...
While Qin Feng roamed the Star Sea in his dreams, Qin Dahai was wide awake.
After coming out of the bathroom, he had already regained his usual composure.
But his still-red eyes and the lingering smell of tobacco clinging to him proved that his earlier emotional outburst was no illusion.
He quietly cleared the dining table, washed the dishes, and put them back in the cabinet.
After finishing, he didn't go to bed, but instead walked out onto the narrow balcony.
He didn't turn on the light, letting himself melt into the night outside his window.
The city's dazzling neon lights carved shifting patterns of light and shadow across his sharp features.
He raised his wrist and lit up his old terminal.
He skillfully opened his contacts, his finger pressing down hard on a name labeled "Director Wu".
"BEEP... BEEP..."
After a few beeps, the call connected.
A holographic image of a portly, middle-aged man in silk pajamas materialized in the air, his face etched with the annoyance of being woken from a deep sleep.
"Who is it? It's the middle of the night! Are you trying to keep people from sleeping...?"
When the man saw the caller's face, his annoyance instantly vanished, replaced by a complex expression of surprise, confusion, and respect.
"Old Qin? Dahai? What's wrong? Why are you calling so late?" The man was Wu Daqiang, the director of the Alien Race corpse processing plant where Qin Dahai worked.
Qin Dahai's face was expressionless, his voice as steady as ever.
"Director Wu, I'm requesting a job transfer."
"A transfer?" Wu Daqiang froze for a moment, then frowned. "Old Qin, your current position might be tiring, but at least it's safe. I know you—your skills are top-notch, and everyone at the plant respects you. Why the sudden desire to transfer?"
Qin Dahai didn't beat around the bush and stated his purpose directly.
"I want to go to the giant beast dismemberment workshop."
"What?!"
Wu Daqiang's voice shot up as if he'd been stung. "Old Qin, are you insane?! Don't you know what that place is like? Just the day before yesterday, they dragged in the carcass of a Level 3 Alien Species, a 'Crystal Poison Scorpion.' Its poison gland accidentally ruptured, and even with three layers of protective gear, you'd get your skin peeled off! That place is for young guys risking their necks, and you..."
Wu Daqiang's gaze subconsciously fell on Qin Dahai's empty left sleeve, and the rest of his words died in his throat.
He sighed, his tone softening. "Dahai, I know you need money, but you don't have to risk your life for it. I can guarantee you'll have your current job until you retire."
Qin Dahai's gaze pierced through the holographic image like two sharp daggers, filled with unquestionable resolve.
He said only twelve words.
"My son's illness is cured. He can practice martial arts now."
Those words struck Wu Daqiang's heart like a heavy hammer.
He opened his mouth, but all his arguments were stuck in his throat.
Qin Dahai's voice suddenly became deep and powerful.
"Director Wu, I lost this arm fighting a living Alien Race on the battlefield, not to some dead beast in a workshop. I know how to handle them, and I know how to keep the arm I have left."
"First thing tomorrow morning, I will go to the plant and submit a formal application."
BEEP BEEP BEEP—
The projection vanished. Qin Dahai sat down quietly and began to count on his fingers, the fire in his eyes brighter than any star in the night sky.
The salary in the giant beast dismemberment workshop was 2.5 times that of a regular position, meaning he could earn twenty-five thousand a month.
'A Subspace Network Pass... two hundred thousand Imperial Coins.'
'High-energy nutritional meals to ensure a basic supply of Spiritual Energy... five thousand a month.'
'A beginner's Spiritual Energy Potion is ten thousand... one a month...'
'Once his vitality index reaches 1.0 and he becomes a First-level Martial Artist, he'll need two beginner's Spiritual Energy Potions a month.'
Qin Dahai calculated the enormous expenses Qin Feng would likely need after getting into a Martial Arts High School, smoking one cigarette after another.
The glowing tip of his cigarette flickered on and off, illuminating his resolute face.
-----------------
The first ray of dawn pierced through the gaps between the dense buildings of the "Silver Gull" community, shining into Qin Feng's room.
He opened his eyes and sat up in bed.
There was none of the expected muscle soreness, nor the bone-deep fatigue that followed extreme training.
On the contrary, his body felt as light as a feather, and every fiber of his being was filled with a revitalized energy.
Every breath was deep and powerful, as if he could draw all the free-floating Spiritual Energy from the surrounding air into his lungs and make it his own.
A night of peaceful sleep had not only completely repaired all the strain from the previous day's high-intensity training, but it had also acted as a catalyst, transforming all his sweat and effort into tangible growth.
He raised his wrist and lit up his personal terminal.
On the pale blue screen, the familiar string of numbers had changed again.
[Vitality Index: 0.63]
It had increased by 0.05 overnight.
That amount was equivalent to the total gains from several months of arduous training back when he was sick.
Qin Feng stood up and stretched. A series of crisp cracks echoed from his joints, as dense and rapid as popping corn.
He could clearly sense that his strength, speed, and reaction time had all improved, however slightly.
The root of his illness was gone.
He was back to his old self, and his absorption efficiency for Spiritual Energy was incredibly high.
The living room was empty. His father, Qin Dahai, had already left for work.
But on the dining table sat a steaming hot breakfast—two energy bars, a bowl of thick rice porridge, and a glass of warm milk.
Qin Feng sat down and wolfed down the breakfast in an instant.
'Yesterday's arduous training was "damage," the sowing of seeds,' he realized.
'And the sleep and nutritional supplements at night are the "recovery" and "improvement"—the harvest.'
This trinity of Martial Dao cultivation—training, recovery, and nutrition—were all interlinked and indispensable. You had to eat a lot and rest a lot.
After finishing breakfast, he wasted no time. He changed into his training clothes, left home, and took the maglev bus to the Extreme Martial Arts Hall in the No.3 Industrial Zone once again.
It was still early when he arrived at the Martial Arts Hall, and the training hall wasn't very crowded yet.
Qin Feng walked to the front desk and said to the staff member on duty, "Hello, I'm here to pay the fee for the regular class."
"Okay, student Qin Feng, is that right? The fee is three thousand Imperial Coins."
Qin Feng brought up his personal terminal and paid with the three thousand his father had transferred to his account the previous night.
[Payment successful.]
After that, he walked into the training area and immediately spotted a familiar, skinny figure.
Liu Xiaoli was already there, meticulously practicing the opening stance of the "Empire's Basic Body Refining Technique" by himself in a corner.
Tiny beads of sweat had already formed on his forehead, and his face was a little pale. He had clearly woken up very early and had been practicing for a while.
"Morning."
Qin Feng walked over and greeted him.
Liu Xiaoli stopped his movements. Seeing it was Qin Feng, he gave a shy smile. "You're here. Morning."
He wiped his sweat and went back to his training, trying his best to make every movement perfect. It was clear, however, that his body was still struggling, his qi and blood circulation far from being as smooth as a normal person's.
Qin Feng nodded, walked to the side, and began to warm up as well.
'If I hadn't chosen the ten-thousand-coin guidance, if Sun Chan Hall hadn't cured the root of my illness with his Ten-Complete Hand, I'd probably be just like Liu Xiaoli right now—suffering and struggling desperately without seeing any real results for my efforts.'