As dawn’s first light crept in, the first-class courtyard buzzed with apprentices wearing grimaces of strain. Spurred by Xiangzi’s example, the cold-faced instructor Zhao Mu had ramped up the training intensity.

Mornings were spent on the Iron Shirt Thirteen Tensions, afternoons on the Dragon Bone Tiger Tendon Art—first tempering skin and membrane, then forging muscles and bones. Such rigor would challenge even ranked outer disciples. After a full day, the apprentices felt as if they’d shed a layer of skin, their complaints filling the air.

Thanks to his mastery of the Four-Square Horse Stance, Xiangzi’s blood energy had surged to new heights, his three pillars now fused into a single, radiant column. The physical strain was nothing to him now.

“Your stance foundation is solid,” Zhao Mu said, hands clasped behind his back, observing Xiangzi’s movements. “But the Four-Square Stance is somewhat basic. If you can endure the Bone-Strengthening Broth tomorrow, you’ll enter the outer sect and receive Baolin Martial Hall’s Foundation-Building Stance. That should elevate your blood energy even further.”

Xiangzi’s heart leapt—new stance, stronger blood energy? The good stuff always comes later. But on the surface, he only nodded slightly, his form unwavering.

Zhao Mu gave a subtle nod of approval. In terms of skin, muscle, and bone techniques, this lad was exceptional. Both the Iron Shirt Thirteen Tensions and Dragon Bone Tiger Tendon Art had reached minor success—impressive even among outer disciples. Zhao Mu’s only concern was whether Xiangzi could withstand the spiritual turbulence of the medicinal power. Over the years, Baolin Martial Hall had seen no shortage of apprentices fall to this hurdle.

“Tonight, head to the medicinal bath area in the back courtyard and refine the Marrow-Washing Pill’s power,” Zhao Mu said gravely. “It’ll give you a better chance tomorrow.”

Xiangzi retracted his stance and nodded solemnly.

Their exchange sent ripples through the listening apprentices. Chen Jiashang, the chubby one, smirked faintly at the mention of the “medicinal bath.”

“Brother Xiang,” he said, clasping his fists, “I hear only half of those who face the Bone-Strengthening Broth’s power come through. But with your skin and bones, you should have no trouble. Allow me to wish you victory and a ninth-grade return tomorrow!”

Under the sun, the chubby boy’s smile was bright and earnest.

Xiangzi paused but, as the saying goes, you don’t strike a smiling face. He returned the gesture. “I’ll take your kind words, Brother Chen!”

Zhao Mu’s voice cut through again. “Enough chatter! Everyone, sink into your stances—we’re going another round!”

The courtyard erupted in groans once more.

—

After changing, Xiangzi strode out of his room and nearly bumped into a young man with a jade-like face.

“Brother Li, off to the medicinal bath area to refine that Marrow-Washing Pill?” It was Qi Ruiyang.

Xiangzi smiled, clasping his fists. “What brings Young Master Qi here today?”

“You picking up their teasing now?” Qi Ruiyang laughed, playfully punching Xiangzi’s chest, only to wince as his wrist throbbed. “Your skin’s tougher than demon beast hide. What a monster.”

After training together these past days, their bond had grown closer.

Xiangzi shook his head with a grin. “Just hoping I can endure the Bone-Strengthening Broth tomorrow.”

Qi Ruiyang’s expression turned serious as he pulled a small, gold-threaded leather pouch from his robes. “This was prepared for me by my family before I joined the hall.”

Xiangzi hesitated. “This is…? Master Liu said no other medicines before the Bone-Strengthening Broth.”

“What, think I’d sabotage you? A mere bowl of Bone-Strengthening Broth isn’t worth my effort,” Qi Ruiyang teased.

Xiangzi chuckled, clasping his fists. “Alright, I’m scared of you and that sharp tongue.”

Qi Ruiyang wasn’t wrong. With his Qi family background, few in the first-class courtyard could rival him. The Qi family of West City was renowned, rooted in the docks. Back when the Great Shun Dynasty’s banners still flew, West City was the domain of dock laborers—now called “dock workers” in this new era.

As the old Forty-Nine City saying went: First-class folk train fists in martial halls; second-class folk haul loads at the docks; third-class folk pull rickshaws at the yards. The “second-class folk” referred to the “Dock Gang”—or, as they called themselves, the Clear Gang.

The origin of “Clear” was lost to time, but the gang, built on master-disciple lineages and centered at the docks, had been the Great Shun Dynasty’s largest faction a century ago, spanning river and sea transport. Qi Ruiyang’s grandfather, Qi Dahui, ranked in the “Great” generation, was the current helmsman of the Clear Gang’s Forty-Nine City branch. As his third son, Qi Ruiyang’s status and martial talent made the Bone-Strengthening Broth a minor challenge.

“This is Foundation-Solidifying Powder,” Qi Ruiyang explained, pausing before continuing candidly. “It’s for after the Bone-Strengthening Broth, to stabilize skin and bones. If you can’t endure the broth’s power but your spirit holds, this powder might save half your life—though it’s not a sure thing.”

Xiangzi understood: the powder could offer a lifeline if the Bone-Strengthening Broth failed. This unassuming pouch was worth its weight in gold. He tucked it carefully into his robes and bowed deeply. “I owe you one, Brother Qi. If you ever need anything, just say the word.”

Smart men didn’t need empty platitudes. Qi Ruiyang’s smile widened as he nodded. “Then I wish you swift success tomorrow, Brother Li.”

—

After Xiangzi left, a close peer sidled up to Qi Ruiyang. “That guy might not even survive the Bone-Strengthening Broth tomorrow. Was it worth giving him something so valuable, Brother Qi?”

The peer glanced at Xiangzi’s retreating figure, envy flickering in his eyes. This nobody’s caught the eye of the Qi family’s young master.

Qi Ruiyang kept his faint smile, too lazy to explain to such a fool. If not for this peer’s distant relation to the Li family’s third young miss, he wouldn’t spare him a glance.

Coal in the snow versus flowers on brocade—which carries more weight? Betting early versus currying favor after the fact—which is wiser? Even an idiot could see it.

The Foundation-Solidifying Powder was precious, but if it secured the goodwill of a potential seventh-grade Membrane Condensation Realm genius, wasn’t that a bargain? With no backing, if Xiangzi became a ninth-grade martial artist, he’d likely take on martial hall assignments. The Qi family had long ties with Baolin Martial Hall. Recruiting him as a guest martial artist for the Clear Gang would be a major coup.

And if Xiangzi failed the Bone-Strengthening Broth? No loss. Young Master Qi didn’t mind parting with a single dose of Foundation-Solidifying Powder. Call it camaraderie.