Countless thoughts swirled in Xiangzi’s mind, but they always circled back to that small Harmony Rickshaw Yard.

Having thought it through, Xiangzi’s gaze swept over Liu Tang, his face betraying no trace of emotion.

Since ancient times, loyalty and righteousness have been hard to reconcile. Liu Tang, after all, was raised by Fourth Master Liu.

With his temperament, if he learned the truth, he’d likely be consumed by grief and rage.

At that point, it would only complicate Xiangzi’s plans.

With this in mind, Xiangzi clasped his hands toward Lin Junqing and said softly, “I, Xiangzi, will follow Master Lin’s guidance!”

At these words, even Lin Junqing’s face showed a hint of relief.

His junior brother clearly deferred to Xiangzi in all matters. With Xiangzi’s agreement, a weight lifted from Lin Junqing’s heart.

“Little Tang’s been tainted by mine dust. It won’t lead to mine miasma, but if we delay further, his martial path might truly be ruined,” Lin Junqing said, a trace of resolve flashing in his eyes as he looked at Liu Tang. “Some days ago, Master kept pressing me to decide whether to go to Shen City. Now, with your condition, the only solution lies in the wood-element five-colored ore district outside Shen City.”

“Little Tang, come with me to Shen City. We’ll stabilize your injuries first.”

Liu Tang was stunned, not expecting his senior brother to propose this.

He opened his mouth but turned his gaze to Xiangzi, murmuring, “Senior Brother… if we both go to Shen City, what about Xiangzi?”

His voice carried a faint plea.

How could Lin Junqing not see through him? The kid had been muttering about this for days.

So, Lin Junqing turned to Xiangzi. “Xiangzi, are you willing to become a martial hall apprentice?”

Xiangzi froze at the words.

Seeing his reaction, Lin Junqing assumed he had reservations and gave a slight smile. “Xiangzi, if you’re worried about the Li family, don’t be.”

“Not to mention I’m still alive, but even as a mere apprentice at Baolin Martial Hall, the Li family wouldn’t dare touch a hair on your head!”

—

The surroundings were silent, save for the distant, grating clang of the night watchman’s gong.

It was likely the hour of Yin.

Above the small courtyard, thin clouds parted under the night breeze, revealing a crescent moon, pale and pristine.

The night wind slipped through the window.

The candlelight flickered, casting shadows on Xiangzi’s pale face.

In the wavering light, Lin Junqing’s words echoed in Xiangzi’s mind, leaving him dazed—become a martial hall apprentice, just like that?

Something Uncle Jie never dared dream of, something Old Ma chased for half his life, was offered so casually by Lin Junqing?

Of course, Xiangzi didn’t doubt Lin Junqing’s sincerity.

Even with a lame leg and no longer the head disciple of the martial hall, he was still a seventh-rank major achievement martial artist, still the direct disciple of Baolin Martial Hall’s master.

Either status carried weight in Forty-Nine City—weight even the Li family had to respect!

Xiangzi had long understood the power of “fists” in this world, but when that power was suddenly laid before him, he couldn’t help but feel the sigh of a frog at the bottom of a well.

To the Li family, dozens of lives were mere straw, insignificant.

But with Lin Junqing, they’d bow and scrape, treading carefully.

As Lin Junqing said, even an unremarkable figure like Xiangzi, cloaked in the name of Baolin Martial Hall, would make the Li family think twice.

This world… what justice is there?

Only fists are justice.

Xiangzi took a deep breath, suppressing the churning emotions within, and stood, clasping his fists solemnly. “If Master Lin is willing to recommend me, it’s an honor beyond measure!”

Lin Junqing was momentarily stunned—he’d expected convincing this stubborn kid would take effort, not such swift agreement.

A smile spread across the middle-aged martial artist’s face. “An apprentice slot is a small matter, but whether you seize the chance to break through to the ranked realms depends on you.”

“Still, Xiangzi, you need to think carefully. You started martial arts late. Your blood energy is robust, but your muscles, bones, and membranes are average.”

“My only concern is whether you can withstand the bone-tempering broth’s potency.”

Even Liu Tang’s face showed worry at these words.

Lin Junqing wasn’t wrong. Liu Tang had spent years in the outer sect, witnessing countless commoner geniuses fall at the “bone-tempering barrier.” The lucky ones ended with ruined muscles and bones; the unlucky lost their lives.

What genius? It all came down to “eating medicine.”

In its century of existence, Baolin Martial Hall had produced only one Lin Junqing.

And even a prodigy like him hadn’t fallen to the Wan family’s young master in that ring years ago?

Xiangzi smiled, his face unreadable. “Naturally, I can’t rely on others for everything. Stepping into this mortal world, my life and death are fated.”

At this, Lin Junqing relaxed.

But Liu Tang’s brows furrowed faintly at “life and death are fated,” almost imperceptibly.

Could Xiangzi’s stubborn nature truly set aside his thirst for vengeance to focus on being an apprentice?

—

The next few days at Baolin Martial Hall passed uneventfully.

The stir from the recent intrusion seemed to have settled.

Naturally, no one dared investigate Lin Junqing’s courtyard, and from his behavior, he didn’t seem to care.

Yet Xiangzi faintly sensed the middle-aged martial artist’s mind was restless.

But he had no time to dwell on it.

With Lin Junqing’s personal guidance, his Mind-Intent Six Harmonies Fist progressed rapidly.

As dusk fell, tinting the courtyard in hazy yellow, Xiangzi struck his fist forms. Compared to his earlier stiffness, his movements now carried a natural ease.

The three pillars of blood energy in his dantian spun furiously, faster by several measures than before—his fist strength had grown significantly.

This seemingly plain internal fist style hid profoundly intricate methods of channeling force.

Before, Xiangzi, with his three pillars of blood energy, was like a brute with strength but no outlet.

With this technique, emphasizing “balanced ease and focused force,” and its method of “freely wielding qi,” he could finally unleash his robust blood energy’s full potential.

Take Liang Hua, the ninth-rank beginner from the Li family’s mining district. Back then, Xiangzi struggled, relying on scattering mine dust and taking heavy injuries to barely win.

Now, Liang Hua likely wouldn’t last ten moves against him.

No wonder they say in martial contests, medicine and methods are equally vital—Xiangzi had seen it firsthand.

And no wonder martial artists fought tooth and nail for an apprentice slot. If martial halls held such profound techniques, how could ordinary fighters, no matter how hard they trained, ever compare?