Becoming a martial arts god starting from the mortician.

Shen Qi didn't know when she fell asleep.

When I woke up again, the window paper had turned white.

The medicine pot on the stove had cooled completely, the bitterness had dissipated, leaving only astringency.

He sat up straight and remained stunned for several breaths.

I don't feel dizzy.

My back doesn't ache.

This feels so unfamiliar.

He hasn't woken up feeling refreshed in many years.

Every morning when I open my eyes, my head feels heavy and my limbs feel weak. I need to rest for a while before I can move.

Sometimes when I couldn't catch my breath, I would sit on the edge of the kang (a heated brick bed) for half an hour until my body warmed up.

But today is different.

My whole body felt warm, as if a fire had burned through my bones. That warmth hadn't dissipated yet, leaving a tingling, numb feeling nestled between my muscles and bones.

He had lived for twenty-one years, and this was the first time he had ever felt so comfortable being "awake".

"Knock knock knock—"

"Seventh Brother! Seventh Brother!"

There was a knock on the courtyard gate.

Shen Qi got up to open the door.

Standing outside the door was Zhang the butcher, followed by three younger relatives. The oldest was no more than twenty years old, and the youngest was still a teenager.

Zhang the butcher was dressed in plain white linen clothes, with a layer of dark stubble on his cheeks, and his eyes were red and swollen, as if he hadn't slept all night.

Behind him was a cart with a coffin on it.

With its glossy paint and gleaming copper nails, it was a top-quality item from Liu Gui's coffin shop.

"Seventh Brother, I've come to pick up my mother." Butcher Zhang's voice was terribly hoarse.

Shen Qi nodded and stepped aside to let them in.

As soon as the mortuary door was pushed open, Butcher Zhang stopped in his tracks.

The old lady lay on the stone bed, her hands folded in front of her abdomen, her brows relaxed, her face serene, and the corners of her mouth slightly upturned, looking as if she were asleep.

Zhang the butcher stared at his mother's face, his lips trembling slightly.

The younger generation behind him also quieted down.

Seeing this, Shen Qi stepped aside and leaned against the door frame to wait.

He dislikes these kinds of occasions, but he can't avoid them.

The profession of mortician involves the transition between the living and the dead, and they profit from the legacy of the deceased.

Encoffining is divided into "minor encoffining" and "major encoffining." Minor encoffining involves tidying up the appearance, stitching up wounds, and applying ointments; this is what the mortician does.

As for the encoffining, the placement in the funeral home, the covering, and the sealing, those are matters for the bereaved family to handle.

The rules have been passed down for thousands of years, with various sayings passed down orally, such as "the body is not yet settled after the initial encoffining and needs to be left to rest for a day to allow the remaining soul to return to its place," and "if the body is not placed in the mortuary by a mortician, the evil energy will invade the body and cause it to turn into a corpse." The more it is passed down, the more mysterious it becomes.

Whether it's true or false is irrelevant.

But it is precisely because of these beliefs that the mortician has transformed from a despised and dirty job into an indispensable role in funerals. No one dares to skimp on this when someone dies, because if something goes wrong, it's the living who suffer.

But money is money, and nobody envies this line of work.

Spending all day handling the dead, they become covered in a chilling aura. Nine out of ten people in this line of work suffer from various illnesses, and very few live out their old age peacefully. Neighbors are polite to their faces, but behind their backs, they often find it unlucky and don't usually associate with morticians.

Shen Qi never held it against him.

He snapped out of his thoughts and looked into the mortuary.

Butcher Zhang squatted down beside the old woman, reaching out to touch her but not daring to, and finally only lightly touched the old woman's sleeve.

"mother……"

The sound was muffled in his throat.

Zhang the butcher's father died young.

His mother, a woman, washed clothes for others during the day and sewed shoe soles for others at night, saving money penny by penny. A widowed woman, she managed to raise him.

Later, he learned to slaughter pigs from others, opened a shop, got married, and had a son.

Things were looking up.

His mother smiled and said she was content, that she had nothing to worry about.

I have nothing to worry about anymore.

Butcher Zhang suddenly raised his sleeve to cover his face, his shoulders trembling.

Several of the younger generation behind him also had tears in their eyes.

The mortuary was quiet for a while.

"Put it in the coffin." After a while, Butcher Zhang stood up and vigorously wiped his face.

Several younger relatives stepped forward and carefully lifted the old lady into the coffin.

According to custom, filial sons and grandsons should personally carry the coffin out of the house.

Butcher Zhang bent down to lift the head of the coffin, but his feet suddenly swayed. Perhaps his legs had gone numb from kneeling for too long, or perhaps he was overwhelmed with grief, but he fell forward.

Shen Qi reached out and braced himself against his arm.

With Zhang the butcher's 180-pound frame and the weight of half a coffin, the force of that sway was at least 200-300 pounds.

In the past, Shen Qi might have been knocked down rather than helped up.

But at this moment, he only felt a slight heaviness in his right arm, steady and solid.

Shen Qi's heart skipped a beat.

He released his grip without making a sound.

After regaining his balance, Butcher Zhang turned around and forced a smile at him: "Thank you, Seventh Brother, I almost... I almost let my mother fall..."

Tears fell again.

He was so grief-stricken over the loss of his mother that he didn't even notice how a mortician who always carried a medicine bottle could support him with just one hand.

Shen Qi remained composed: "Please accept my condolences."

Zhang the butcher nodded, switched hands, took out two taels of silver from his pocket, and stuffed it into Shen Qi's hand.

Shen Qi accepted the money without hesitation.

The group carried the coffin out of the courtyard gate and slowly disappeared into the distance along the alley.

White banners fluttered in the morning breeze, and the faint sound of weeping could still be heard.

Shen Qi watched them walk away, then turned and went back to the courtyard.

He strode into the main room, sat down at the table, and spread out his right hand.

Above his palm, his own life force floated quietly.

changed.

The crimson life thread that merged last night has been completely assimilated, and the grayish-white threads are noticeably thicker and more numerous than yesterday.

And on the very center of those life threads, a faint red tinge was visible.

Having learned from last night's experience, he no longer hesitated.

Another strand was peeled off from that bundle of crimson life-giving threads that had been wrapped up.

This time it went much more smoothly than last night.

He pulled out a thin, crimson thread and guided it to his life force.

The hot air rushed in, but it was still scalding.

But it wasn't as scalding as it had been last night, making my internal organs tremble. The grayish-white life force rushed forward, wrapping around me layer by layer, and the assimilation speed was more than twice as fast as last night.

The whole process took less than half an incense stick's time.

Then, the scene came again.

It's much clearer this time than last night.

It was still those rough fists. But they were no longer used to smash wooden stakes.

The hands were gesturing. The arms were raised, the shoulders were lowered, and the elbows dropped, the fists twisted from the waist, the joints cracking slightly.

One punch.

The force of the punch grazed his earlobe, accompanied by a muffled groan.

Another punch.

A layer of almost invisible heat rose from the surface of his fist.

Another punch.

This punch was heavier than the previous two. As it was thrown, the veins on his arm bulged, and the veins shot from his wrist all the way to his elbow. The fist struck the air with a dull thud.

Shen Qi's brow twitched.

Sound appeared on the screen.

It was blurry, as if it were coming through a thick wall.

"To cultivate the body, one must first cultivate the bones. When the bones are straight, the tendons will be flexible, and when the tendons are flexible, the Qi will flow smoothly."

"This style of boxing is called 'Subduing the Tiger,' and it has nine forms. You should practice the first three forms first..."

The sound stopped.

The screen shattered.

Shen Qi suddenly opened his eyes.

He sat there in a daze, sweat trickling down his face.

My heart was pounding like a drum in my chest.

Body Refinement.

Tiger-Taming Fist.

Nine Styles.

This is clearly something that Wang Laosan learned before his death.

Shen Qi slowly raised his right hand and clenched it.

A surge of heat came from my fist, spreading along my finger bones to my wrist bones, and then burning into my forearm.

There is more than just fate in the threads of destiny.

There are also techniques.