The sun blazed brightly, not a cloud in the sky.

For three days, the Buddha Light Festival brought rare clear skies to Forty-Nine City.

Not only did the noble sons and daughters dress up finely, but even common folk donned their best clothes, taking their families to stroll through East City and West City.

After all, starting tomorrow, Forty-Nine City would no longer be peaceful.

Tomorrow was Marshal Zhang’s day to open the city gates and distribute grain, which also meant the southern district would soon be swarmed with refugees.

East City, West City, and Central City would, as usual, seal their gates for a month.

Outside the southern city gates, porridge stalls were already neatly set up, awaiting those fortunate enough to draw the Police Chief’s lottery.

In past years, only the strong and sturdy men qualified for the lottery.

But this year, Marshal Zhang showed mercy, allowing everyone to draw lots. He even declared he’d select five hundred children from the refugees to form a “Five Hundred Arhats” spectacle, praying for heaven’s favor so his old mother could enjoy a few more years of peace.

Such benevolence—truly a living Buddha reborn.

Who in Forty-Nine City wouldn’t raise a thumb in praise of Marshal Zhang?

Besides the festival’s excitement, two matters stirred unease in the city these past few days.

First, that elusive “King Chuang” was said to have slipped into the city with a few trusted men.

This figure, a legend among the three strongholds and nine territories, might just cause some trouble.

Second, that rickshaw puller from the southern city, who survived swallowing the five-colored gold ore, had now set his sights on Ma Liu Rickshaw Yard. Rumor had it Ma Liu’s key henchmen had all died mysteriously in their homes.

These two matters buzzed like flies, lodging in the throats of Forty-Nine City’s people.

A fine Buddha Light Festival, ruined by this bandit chief and that rickshaw puller!

The Marshal’s Mansion issued a strict order: before the grain distribution began, both King Chuang and that rickshaw puller must be caught.

For a time, Forty-Nine City was tense with whispers and shadows.

Xiangzi hadn’t left the yard for three days, training tirelessly with Uncle Jie in the practice room.

Mornings were for stance training, afternoons for spear techniques.

As for Thunder-Rushing Fist and Wind-Chasing Kick, Xiangzi had already mastered them to perfection.

In the practice room, two figures moved like phantoms, clashing back and forth.

Short spear against long spear, their strikes intertwined like two giant pythons locked in combat.

The two spears, one long, one short, danced through the steaming air, shifting from arcs to sudden straight thrusts with the wielders’ wrist flicks.

The spear wind howled as the two tangled in battle.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The two figures finally halted.

Xiangzi gripped his short spear, Uncle Jie lowered his long spear, both eyeing the near-identical white chalk marks on each other’s chests, sharing a grin.

They’d long swapped iron spearheads for wooden ones dipped in chalk.

A draw.

Xiangzi steadied his breath, his mind scanning inward.

[Ten Forms of Five Tigers Gate-Breaking Spear]

[Progress: 1/1500 (Mastery Achieved)]

Sparring with a master truly sped progress.

Three full days of training with Uncle Jie, and the [Ten Forms of Five Tigers Gate-Breaking Spear] had finally reached mastery today!

But after half a day’s practice, why hadn’t his proficiency risen further?

“Xiangzi, if you weren’t deliberately suppressing your qi and blood, I’d have lost to you long ago,” Uncle Jie said, flicking the chalk dust from his chest. He eyed the tall, barely sweating figure before him, recalling the dragon-like grace of that short spear. “These spear techniques—I’ve got nothing left to teach you.”

“Pity I can’t pass on the last three moves. My late father was clear: this spear art can only be taught to the Li family!”

Xiangzi chuckled, teasing, “Uncle Jie, you’re cooped up in this little practice room every day—what girl would ever notice you? Afraid you’ll be a bachelor forever. Who’ll inherit your spear art then?”

Uncle Jie laughed despite himself, planting his long spear into the ground. “You punk! You think I, Li Jie, can’t find a wife? They’d be lining up from here to Yongchang Gate! Look at me—you think you can compare?”

“But you, kid, all dark and rough—what refined young lady would ever look twice?”

The two locked eyes and burst into laughter.

Uncle Jie wasn’t wrong. He was indeed a fine-looking man, still dashing despite his middle age. In his youth, he might’ve outshone even the young master of Debao Rickshaw Yard.

Old Tang once mentioned Uncle Jie had a sweetheart long ago, but for some reason, it didn’t last.

Whenever it came up, Uncle Jie fell silent.

Everyone has their unforgettable past, and Xiangzi knew better than to pry.

“But you, kid, you learn damn fast. Show those spear moves outside, and who’d believe you’ve only trained for less than three months?” Uncle Jie’s eyes held a mix of pride and a trace of melancholy. “As the saying goes: a year for the saber, a month for the staff, a lifetime for the spear. But on you, that saying’s useless.”

Hard to imagine this big guy mastered his spear techniques in just two months.

When Uncle Jie was young, two months wasn’t even enough to perfect a single thrust!

Such talent could only be called stunning brilliance.

“Then I’ll just say my master’s Uncle Jie from Harmony Rickshaw Yard. Want to learn the spear? Go find him,” Xiangzi said, leaning lazily against the wall. “He’s got three secret moves, only for his own son. If some lucky guy kneels and calls him Father, maybe Uncle Jie’ll teach the whole set in a good mood.”

“That way, Uncle Jie, you won’t need a wife—just adopt a bunch of sons. Saves trouble, right?”

Only in front of this middle-aged martial artist could Xiangzi show a bit of youthful cheek.

Uncle Jie roared with laughter.

He let out a long breath, still grinning, but set down his spear and suddenly asked, “Xiangzi, have you thought about what Old Tang said the other day?”

Xiangzi paused.

Uncle Jie was referring to that day outside Deyun Tower, when Liu Tang suggested recommending Xiangzi as an apprentice at Baolin Martial Hall.

As an outer disciple raised in Baolin Martial Hall, Liu Tang had the clout to make it happen.

But Xiangzi gave a wry smile. “Uncle Jie, I know you and Old Tang mean well. I’d be a fool not to appreciate Old Tang’s support.”

“But… my pockets are empty.”

Xiangzi spoke plainly—who in Forty-Nine City wouldn’t want to join a martial hall?

But besides a recommendation, the apprentice trials cost nearly two hundred silver dollars.

It’d take Xiangzi over a year to save that much, and by then, nearing twenty, his skin and bones would be set. What martial hall would take him then?

Uncle Jie smiled. “A bit of money’s nothing. I’ve saved some over the years at the yard. If you really want to go, I’ll help you out.”

Xiangzi’s heart warmed, but his words shifted. “Uncle Jie, you really planning to stay a bachelor forever?”

Knowing this would be the answer, Uncle Jie sighed inwardly but flashed a sly grin. “Learned a few moves and now you’re disrespecting your master?”

“Take this!” He grabbed his spear. “I’ll poke you dead, you punk!”

Xiangzi jumped, snatching his short spear. “Ambush! No martial honor!”

In the practice room, amid hearty laughter, the sharp sound of clashing spears rang out again.