Becoming an immortal from a canal worker

In the third year of Xuanwu of the Great Wei Dynasty, at Qingkou Wharf in Huai'an Prefecture.

The setting sun, like blood, pressed heavily on the turbid canal, dyeing the churning, brownish-yellow waves a scarlet red.

The air was filled with a nauseating stench: the fishy smell of dead fish and rotten shrimp, the putrid stench of river mud, mixed with the sour sweat emanating from thousands of laborers, fermenting in the sweltering heat and rising straight to the top of one's head.

"Snapped!"

A crisp sound rang out, followed by the foreman's booming, broken-gong-like roar.

"The sun's setting! You all better hurry up! If this batch of fine rice destined for the north gets damp, we couldn't afford to compensate you all, even if we chopped you up and fed you to the fish!"

Chen Ping was shirtless, his bronze skin covered in oil, sweat, and dust.

He had a tattered burlap sack, its original color long since obscured, on his shoulder, and carried a sack of fine rice weighing 120 jin (approximately 60 kg). He moved step by step along the creaking plank, following the crowded, silent flow of people.

Sweat slid down his angular face, flowing into his eyes and stinging painfully.

But he didn't even blink. He just hunched over slightly, bent his knees, and used the rise and fall of his spine to relieve the weight of the grain sack.

Inhale into your abdomen, hold your breath and lock your energy.

Grip the ground with your toes, and the force originates from the ground.

The movements were fluid and effortless, without any unnecessary physical exertion.

With a "thud," the grain sack on his shoulder landed steadily on the stack in the cabin, and Chen Ping finally exhaled the breath that had been choking him, his chest heaving violently.

At the same time, a line of small print, visible only to himself, flashed across his retina.

[Skill: Transporting (Minor Mastery)]

[Moving Proficiency +1]

[Current Progress: Moving (480/500)]

[Effects: Bearing heavy loads with ease, power originating from the ground, back arched like a bow, carrying a hundred pounds, walking steadily and without unsteady steps.]

The handwriting vanishes in an instant.

Chen Ping remained expressionless, only habitually moving his numb and swollen right shoulder before turning and stepping off the ramp to carry the next bag.

It has been more than two months since I transmigrated to this world.

From initial fear and despair to nearly starving to death on the streets, and now becoming a fairly robust "veteran" at the docks, the first thing Chen Ping learned was to shut up and get to work.

Here, human life is cheaper than grass.

If you don't know the rules, you'll be exhausted in two days, and in three days you'll be thrown into the river to be fed to turtles.

Half an hour later, dusk fell.

The shouts from the dockworkers finally subsided.

In front of a row of low reed mat sheds, a few dim oil lamps were lit; that was where wages were paid.

Hundreds of shirtless men lined up in a long queue, each clutching several to dozens of gleaming bamboo sticks in their hands. These were the tokens for piecework; one stick for each bag of grain. Losing one meant half a day's hard work was for nothing.

When it was Chen Ping's turn, he stepped forward and neatly arranged the thirty warm bamboo skewers he was holding on the greasy wooden table.

Behind the desk, Manager Zhang, who was in charge of distributing money, was half-closing his eyes, picking at the bits of meat stuck in his teeth with a bamboo skewer, without even lifting his eyelids.

"Chen Ping, thirty packs."

Manager Zhang's voice was languid, as if he had phlegm stuck in his throat, "You're the hardest working and most resilient of this batch of newcomers. The others who came with you either worked themselves to death or... heh."

He didn't finish his sentence; he simply grabbed a handful of coins from the pile in front of him, counted them, and then flicked his finger.

"Jingle bells."

Thirty copper coins, worn and tattered from years of circulation, fell onto the table, making a crisp, pleasant sound.

"Thank you, Master Zhang."

Chen Ping lowered his head, his voice hoarse and calm.

He ignored the veiled meaning in Steward Zhang's words, instead extending his large, calloused, and cracked hand to quickly gather the copper coins into his palm. His fingers then subtly and rapidly rubbed together.

Thirty pieces, not one missing.

This is the advantage of daily pay; in this chaotic world where every day is uncertain, the copper coins in your hand are the only real thing.

Chen Ping stuffed the copper coins into the already blackened handkerchief at his waist, tied it in a tight knot, and turned to blend into the crowd in the night.

Outside the dock, there was a chaotic market.

There are only three things sold here: the strongest and muddiest liquor, the cheapest women, and food that can make you die a full-bodied ghost, even if you die.

Chen Ping walked straight to a butcher shop in the corner.

There wasn't much good meat on the shop's cutting board; what was hanging there were pig offal swarming with flies, along with large chunks of white lard and pork belly.

"Cut half a pound of pork belly, add extra pork cracklings, and two bowls of brown rice."

Chen Ping skillfully laid out fifteen coins, his gaze sweeping over the glistening chunks of meat.

The butcher was a burly man with a fierce face; his knife moved swiftly and skillfully.

While waiting for the meat to be cut, two old men squatting nearby were gnawing on steamed buns. Their hushed conversation drifted into Chen Ping's ears on the night breeze.

"Did you hear? Old Zhao didn't come back last night..."

"Which Old Zhao?"

"It's that guy who lives in the dilapidated temple in the south of the city and has a slight limp in his left leg. This morning, someone saw him in the backwater downstream... Tsk tsk, his whole body was swollen like a steamed bun, and his eyeballs were gone."

"Hiss... Have we run into river pirates?"

"Nonsense about river bandits! What kind of river bandits kill people by eating their eyeballs? Besides, where are the river bandits around here? And I heard from the body retrievers that Old Zhao had a black handprint this wide on his ankle..."

The old boatman gestured, his face pale, "It was dragged down by something filthy! Things haven't been peaceful in this canal lately."

"Shh! Are you out of your mind?! How dare you talk about the River God..."

The sound stopped abruptly.

Chen Ping stood to the side, accepting the oil paper package handed to him by the boss, his expression calm.

In the two months since he traveled through the country, he has heard similar rumors no less than ten times.

Some people went into the water to catch fish and never came back up; some people heard people singing opera underwater while sailing at night; and once, Chen Ping personally witnessed an official boat inexplicably sink to the bottom of the calm river.

This world has demons, monsters, and great terrors that mortals cannot comprehend.

Chen Ping, carrying a meat bun, walked expressionlessly through the noisy crowd.

Chen Ping's residence was in a shantytown five miles away from the dock.

The so-called home was nothing more than a mud-brick house that let in drafts from all sides, with a thick thatched roof.

Pushing open the creaking wooden door, Chen Ping lit a tiny oil lamp, no bigger than a bean.

He sat down at the square table with one leg missing and opened the oil paper package.

Half a pound of fatty pork belly, mixed with crispy fried pork cracklings, exudes an enticing aroma of oil.

He swallowed it in large gulps.

There was no need for slow and careful eating. After a busy day, filling one's stomach was the right thing to do. The brown rice stung a little as it scraped down the throat, but the hot oil instantly soothed the discomfort, turning into warm currents that flowed through the body and made up for the day's work.

He finished the meal in a flash, even licking the oil off the oil paper clean.

After finishing his meal, Chen Ping did not rest immediately.

He blew out the oil lamp; lamp oil costs money too.

Using the cool moonlight streaming in through the window, Chen Ping, shirtless, walked to the old, crooked locust tree in the yard.

The tree is as thick as a bowl, with rough and cracked bark. At a height of about 1.5 meters above the ground, a piece of bark has been worn bare, revealing the pale wood inside, which is even stained with some dark red blood.

Chen Ping took a deep breath, spread his feet apart, bent his knees slightly, and gripped the ground tightly with his toes like hooks.

Sink your Qi to your Dantian and lower your center of gravity.

Then, exert force suddenly!

"Bang!"

A muffled thud.

Chen Ping's right shoulder slammed hard against the tree trunk.

The withered yellow leaves fell in a rustling sound, and the old locust tree trembled violently.

The excruciating pain instantly spread from the point of contact on the shoulder to the entire body, and the newly formed scab broke open again, with fresh blood seeping out.

Chen Ping gritted his teeth, remained silent, and simply adjusted his position to thrust again.

"Bang!"

This move is called "Backing Against the Mountain".

The person who taught him this method was Liu Laoguo, an old canal worker at the dock. The old man usually looked slovenly with yellow teeth and only knew how to teach newcomers how to be lazy and save effort on the boat.

But only Chen Ping knew that the old man had something truly inside him.

When Liu Laoguo taught him this move, his eyes cleared for a rare moment: "Kid, don't underestimate this bump. This is a proper opening punch, training the whole body's strength in the spine. Bumping into the tree isn't the goal; the goal is to train your broken bones into a solid piece of iron. Only when your bones are hard can your life be tough."

With each impact, Chen Ping carefully experienced what Liu Laoguo called "whole force".

It's not just about physical contact; it's about using your feet to push off the ground, generating power from the ground, flowing through each joint, and finally converging at a point in your shoulders and back for an instantaneous burst.

Sweat mixed with blood flowed down Chen Ping's bare back.

I don't know how many times I was hit, until my shoulder hurt so much that I almost lost all feeling, until a surge of heat rushed up my spine to the back of my head.

Finally, the familiar pale blue light screen reappeared on Chen Ping's retina.

[Skill: Backing Against the Mountain (Beginner) ➔ Proficiency +1]

[Skill: Backing Up (Beginner)]

[Current Progress: Backed by Mountain (1/100)]

[Effects: Calluses form on the back, skin gradually hardens, pain sensation is dulled, and it becomes slightly more resistant to abrasion]

Upon seeing this line of data, Chen Ping's tense body finally relaxed.

He slid down the rough tree trunk and sat on the ground, panting heavily.

He touched his back with his hand behind his back.

The wound that was originally bleeding profusely was now slightly itchy. The originally delicate skin seemed to be hardening and growing a protective layer of dead skin through repeated impacts and healing.

"I've gotten the hang of it..."

Chen Ping looked at the cold, waning moon in the night sky, a faint smile appearing on his lips.

Looking back on these past two months, it was like rolling around in hell.

For the first ten days after I transmigrated, because I was weak and didn't know how to exert myself, my shoulders were rubbed raw by burlap sacks. I had to lie down for three days after carrying the sacks for a day. I didn't even have money to buy medicine and almost starved to death in the shed.

If he hadn't gritted his teeth and persevered through the adaptation period, and hadn't secretly learned Liu Laoguo's method of deflecting force, gradually honing his skills, his body would have long since become a skeleton in a mass grave.

"Soon..."

Chen Ping clenched his fist, feeling the rough calluses on his palms and the growing strength within his body.

"My transport skills are about to break through the minor mastery level and enter the proficiency level."

With a slight thought, a semi-transparent attribute panel slowly unfolded in his field of vision:

Name: Chen Ping

[Destiny]: Diligence Leads to Divine Power

[Current Skills Acquired]:

[Skill: Transporting (Minor Mastery)]

[Current Progress: Moving (480/500)]

[Effects: Bearing heavy loads with ease, power originating from the ground, back arched like a bow, carrying a hundred pounds, walking steadily and without unsteady steps.]

[Skill: Backing Up (Beginner)]

[Current Progress: Backed by Mountain (1/100)]

[Effects: Calluses form on the back, skin gradually hardens, pain sensation is dulled, and it becomes slightly more resistant to abrasion]

Chen Ping's gaze finally settled on fate.

Diligence can lead to extraordinary achievements.

He knew very well what this meant.

In this world, hard work is often the cheapest thing.

The old boatmen at the docks, who had spent their entire lives pulling boats, their backs hunched and covered in injuries, ended up as nothing more than skeletons starving to death by the roadside.

Humans have limits, and the physical body has its limitations.

But Chen Ping did not.

"Every bit of effort will yield a corresponding reward; ignore bottlenecks, there are no limits."

Even the most basic skill, even the most flawed move, can be mastered by spending time honing one's skills and turning the ordinary into the extraordinary.

Chen Ping slowly clenched his fist, feeling the rough texture between his knuckles.

This is Chen Ping's only means of survival in this chaotic world where the supernatural and life is as worthless as grass.