Time galloped on, and the days flowed by like water.
In the blink of an eye, another three days had passed.
As dawn broke over Datong Square, the faint aroma of meat began to drift from Yang Jing's room.
The horse meat in the clay pot was stewed until it was fall-apart tender. He paired it with the hot broth, heartily devouring more than a pound of it. A familiar warmth slowly spread from his stomach, soothing his muscles and bones and adding some warmth to the cool morning.
After cleaning his bowl and chopsticks, he pocketed his only two hundred large copper coins and left, heading for Sun's Martial Arts Hall in Chengping Square.
The bluestone flagstones were slick with morning dew, feeling slightly sticky beneath his feet, but his mind was already racing.
'Even if I'm frugal, this bit of money won't last more than five days.'
He was keenly aware that the silver coins for his training came from his family tightening their belts, sacrificing their own meals.
The expectations of his entire family rested on his shoulders—a burden far heavier than any weight he lifted during his training.
The silver he had gotten from Feng Lei was long since spent, with not a single coin left.
If this continued, his family would soon be unable to support his training. He wouldn't even be able to afford horse meat, and his progress would slow considerably.
His innate aptitude was already poor, making his progress slower than the other disciples. If he fell even further behind...
'I have to find a way to earn some silver coins. My future training, the regular fees for the Martial Arts Hall... it all costs money.'
Yang Jing unconsciously clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white.
His heart sank at the thought.
Fortunately, however, he had nearly perfected the introductory stage of the Mountain-Shattering Fist. He was only a paper-thin barrier away from generating true force and breaking through to the Mingjin Realm.
'Maybe... I can break through to the Mingjin Realm today,' Yang Jing thought, a thrill of excitement running through him.
Once he broke through to the Mingjin Realm, he would become a formal disciple of Hall Master Sun Yong. The initiation fee would be drastically reduced, saving him a significant amount of silver coins.
Furthermore, upon reaching the Mingjin Realm, he would be considered a "master" in Yuhe County.
Many prominent families, shops, and Escort Agencies would extend offers, inviting disciples from the Martial Arts Hall to take up retainer positions—a kind of part-time work.
The income from a retainer position for a Mingjin master was substantial. At the very least, Yang Jing would no longer have to ask his starving family for money.
He quickened his pace, walking along Vermilion Bird Avenue until he reached Chengping Square, located near the Inner City.
In the distance, the silhouette of Sun's Martial Arts Hall grew steadily clearer, the bronze bells on its eaves tinkling softly in the wind.
"It all comes down to today!"
Yang Jing muttered to himself, his gaze as sharp as a blade.
Reaching the main gate of Sun's Martial Arts Hall, Yang Jing gave it a push, and it swung open with a CREAK.
Yang Jing stepped inside.
The front courtyard was still and quiet. A thin layer of frost coated the bluestone pavers, and the only sound was the occasional tinkle of the bronze bells on the eaves, stirred by the morning breeze.
Without pausing, Yang Jing stripped off his shirt, revealing a taut, muscular torso. He walked to the center of the yard, spread his arms, sank into a horse stance, and began lifting stone locks to temper his qi and blood.
His breathing shifted from rapid to slow and measured, each exhalation a soft whoosh of air. The energy from the horse meat he'd eaten transformed into waves of warmth that rose and spread through his body.
An hour later, his warm-up complete, Yang Jing sank his waist, gathered his breath, and assumed the opening stance of the Mountain-Shattering Fist.
The wind from his punches stirred the frost on the ground, his movements echoing with dull thuds in the empty yard. Every move was steady as a boulder, yet possessed a desperate, all-or-nothing ferocity.
As the sun climbed higher, casting its golden light over the walls, the other disciples of the Martial Arts Hall began to arrive.
They arrived in twos and threes—mostly young men, with only a handful of female disciples among them. All told, there were over thirty people.
Seeing Yang Jing already training in the yard, many were filled with admiration. A few of the newer disciples even called out respectfully, "Senior Brother Yang."
Hearing the new disciples' calls, Yang Jing's heart stirred.
When he first joined the Martial Arts Hall, he was just a greenhorn trailing behind others and calling them "Senior Brother." Now, without even noticing, he had become the "Senior Brother" his juniors looked up to.
Only he knew how much sweat and struggle was hidden behind that title.
The disciples spread out to practice, and the front yard slowly grew bustling with activity.
Yang Jing glanced at the crowd. Of the cohort of disciples who had joined the Martial Arts Hall around the same time as him, only two or three remained, still toiling away in a corner. The rest were long gone.
Hall Master Sun Yong's rule was impartial and absolute: any disciple who failed to break through to the Mingjin Realm within six months of entering the hall had to pack their bags and leave.
Today marked the beginning of his sixth month at the hall. In theory, he had only half a month left. In the eyes of many, he had yet to even make a single breakthrough attempt, so his chances of reaching the Mingjin Realm were nil. This was to be his last half-month at Sun's Martial Arts Hall.
He thought of his former peers who had left.
Some left because their families could no longer afford the fees. He remembered their parents coming to fetch them, baggage in hand, their eyes filled more with guilt than with reluctance.
Others had failed their breakthrough attempts—some twice, even three times—damaging their meridians. Staring at their own increasingly clumsy limbs, they knew they would never succeed in generating force and could only pack their things and leave, their eyes red with unshed tears.
Most of the disciples who left the Martial Arts Hall, it was said, returned to their villages to farm, working from sunrise to sunset. Some went to the docks, hauling cargo to make a living. Others became guards for wealthy families, surviving by catering to their masters' whims... The very thought of such a life made Yang Jing's chest feel tight.
He suddenly snapped his fist back and slammed it into a wooden training post, which answered with a dull THUD.
He took a deep breath and settled into his stance once more. This time, his punches carried the finality of one burning his bridges, leaving no path for retreat.
He absolutely refused to follow that path!
Fortunately, he was different.
At that moment, a line of text that only he could see materialized before his eyes—
[Mountain-Shattering Fist: Introductory (199/200)]