Breaking Limits in Martial Arts: Grinding Your Way to Becoming a Martial Saint in a Chaotic Era

Zhao Yan suppressed the chill and scanned the faces in front of him.

However, wherever his gaze fell, the faces there lowered their heads. Some faces were pale, some were red, and some were expressionless, but not a single pair of eyes dared to meet his gaze.

His eyes dimmed inch by inch.

He stood there, his back still ramrod straight, but there was a hint of... weariness in that straightness.

A kind of weariness that comes from being pushed from behind but having no one to lean on.

If they can't even gather three disciples to participate in the Laba Festival, the Zhao Family Martial Arts School will become a laughing stock in the entire Qinghe County.

How could he, as the owner of the inn, possibly face the county magistrate or the villagers who were still willing to send their children to the inn?

He looked around again, but there was still no one there.

The disciples bowed their heads lower than the next, wishing they could bury them in the snow. Some moved their lips as if they wanted to say something, but in the end they just swallowed.

Some people clenched their fists, then relaxed them, as if they were having a final battle with their courage, and in the end, courage lost.

Zhao Yan's lips twitched, as if he wanted to say something, but he swallowed it back. He lowered his eyes, his shoulders slumped slightly, and he looked shorter.

Just then, a voice came from the side and behind.

"Master, I'll stand in for Senior Brother Guo Huan."

Zhao Yan paused, then turned his head.

Xu Qing stepped forward, walking step by step from behind his master to the front of the crowd.

He was dressed in a light gray outfit today, with a black cloth belt around his waist, and his hair was neatly tied back. His face was expressionless, but his eyes were bright, like the morning sun.

"Master, I'm here to attend the Laba Festival in place of Senior Brother Guo Huan." He walked up to Zhao Yan, stood still, and repeated himself.

Zhao Yan looked at him, her gaze complex. Relief, worry, and a hint of... bitterness.

He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but the words got stuck in his throat and he couldn't get them out. He just shook his head.

He won't let Xu Qing go. At the Laba Festival, almost all the disciples sent by various martial arts schools are at the peak of Ming Jin, while Xu Qing is only at the minor stage of Ming Jin. If he goes up there, he will suffer a great loss.

Yu Tai's disciples might be somewhat lenient with the ordinary disciples of the Zhao Family Martial Arts School, but they would show no mercy to Xu Qing.

Ning Yun's leg injury serves as a cautionary tale. He would rather lose face and be laughed at for not being able to gather three people than let Xu Qing take that risk.

"No," Zhao Yan's voice was a little hoarse. "You're only at the Lesser Completion of the Ming Jin realm; you're no match for them. What if something unexpected happens—"

"Master," Xu Qing interrupted him, her tone not harsh but firm, "I am your personal disciple. If I don't step forward now, who will?"

Zhao Yan opened his mouth, but Xu Qing didn't give him a chance to speak.

"For the past two months, you have fed me meat, given me herbal soup, and bestowed upon me qi and blood pills. You have personally taught me stance training, boxing, and how to spar." His voice was not loud, but every word was like a stake driven into the ground, impossible to pull up. "I will remember your kindness. Now the martial arts school needs people, and I cannot hide in the back like a coward."

He paused, his voice deepening, "This disciple doesn't want to be sheltered in a greenhouse either. If a martial artist doesn't even dare to step onto the stage, what's the point of practicing martial arts?"

"Master, please let me go. I'm not afraid," Xu Qing said again.

Zhao Yan stared at him for a long time. Something was churning in those old eyes, like lake water ruffled by the wind, or ice melting in the heat of fire.

He opened his mouth, wanting to refuse, but when he saw Xu Qing's clean and firm eyes, the words stuck in his throat.

He finally nodded, reached out, and patted Xu Qing hard on the shoulder.

"Okay. Go." His voice trembled slightly, but his hand was steady. "Remember, if you're outmatched, admit defeat immediately. I don't care who you beat; I just want you to come down safely. Do you understand?"

"I heard you." Xu Qing smiled, a smile as clean and bright as when he first stood at the entrance of the martial arts school.

Wu Mingyuan was the first to react in the crowd.

He stood beside Xu Qing, a barely perceptible smile playing on his lips. It wasn't a smile; it was more like a condescending pity, or perhaps a sense of relief at finally getting an answer.

He was certain that Xu Qing would only embarrass himself if she went.

He had witnessed the Laba Festival before. He had gone to see it last year; everyone on stage was at the peak of Ming Jin (a level of internal strength), and their punches and kicks were fast and ruthless. Xu Qing, only at the Lesser Completion stage of Ming Jin, how many moves could he withstand? Three moves? Five moves?

It's good to be embarrassed. If you're embarrassed, your master will be able to see who is truly worth cultivating.

Wu Mingyuan's physical constitution is much better than Xu Qing's. He has been at the martial arts school for a year and a half, and his Ming Jin (a type of internal energy) is perfected. His foundation is solid, and his fighting style is also highly skilled. In every aspect, he is better than that fisherman's boy with mediocre physical constitution. Why can Xu Qing be a personal disciple, but he can't?

Today he will prove that his master misjudged him, that he, Wu Mingyuan, is the future of the martial arts school, and that he is much stronger than Xu Qingqiang!

He lowered his eyelids, concealing the resentment in his eyes. He didn't say anything, but his fingers tightened around his sleeve.

Ning Yun stood to the side and behind Zhao Yan, without saying a word from beginning to end.

When he heard Xu Qing say "Disciple is not afraid", his eyes suddenly felt a little sore.

He recalled himself three years ago, standing before his master in the same way, saying, "Master, I must make you proud in this martial arts competition."

At that time, his legs were still fine, and he could stand on the plum blossom stakes for three hours without swaying.

Later, he went on stage, lost, and then someone broke his Achilles tendon. He didn't regret it, never. But he also knew that some people, once they're on stage, can never get off.

He looked at Xu Qing, his gaze complex, his heart filled with a mix of emotions. Relief,感慨, 安实... He seemed to see his younger self, so full of youthful arrogance, and also as if he saw someone continuing the path he hadn't finished.

He limped over to Xu Qing and gently patted her shoulder. It was a light pat, but it carried a thousand unspoken words.

Chen Wang grinned, revealing two rows of white teeth. He didn't say anything like "You need to be careful," but simply patted Xu Qing's other shoulder heavily.

"Well done." He only said three words, but those three words carried more weight than anything else.

When Qin Liang heard Xu Qing say he wanted to go on stage, he was startled, thinking Xu Qing had lost his mind. He stood in the crowd, mouth agape, wanting to say something, yet unsure what to say.

Sun Ping stood next to Qin Liang, his hands clenched into fists, his knuckles cracking, his face flushed red, and his lips trembling, as if he were straining for Xu Qing, or perhaps he was afraid for Xu Qing.

The reactions varied among the crowd.

Zhou Wen lowered his head, his lips curled down, and his eyes were half-closed, with an expression of watching a good show. He nudged Xu Qing with his shoulder and said in a low voice, "Your cousin really dared to go for it." His tone was full of schadenfreude.

Xu Qing stood beside him, his face ashen, his lips pressed into a thin line, not uttering a single word. His mind was in turmoil. He hated Xu Qing, yet he had to admit that he was inferior to Xu Qing in every way. Like now, Xu Qing dared to stand up, while he wouldn't even dare to dream of it.

Some shook their heads, some sighed, and some remained expressionless. They didn't care who went up or who didn't; they only cared about not being called on.

But some people are different.

A short, stocky senior brother stepped out from the crowd, cupped his hands in a respectful gesture towards Xu Qing, said nothing, and then retreated. That gesture was deeper than usual.

A tall, thin man who hadn't spoken much to Xu Qing before nodded at him from afar, his eyes filled with respect.

Xu Qing stood at the front of the crowd, feeling the gazes directed at him from all directions. Admiration, mockery, worry, indifference, expectation, disdain...

He didn't turn around or bow his head; he just stood there, his back as straight as a mountain peak.

A gust of wind blew in from under the eaves, whipping up snowflakes that stung his face, feeling cool and refreshing. He didn't move.

Zhao Yan glanced at him one last time, then turned around, his voice regaining its usual composure: "Chen Wang, prepare the carriage, we're going to the county government's martial arts training ground."

Chen Wang responded and jogged out.

Two carriages were ready and parked in front of the martial arts school.

Zhao Yan and Ning Yun boarded the first vehicle.

Xu Qing, Wu Mingyuan, and Chen Wang got into the second vehicle.

The driver cracked his whip, and the horse's hooves crunched on the snow.

Two carriages, one after the other, drove along the main street, which had been swept clean of snow, towards the county government office.