Bright Force? Xiangzi stood frozen. He remembered Liu Tang, at twenty-five, smug after grasping Bright Force at Harmony Rickshaw Yard, dragging him and Uncle Jie to Righteous Virtue House for a feast the next day. Their laughter and clinking cups felt like yesterday—before he and the rickshaw brothers took the doomed path to the Li family mines.

Ninth grade? Uncle Jie’s lifelong dream, something a third-class rickshaw puller like Xiangzi never dared imagine. Now, it was real.

Yet his heart felt hollow. If I’d had this strength back at the mines… would things have ended differently? A bitter smile crept across his lips.

Amid the crowd’s shock, this prodigy who stunned them all showed no joy, only a calm like still water. He hunched slightly and walked out of the arena.

—

As he emerged, Zhao Mu waited outside, his face anxious. “Li Xiang… you did it?” His voice carried disbelief.

Xiangzi nodded gently at the senior who’d guided him for over a month. Zhao Mu exhaled, a grin spreading. “Congratulations! From today, I’ll call you Junior Brother Li!”

Xiangzi shook his head, smiling. “Master Zhao, just call me Xiangzi.”

“Look at you, still a pauper at heart even after ninth grade,” Zhao Mu laughed, his worries gone. “Fine, Xiangzi, come with me to the Martial Performance Courtyard. Let’s show you off—you’re the first ninth-grader I’ve trained!”

Humming cheerfully, Zhao Mu pulled Xiangzi along. Xiangzi smiled and followed.

—

“Hey, Senior Brother Zhang, this is Xiangzi, our new junior brother who just hit ninth grade today. Brought him to pay respects!”

“It’s not my teaching—he’s got talent and a solid foundation. Heard he grasped Bright Force right after reaching ninth grade!”

“Hahaha, well said! If this kid hits ninth-grade peak, I’ll recommend him for the Four Seas Courtyard. Don’t be stingy then, Senior Brother Zhang—toss in an extra technique!”

“Junior Brother Li, don’t rush off! Come, look—a fresh ninth-grade martial artist, my apprentice this term!”

Still in his gray apprentice robe, Xiangzi trailed Zhao Mu through the outer sect courtyards, clasping fists and greeting all. He relished it, surprised by Zhao Mu’s childlike enthusiasm beneath his cold exterior.

At the Hundred Herbs Courtyard gate, they ran into a fuming purple-robed old man. Spotting Xiangzi, the old man’s anger flared. He shouted, slamming the bronze gate shut. “Mark this kid! If he comes to buy medicine, charge him thirty percent more! And no Miscellaneous Courtyard brats in my courtyard from now on!”

Xiangzi and Zhao Mu exchanged glances. Around the corner, a hunched old martial artist emerged, chuckling. “Old Zhang’s steaming. Don’t cross him now.”

They clasped fists. “Master Liu!” “Courtyard Master Liu!”

Liu waved them off. “You’ve made the rounds, eh? Zhao Mu’s not just showing you off for face, kid. This hall’s a tangled web. You’ve got talent but no backing—things get tricky without connections. Zhao Mu’s young, gifted, and already grasped Bright Force. He’s a rising star in the outer sect and Martial Performance Courtyard, handpicked by the old hall master for this trial. Ride his coattails, and you’ll have some clout.”

His bluntness made Xiangzi laugh and wince. So that’s why Zhao Mu paraded me around? He’d oversimplified it. He bowed deeply. “Thank you, Master Liu, for your care.”

“No need for theatrics. By old rules, I’m half your mentor, so it’s my duty,” Liu grinned. “Besides, you won me that Spirit Essence Fruit from Old Zhang today. Looks like I owe you!”

His candor left Xiangzi at a loss for words. Liu tossed him a jade token. “Outer disciple token. Let Zhao Mu take you to pick a stance technique and an outer martial skill. He’ll guide you. Miscellaneous Courtyard’s set—you’ll have a room in the outer sect tonight. Your stuff from the first-class courtyard’s already moved.”

So fast? Xiangzi was stunned. He didn’t know a Miscellaneous Courtyard master’s orders moved mountains. Even now, errand boys were hustling to set up his new quarters.

“Oh, and per rules, in a week, you’ll pick an assignment—six months to a year as a guest martial artist. Gain experience, earn merits, and some coin. The hall’s stipend won’t cover the tonics a rootless kid like you needs.”

Assignment? It was new to Xiangzi. Seeing his confusion, Liu scoffed. “Never seen the world, eh? Pick your techniques, let Zhao Mu teach you. Assignments are tricky—no one can guide you there; you’ll figure it out yourself. No rush, you’ve got a week.”

Liu sauntered off, hands clasped, unusually cheerful—likely thanks to that Spirit Essence Fruit.

“Come, Xiangzi, let’s get your techniques,” Zhao Mu said, smiling.

“No need to check on the first-class apprentices?” Xiangzi asked.

“What for? They’ll train this afternoon,” Zhao Mu replied. “And per hall rules, don’t call me Master anymore!”

Xiangzi paused, then grinned at the mock-cold face. “Alright, Senior Brother Zhao.”

Zhao Mu laughed, slinging an arm around Xiangzi’s shoulders, heading for the outer sect courtyard.

—

Morning saw Xiangzi enter as an apprentice; hours later, he returned a ninth-grade outer disciple. The outer sect bustled with black robes, occasional yellow ones standing out. A gray-robed giant like Xiangzi drew eyes.

An outer disciple who’d guarded the arena earlier froze, then approached with a grin, chatting warmly, even deferentially. The oddity drew more attention. The hall kept no secrets, especially about the ninth-grade trial. Word of Xiangzi’s feat and Wan Yuxuan’s intervention had spread, lending him a legendary aura.

No one expected the genius who grasped Bright Force upon reaching ninth grade to be an unassuming, older youth. More black-robed disciples came to chat, and without Zhao Mu dragging him to the Martial Transmission Courtyard, Xiangzi might’ve been swarmed.

Human nature favored the high and scorned the low. Once aloof ninth-grade black-robes now smiled warmly. Even Xiangzi’s steadfast heart couldn’t help but pause at the shift. The old saying holds true: “In poverty, none visit the bustling city; in wealth, the mountains draw crowds. Watch the banquet—every cup toasts the rich first.”

—

The Martial Transmission Courtyard was quieter, giving Xiangzi some peace. Zhao Mu, a native of the courtyard, moved with ease. Handing the jade token to a disciple, who congratulated Xiangzi after a quick appraisal, an errand boy led them to the Martial Transmission Pavilion.

The “pavilion” was a three-story brick-and-wood structure, weathered by time. The first floor held stance techniques, the second fist and foot skills, the third weapon forms—even rare ones like hidden weapons and whips. Baolin Martial Hall, centuries old, lacked no technique.

When Xiangzi asked about body-tempering techniques, Zhao Mu chuckled. “Just joined the outer sect and already eyeing inner disciple matters?” He explained that Iron Shirt Thirteen Tensions and Dragon Bone Tiger Tendon Art were top-tier. Even ninth-grade peak martial artists struggled to master them. Only inner disciples accessed new body-tempering methods. Don’t bite off more than you can chew.

Xiangzi nodded, seeing the value of such techniques. Inside the pavilion, rows of ancient books dazzled him. “Senior Brother Zhao, which stance technique is strongest?”

Zhao Mu scoffed. “Think this is some tale from jianghu storybook? Techniques aren’t about strength, only suitability. For building blood energy, most stances are similar. Didn’t you forge such fierce blood energy with the common Four-Square Horse Stance? But for honing force or intent, especially with weapons, you need care. Short weapons need agile stances like Eight Trigrams Walking or Cloud Hand Stance; long weapons need spinning force from Three Forms or Dragon-Subduing Stance.”

He paused, realizing something. “Wait, you use weapons? Never heard you mention it.”