Becoming a martial arts saint starting with Black Tiger Fist

A month has passed in the blink of an eye.

The night was as dark as ink, inside a dilapidated little house in the outer city.

Wang Meng sat around a table with two henchmen. On the table were several plates of cold braised dishes and several wine jugs that were mostly empty.

Scarface held a peanut in his hand and whispered:

"Those Ci Zun Sect people have been getting increasingly entrenched lately. We ran into them again at the docks the day before yesterday. Two of Li Er's brothers were injured, and one of them is probably crippled."

Opposite him stood a one-eyed man with a gloomy expression. Hearing this, the man coldly replied, "They outnumber us, and their skills and weapons are quite good. Last time, I ran into a guy wielding a large iron sword; he chipped my blade with a single strike and I almost lost. To be honest, our weapons are far inferior!"

Scarface irritably took a swig of his drink: "Brother Biao said that the money allocated from above isn't even enough to buy medicine. If we want to get a decent weapon, we'll have to figure it out ourselves."

Wang Meng stroked the rough exterior of the wine glass, snorted coldly, and a fierce glint in his eyes: "What's the use of just complaining? If the higher-ups don't give it to us, we'll have to earn it ourselves. Aren't there tons of money bags along this Blackwater River?"

One-Eyed immediately understood and lowered his voice: "Brother Meng is right. Those fishermen probably have some money saved up for the winter. It's time to collect it."

"There has to be a reason for accepting it." Scarface frowned, his face showing worry. "It wouldn't be good if it caused a big mess and gave the Compassionate Sect an opening."

Wang Meng curled his lip and sneered, "Rules are made by people. Recently, river bandits have been rampant on the river. The gang needs to purchase more weapons to defend against them. It's only reasonable for each family to contribute money for ironware according to the cost of their boats."

One-Eyed's eyes lit up at this, and he clapped his hands and laughed, "Brilliant reason, Master Meng! Hehe, it's all for everyone's safety on the water. Anyone who doesn't pay is disregarding everyone's lives!"

"And another thing," Wang Meng changed the subject, his eyes becoming sharp and cold, "some old guys have saved up their entire lives for their funerals, it's time to squeeze some of it out of them, consider it their last act of kindness."

Scarface nodded quickly: "That's exactly what I was thinking too. I've been trying to persuade that old Wang from Xitan to take out his money as soon as possible so he can pass away peacefully and avoid the torment of illness."

Wang Meng added, "For families with able-bodied members and hope for the future, squeezing out a hundred or so coins a month is enough, a steady stream of income. As for the elderly living alone, we'll squeeze them dry all at once!"

"And that Chen kid from Xitan," a fierce glint flashed in Wang Meng's eyes, "he got incredibly lucky and managed to get his hands on a valuable jade-topped silver carp, which he secretly sold for five taels of silver."

"Oh?" Scarface raised his eyelids, looking quite puzzled. "Master Meng, aren't you going to collect the Dragon King's tax?"

"Of course he went!" Wang Meng gritted his teeth in anger. "And that spendthrift actually used the money to pay for a martial arts tournament!"

Wang Meng sneered, "A poor peasant like you wants to learn martial arts to turn your life around? Don't you even know your own limitations? What a load of rubbish!"

"Do you think we can just let this kid get away with it like that?" Scarface asked.

"Of course not! I don't care where the money goes. Since we received the Dragon King's favor and caught the treasure fish, we have to offer him enough incense money! I gave him a month to scrape together three taels of silver. If he's even a penny short, I'll sell their shabby boat!"

"Tomorrow is the day. With these three taels of silver, I can have a fine iron greatsword forged, from the Compassionate Venerable Sect..."

Wang Meng paused, then downed his drink in one gulp, slamming the cup down. "Hmph, who'll swallow whom is still uncertain!"

......

The night was dark and the cold wind howled.

At the corner of a secluded alley in the outer city, Chen Yuan, holding a harpoon, quietly lurked behind a pile of abandoned stones.

Just past midnight, a burly figure staggered into the alley, humming a vulgar tune; it was Wang Meng.

He had clearly drunk quite a bit; his steps were unsteady, swaying as if he were walking on cotton, occasionally bumping into the wall, lewdly grabbing at it, and then staggering back home.

Chen Yuan held his breath until Wang Meng approached the corner, then quickly stepped out of the shadows, grabbed a bag of lime, and threw it into Wang Meng's eyes.

Wang Meng's hair stood on end. He tried to shield his eyes with his hand, but it was too late. The white ash blinded him, and a burning pain shot through his eyes.

He knew things were going badly and was about to shout when...

puff!

Three sharp iron spikes pierced his throat in an instant!

Even though he was somewhat skilled, he was completely drunk at the moment, and his reaction speed was far slower than usual. In addition, his eyes were blinded by lime, leaving the cave entrance wide open, which allowed Chen Yuan to easily take advantage of him.

"Heh heh!"

Wang Meng let out a hoarse, bellowing sound as he gripped the harpoon piercing his neck with both hands.

He wanted to see who had made the move, but the lime mixed with his tears was a mess, and he couldn't open his eyes at all.

Chen Yuan's eyes were icy cold. He gripped the harpoon handle tightly with both hands, pushed it forward with all his might, and twisted it sharply at the same time!

"Uh..." Wang Meng's last struggle came to an abrupt end. His body slid softly against the wall, and blood gushed out, spreading on the cold bluestone floor.

Chen Yuan was breathing heavily, his heart pounding wildly in his chest, almost as if it would burst out of his chest.

This was his first time killing someone; the strong smell of blood filled his nostrils and made his stomach churn.

But he forced himself to calm down, quickly squatted down and began to search Wang Meng's body, soon finding a money pouch in the inner pocket close to his body.

Upon opening it, one finds approximately three taels of silver and several dozen copper coins inside.

Chen Yuan's eyes lit up. This amount of money didn't seem like much, but it would take at least half a year to earn it by fishing on his own, and even two or three years to save up that much.

It really proves the saying: "Murderers and arsonists wear golden belts!"

However, this money should be used little by little after the storm has passed, so as not to arouse suspicion.

He checked the scene again, and after confirming that no trace of himself had been left, he quickly turned and disappeared into the night, vanishing into the intricate alleyways.

Back on the riverbank, Chen Yuan didn't rush into the cabin. Instead, he tied his bloodstained clothes to a stone and sank them to the bottom of the river. He then repeatedly washed his hands and face with the cold river water until his skin turned red and the bloody smell was washed away. Only then did he return to the awning and lie down.

Listening to his mother's even breathing, the palpitations and nausea after the murder gradually subsided, replaced by a heavy sense of relief and a clearer understanding.

In this world, weakness and concession will only make your situation more difficult; only by being ruthless enough can you survive.

The next day, he got up early as usual and went to the familiar river bend to cast his net.

I was lucky enough to catch a few crucian carp and a grass carp weighing over two pounds. I took them home and handed them over to my mother to prepare.

When I arrived at the martial arts academy, the courtyard was still empty.

He began practicing Zhan Zhuang (standing meditation) as usual. Over the past ten days, his proficiency with the Black Tiger Zhan Zhuang has slowly improved, his strength has increased, and his body has become much stronger.

A moment later, the disciples arrived one after another, but no one talked about him anymore; they had become accustomed to Chen Yuan's diligent figure every morning.

"Brother Yuan, you're here so early again!"

A somewhat shy young man walked over and greeted him with a smile.

Chen Yuan raised his eyes, looked at the dark-skinned, thin boy in front of him, and nodded. "Didn't you help your grandfather set up his stall this morning?"

The boy's name was Li Hao. His family was just as poor as Chen Yuan's. His parents went into the mountains to hunt in their early years and were killed by wild animals. He was raised by his grandparents.

He joined the company half a month later than Chen Yuan, so they were considered to be in the same batch of newcomers. He gradually became familiar with Chen Yuan and Xu Qing.

"Yes, he's not feeling well today, he'll rest for the day." After saying that, Li Hao found an open space and started practicing standing meditation.

After finishing breakfast, Jiang Cheng, unusually, did not lie down on the recliner, but stood by the training ground, his gaze sweeping over the group of new disciples who were practicing standing meditation, including Chen Yuan, Li Hao, and several other disciples who had entered the sect around the same time.

After watching for a while, Jiang Cheng nodded slightly and said:

"Alright, stop now. After standing for so long, your qi and blood have finally built up a foundation, so you won't collapse as soon as you start practicing. Today, I will teach you the fighting techniques of Black Tiger Fist."