled shadows. In the shade, a glint of something different flickered in the old martial artist’s weary eyes.

At some point, he had pulled over a pearwood chair. His face showed no emotion, but his heart churned like a stormy sea.

Years ago, wasn’t it the Wan family’s heir who, with this same brute method, mastered the Dragon Bone Tiger Tendon Art in the time it took an incense stick to burn?

Could Baolin Martial Hall be on the verge of producing another martial prodigy?

But the Wan family hailed from the embassy district, their bloodline exceptional. Where did this big guy come from?

Beads of sweat, large as beans, dripped from Xiangzi’s forehead.

Truth be told, for Xiangzi, practicing the Dragon Bone Tiger Tendon Art was easier than the Iron Shirt Thirteen Tensions he’d trained before.

At least the “blood energy grinding bones” that other apprentices groaned about came effortlessly to him.

Compared to the agony at the Li family mine, where swallowing blood marrow felt like his organs were splitting apart, the hardship of the Dragon Bone Tiger Tendon Art was nothing.

There was just one problem—this crude “flood irrigation” method of seeking the vital gates of the limbs consumed too much blood energy.

Even with his three pillars of blood energy, he couldn’t sustain it.

At this moment, Xiangzi was holding on by sheer willpower.

Since leaving the Li family mine, he hadn’t felt this kind of utter blood energy depletion in a long time.

Aching, exhausted—his body felt like rusted steel.

Yet his mind was entirely focused on the golden characters flashing in his head:

[Four-Square Horse Stance +3]

[Four-Square Horse Stance +3]

Perhaps the Dragon Bone Tiger Tendon Art was too profound, or maybe his blood energy was drained too fiercely, but his Four-Square Horse Stance was progressing faster than usual.

Just a little more.

Just a little more, and he could integrate the Dragon Bone Tiger Tendon Art into his panel.

Sweat blurred his vision, stinging his eyes like fire as it mixed with dust.

He paid it no mind.

Suddenly, his body stiffened slightly.

The onlookers let out a collective sigh, and even Old Liu’s weary eyes flashed with a trace of regret imperceptible to others.

Martial arts were like climbing a peak—one lapse in momentum, and regaining it was near impossible.

What a pity, Old Liu thought. So close, yet falling short.

He stood slowly, about to offer a few words of advice, when his body froze.

Staring at the tall figure’s movements, his face filled with disbelief.

—

It worked!

A line of golden text flashed before Xiangzi’s eyes: [Four-Square Horse Stance Perfected!]

After more than half a year of grueling stance training and over a week of intense practice, he had finally reached perfection!

In that instant, his depleted dantian seemed to bloom with spring rain, blood energy surging forth.

His three pillars of blood energy spun like dragons, faster and faster, until they intertwined tightly, coalescing into a crystalline, radiant crimson—like a ruby pillar.

A torrential aura enveloped Xiangzi.

With a single thought, his blood energy surged toward his limbs and bones!

Spine like a dragon!

A low hum reverberated from his spine.

Spine like a dragon, energy piercing the three gates!

The Dragon Bone Tiger Tendon Art—he had entered its threshold!

Immediately, another line of text floated in his mind:

[Dragon Bone Tiger Tendon Art]

[Progress: 1/100 (Entry)]

Xiangzi exhaled in relief, his body utterly drained, and he staggered as he withdrew from his stance.

Then, he froze.

Within a few yards around him, a crowd had gathered, including several black-robed disciples who had come to watch the spectacle.

At that moment, everyone’s eyes held a trace of unconcealed astonishment.

Comprehending the Dragon Bone Tiger Tendon Art in a single day—Baolin Martial Hall hadn’t seen such a feat in years.

The last to achieve it was the Wan family heir, famed as a human-shaped demon beast.

—

Perhaps shaken by the new apprentice’s display, the first-class apprentices trained with unusual vigor that afternoon.

Even the usual complaints about the ash-throwing drill were absent.

Seeing the newcomer handle the ash with such ease, the others pushed their blood energy to the limit, determined to compete.

But when it came to “ash endurance,” who could outlast Xiangzi, tempered by years in the mines?

Thus, in the afternoon, Xiangzi was the only one standing steady in the ash.

Notably, the chubby Chen Jiashang performed admirably. Though he hadn’t grasped the Dragon Bone Tiger Tendon Art, he lasted until the third-to-last before collapsing in the ash.

Second only to Xiangzi was, naturally, Qi Ruiliang, whom Zhao Mu had called out to demonstrate earlier.

After this, no one dared underestimate the tall newcomer.

Senior Brother Liu, who had pulled strings to get Xiangzi admitted, beamed so widely his wrinkles seemed to bloom.

The old martial artist didn’t reward Xiangzi publicly. Instead, he quietly instructed Zhao Mu to deliver an extra packet of Blood Energy Broth after training—this kid’s blood energy is too strong; the weekly ration for first-class apprentices won’t be enough.

A tree that stands out in the forest will be battered by the wind. A talent like this needed careful nurturing, not excessive spotlight.

With this, Old Liu felt a surge of confidence about the major event six months away.

—

In his room, under the faucet, Xiangzi took a refreshing bath.

Too bad there’s no showerhead here, he thought, missing that tingling, satisfying sting.

In the mirror, his complexion seemed fairer—the skin-grinding and bone-tempering techniques really do feel like the rebirth described in those xianxia novels from my past life.

If martial arts reach their peak, could I soar through the clouds?

Xiangzi chuckled to himself, slipping into a grey robe prepared by the servants. Embroidered with a small golden knife, it marked him as a first-class apprentice.

The fabric was soft, thin, and breathable—nothing like the coarse grey robes that wrinkled with sweat.

Rumor had it the first-class apprentice robes were woven from flax grown near the Chen family mine outside the city. Not a mystical plant, but worth dozens of times more than ordinary linen.

Wiping his face, Xiangzi felt invigorated.

Suddenly, a knock came at the door.

Opening it, he was met with a refined, smiling face.

“Brother Li, apologies for the intrusion,” said Qi Ruiliang. “Since it’s your first day in the first-class courtyard, a few of us thought to host a feast in the kitchen to welcome you.”