Upon hearing Master Zhao’s command to “cease practice,” the apprentices let out expressions of immense relief.

But at that moment, two young servants entered the courtyard from outside, carrying a basket of dusty, grayish objects.

The apprentices exchanged glances, eyeing Zhao Mu’s cold face, a trace of unease creeping into their hearts.

Zhao Mu paused, lifting the basket with a single motion. “The first stage of Tension Force is to learn to constrict your pores with blood energy. Everyone, brace yourselves.”

With a slap of his palm on the basket, a cloud of dark gray powder scattered across the courtyard, carried by the force of his energy.

In an instant, nearly everyone in the courtyard froze.

Xiangzi was startled—this is mineral ash… the ash of five-colored ore!

“Tighten your skin membrane! Don’t let the ash seep into your body!” Zhao Mu’s voice was low and steady. “Now, channel your stance and use your blood energy to withstand this five-colored ore powder!”

No one had expected this trial for the apprentices to include such a twist. Even those who had practiced Iron Shirt Thirteen Tensions decently were caught off guard, their skin membranes unable to close in time.

No matter who it was, anyone touched by the ash grimaced in pain.

In moments, the apprentices’ wails echoed one after another.

Zhao Mu seemed deaf to it all, standing with his hands behind his back, weaving through the group, constantly reminding them of the breathing techniques for Iron Shirt Thirteen Tensions.

Yet, a flicker of reluctance passed through Zhao Mu’s eyes.

Truth be told, these apprentices had only been exposed to Iron Shirt Thirteen Tensions for a single day, and now they were being forced to endure the torment of this mineral ash—a harsh demand.

But time was pressing. The old hall master’s parting words still rang in his ears—how could Zhao Mu dare slack off?

If they couldn’t even withstand this ash, how would they survive entering the Great Green Ridge in half a year?

Wouldn’t that be walking straight into death?

With that thought, Zhao Mu waved his hand, and a surge of energy stirred up another wave of dark gray ash.

The wails in the courtyard grew deafening. Several apprentices couldn’t hold on, collapsing on the spot, only to be dragged out by servants wearing sanitary masks.

Zhao Mu sighed inwardly, his face still a mask of icy indifference. If you don’t shed sweat in training, you’ll shed blood when it counts.

His gaze fell on the chubby Chen Jia, and he nodded slightly.

As expected of an A-grade apprentice who endured the ore slag during the blood energy test, Chen Jia was handling the ash well, still standing firm in his stance—a seedling with a resilient spirit.

But when Zhao Mu’s eyes landed on the towering figure in the group, he froze.

This giant was clumsily executing Iron Shirt Thirteen Tensions, yet his expression remained calm, even showing enough spare energy to move through his stance steps.

His face showed not a trace of pain, and bathed in the swirling ash, he seemed almost… at ease?

Among the grimacing, groaning apprentices, this figure, covered head to toe in ash like a lump of charcoal, stood out glaringly.

Zhao Mu’s lips twitched slightly. Could there really be such a freak in this world who can endure the torment of five-colored ore?

A sudden realization struck him. Years ago, the martial hall had seen such prodigies.

Or rather, geniuses.

Those who could withstand the five-colored ore’s effects were often born “pill vessels”—capable of enduring beast meat or elixirs refined from five-colored ore far better than ordinary martial artists.

Take, for example, Senior Brother Wan, renowned in Forty-Nine City for his transcendent archery. He was one such case.

As an outer disciple, Zhao Mu knew more about Senior Brother Wan. Beyond his godlike archery, what was truly terrifying was his innate physique.

He was practically a beast in human form. Starting martial training in his teens, he was molded into an eighth-rank martial artist by the Wan family in just a few years, fed by elixirs!

Such speed was unheard of, rivaling even Senior Brother Lin, who had stunned all of Forty-Nine City with his prodigious talent upon his debut.

But Senior Brother Lin’s cultivation relied more on an unshakably solid stance foundation and an inner fist technique even the old hall master couldn’t stop praising.

After all, who could normally withstand such potent elixirs?

The brothers at the Hundred Herbs Academy practically wanted to study Senior Brother Wan’s muscles and skin every day.

At this thought, a strange expression crossed Zhao Mu’s face. Could this giant… be like Senior Brother Wan, born with a “martial bone body” suited for elixirs?

If so, his age or lack of talent wouldn’t matter at all!

To endure such elixirs was the greatest talent of all.

And for the perilous task half a year from now, they needed a disciple who could withstand the five-colored ore’s torment.

The sun climbed high, its scorching rays causing sweat to seep from the apprentices, mixing with the ash.

The few still standing in the courtyard looked like gray statues.

Those dragged outside gazed at the scene with awe.

Jiang Wangshui, pale but with a hint of pride, had lasted nearly half an hour before collapsing—a performance better than most.

But when his eyes landed on the courtyard, that pride vanished.

Only three remained.

At the forefront was the dark-faced youth who’d earned a B-grade in the blood energy test. But now, his body trembled like a sieve, his eyes dazed, barely able to execute half of Iron Shirt Thirteen Tensions.

Anyone could see this boy, Xu Xiaoliu, was holding on by sheer willpower.

Zhao Mu noticed Xu Xiaoliu’s struggle. In a flash, he darted several yards, grabbed the boy by the wrist, and carried him aside.

“Foolish kid, you can’t just brute-force this ash. Keep pushing, and you’ll damage your martial foundation—too late for regrets then,” Zhao Mu said coldly, though his tone softened, moved by the boy’s tenacity.

But Xu Xiaoliu couldn’t hear—he’d already fainted.

Nearby servants, prepared, splashed warm water on him to wash off the ash.

After a long while, Xu Xiaoliu stirred awake.

The moment he opened his eyes, his dark face flushed with shame before he could even sit up.

Only Chen Jia, the chubby boy, and Xiangzi, the giant, remained in the courtyard.

Xiangzi, naturally, looked at ease. Truth be told, since he stopped running the ore routes, this was the first time he’d smelled that familiar scent.

And the golden text flashing in his mind made it even more satisfying:

[Four-Square Horse Stance +4]

[Four-Square Horse Stance +4]

With the ash tempering his blood energy, his Four-Square Horse Stance

progressed faster, just like when he first ran the ore routes.

In just over an hour, he’d gained over ten proficiency points!

My goodness, if I could train like this every day, wouldn’t I perfect Four-Square Horse Stance in just over a week?

Learning from the blood energy test, he held nothing back this time.

Master Lin had once said the path of martial arts was fraught with challenges, like thousands of soldiers fighting for a single bridge.

One step behind, and you’d fall behind forever.

Already disadvantaged by age, Xiangzi couldn’t afford to miss this chance. Wouldn’t that be foolish?

His only goal now was to seize the first-class apprentice qualification and secure that bowl of bone-tempering broth.

This opportunity at the martial hall was earned by Uncle Jie and Wen San with their lives.

His old brothers… they were still waiting for him to avenge them.

How could Xiangzi lose?

As time passed, the sun began to tilt westward, yet the courtyard still held these two.

Everyone could see: the chubby Chen Jia relied on his newly learned Iron Shirt Thirteen Tensions to block the ash, while Xiangzi endured with his extraordinarily robust blood energy.

One excelled in natural talent, the other in solid stance work—each had their strengths.

Eventually, Chen Jia’s body began to tremble. Despite his “abundant blood energy,” lasting this long was no small feat.

Two servants with sanitary masks, now wiser, rushed in from outside, swiftly carrying Chen Jia out.

Only then did Xiangzi cease his stance.

Zhao Mu’s lips curved into a faint smile as he nodded.

But in a blink, his icy demeanor returned. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed a small pouch and said coldly, “Per Senior Brother Liu’s rules, the best performer in today’s first lesson gets a reward.”

“This is ‘Skin-Tempering Powder.’ It’s no match for ‘Skin-Grinding Pill,’ but it’s decent enough.”

Xiangzi froze, then caught the pouch, respectfully clasping his fists toward the young outer disciple. “Thank you, Master Zhao!”

“Martial hall rules—no need to thank me,” Zhao Mu said, a barely perceptible smile tugging at his lips.

He paused, then turned back, his voice cold. “Today’s lesson ends here. You, big guy, come with me!”

And so, under the awe-filled gazes of the apprentices, Xiangzi followed Zhao Mu out of the courtyard with a calm expression.

Just then, Chen Jia, the chubby boy, struggled to sit up, having regained some strength.

Sunlight filtered through the tall sycamore leaves, casting dappled light on his face.

His small eyes narrowed slightly, hiding his thoughts.

In the shifting light and shadow, dark patches covered his face.