Proving God begins with the principle that no effort is wasted.

The next morning, Jiang Lan took the initiative to go to the Caobang (Grass Transport Gang) branch.

Huo Yuanlong was sitting by the second-floor window, his tea in front of him had gone cold, but he hadn't drunk it. The tobacco in his pipe had burned out, and the ashes were scattered on the table, but he didn't brush them off. When he saw Jiang Lan come upstairs, he raised his eyelids slightly but didn't speak, waiting for Jiang Lan to speak first.

"That boxing match," Jiang Lan sat down opposite him, "I fought."

Huo Yuanlong stared at him for a few seconds, then breathed a sigh of relief. He picked up his pipe, found it was out of tobacco, and put it down again.

"Have you thought it through?"

"I've thought it through."

Huo Yuanlong didn't ask him why. He stood up, walked to the door, and called downstairs, "Bring me a pot of hot tea."

Then he turned around, rummaged through the cabinet, and pulled out a roll of paper, spreading it on the table. A person's name and densely packed small characters were written on the paper.

"Wang Yaozu, thirty-five years old, a seven-acupoint martial artist. He specializes in the Mountain-Breaking Hand technique and has won five consecutive matches in the prefectural city without losing. He fights fiercely, specializing in frontal attacks, concentrating his fist power into a single point, making it extremely penetrating. His only weakness is his relatively slow footwork and lack of agility when turning."

Jiang Lan looked at the annotations on the paper regarding the Mountain Breaker and nodded.

"What kind of boxing manual? The kind that describes the fighting techniques, not the fundamental diagrams, just the techniques."

"I'll send someone to look for it." Huo Yuanlong called Song Kui over and whispered a few instructions. Song Kui nodded and turned to go downstairs.

"There's one more thing." Huo Yuanlong sat down again, his voice lowering, "Someone from the Cao Gang was originally going to fight this battle. Wu Laoliu, the deputy leader, has been with me for twelve years, and I saved his life."

Jiang Lan didn't respond.

"Yesterday I went to him, and he said, 'Don't worry, boss, my life is yours. Fight.' This morning, he sent someone to tell me that his old injury had flared up and he couldn't fight."

"An old injury?"

"His old injury is from two years ago. He's been lively and energetic these past two months, always at the forefront of the competition. But as soon as he heard his opponent was Wang Yaozu, the injury flared up again." Huo Yuanlong slammed his teacup on the table, splashing tea and wetting the surface.

Jiang Lan remained silent for a moment.

"Everyone has their own ambitions," he said.

Huo Yuanlong gave a wry smile: "Yes, everyone has their own ambitions. I raised him for twelve years, and he's not as successful as an outsider like you."

That was a harsh statement. Jiang Lan didn't respond. He didn't consider himself an "outsider," nor did he consider himself a "benefactor." He simply felt that Huo Yuanlong had helped him, and now that Huo Yuanlong was in trouble, he couldn't pretend he hadn't seen it.

Song Kui returned quickly, carrying several pages of paper. The paper was old, with curled edges, and had human figures and arrows drawn on it, indicating the direction of the boxing techniques.

"These are all the boxing manuals for the Mountain Breaker technique that I could find. They're not complete, but they're enough." Huo Yuanlong pushed the papers over.

Jiang Lan took it and turned the pages one by one. The fighting style of the Mountain Breaker was completely different from the Tongbei Fist he practiced—Tongbei Fist emphasizes fierceness and variability, with the arm like a whip, striking, swinging, chopping, and sweeping, with a wide range of moves; the Mountain Breaker, on the other hand, concentrates all the strength of the body into a single point on the fist, striking with penetration and breaking through defenses.

He folded the boxing manual and put it in his pocket.

Give me two days.

Is that enough?

That's enough.

For the next two days, Jiang Lan locked herself in the courtyard.

He didn't go to the martial arts school, didn't reply to anyone's messages, and even when Cheng Erniang brought him food, he only let him leave it at the door. He practiced internal organ strength in the morning, studied the fighting techniques of the Mountain-Breaking Hand during the day, and practiced acupoint massage at night.

The number for "[Introduction to Visceral Strength (52/100)]" is slowly increasing, and the distending sensation at the acupoints is getting stronger. I took another blood-tonifying pill, and the medicinal power is circulating in my body like a warm tide, repeatedly impacting that sluice gate.

He read the manual for the Mountain Breaker three times. The first time he read it thoroughly, the second time he broke it down, and the third time he went through it in his mind with his eyes closed.

The core of the Mountain-Breaking Hand technique lies in "whole-body power"—not just arm strength, but the simultaneous tension of the entire body's muscles and bones, concentrating power into the fist and exploding at that instant. What appears to be a single punch is actually the combined force of the entire body's weight and the explosive force of the muscles and bones.

No wonder it has such strong penetrating power.

There are two ways to break this: one is to prevent him from hitting you solidly and dodge with footwork; the other is to take the hit head-on, but you need to have sufficiently resilient internal organs.

He secretly weighed his options: with his current strength, plus the significant improvement brought about by the refinement of his internal energy, he had a greater than 70% chance of winning against a master of ordinary boxing techniques.

Two days later, before dawn, Jiang Lan got up.

He tucked the remaining Qi-Nourishing Pills into his pocket, changed into a clean gray outfit, tightened his belt, and fastened his boots. Cheng Erniang, who was cooking porridge in the kitchen, peeked out when she heard the commotion.

Are you going out today?

"Um. Something came up."

"Eat before you leave?"

I'm not hungry.

Cheng Erniang didn't ask any more questions. She ladled a bowl of rice porridge from the pot and handed it to Jiang Lan. Jiang Lan took it, drank it all in one gulp, and then returned the bowl to her.

"Be careful," said Cheng Erniang. She didn't know what he was going to do, but she could tell—her son was different today.

Jiang Lan nodded and pushed open the courtyard gate.

A carriage was parked at the alley entrance, with a black lacquered canopy and blue curtains. Song Kui stood beside the carriage, saw him get out, and opened the carriage door.

"Chief Huo is waiting for you at the dock."

Jiang Lan boarded the carriage and closed her eyes to rest. The carriage passed through Changping Street, crossed the bridge, and headed towards the dock. The wheels rolled over the bluestone pavement, making a gurgling sound. More and more people were walking on the street, breakfast stalls were steaming, and vegetable farmers carrying loads were calling out their wares. Jiang Lan opened her eyes, lifted the curtain, and glanced out the window.

We're almost at the dock.

The carriage stopped in front of an open area. Jiang Lan alighted and found himself in front of a makeshift arena, about three feet high, with black triangular flags stuck in its four corners. Sunshades were erected on both sides of the arena, and the area beneath them was already filled with people. Merchants dressed in silk, dock foremen, and members of nearby gangs were all whispering among themselves.

Huo Yuanlong approached, his face even more somber than the previous two days. He lowered his voice: "Wu Laoliu didn't come. I sent people to look for him this morning, but no one was home; he'd even packed up his bedding."

Jiang Lan remained silent.

"Ungrateful wretch." Huo Yuanlong gritted his teeth and said those three words, then took a deep breath. "Fine. Let's not talk about him. Are you ready?"

"Um."

"That's Wang Yaozu over there." Huo Yuanlong raised his chin and pointed to the shed across the street.

Jiang Lan followed his gaze.

A group of people sat under the opposite awning. In the middle was a middle-aged man in a dark purple silk robe, with a square face, thick eyebrows, and a string of Buddhist prayer beads in his hand, looking calm and composed. Zhao Chongyuan. The second master of the Zhao family, the one who had sized up Jiang Lan with his eyes at the martial arts examination last time.

Standing next to him was a towering man. This man was half a head taller than Jiang Lan, with broad shoulders and a thick back, his muscles clearly defined beneath his short-sleeved shirt. His arms were thicker than Jiang Lan's thighs, making him look like a wall. Most striking were his hands—short, thick fingers with prominent knuckles, and his fists covered in calluses as thick as a shell.

Wang Yaozu.

His gaze also fell on Jiang Lan, sharp as a knife. Their eyes met briefly in mid-air. Wang Yaozu's lips curled into a contemptuous smile, then he turned his head and said something to Zhao Chongyuan. Zhao Chongyuan nodded, his hand still fiddling with his prayer beads.

"He looks down on you," Huo Yuanlong said in a low voice.

"It's good that you look down on them." Jiang Lan withdrew her gaze. "Those who looked up to them are all dead."

Huo Yuanlong paused for a moment, then patted him on the shoulder and said nothing more.

The Cheng family members had already pressed their fingerprints onto the life-or-death contract for the fistfight. Jiang Lan walked over, signed his name in the "participant" column, dipped his thumb in ink, and pressed it down. The red ink spread on the paper like a flower of blood.

"Thump—"

With the sound of a gong, the commotion on the dock instantly subsided.

Everyone looked toward the arena.

Wang Yaozu stood up from under the canopy, his steps steady, and stepped onto the ring. Each step he took was firm, the wooden planks making a dull thud, like someone striking a drum with a hammer.

Jiang Lan took off his outer shirt and handed it to Song Kui, leaving only his inner shorts. He walked onto the ring and stood opposite Wang Yaozu.

The two were no more than eight feet apart. Up close, Wang Yaozu appeared even more robust than from afar, his temples bulging, his breathing long and deep, each exhale carrying a burst of heat. This was a sign of inner strength—his internal organs were quite powerful.

Wang Yaozu spoke up, his voice booming: "You're Jiang Lan?"

"Yes."

"Is Huo Yuanlong out of options? Sending a mere martial arts expert with only six acupoints to his death?"

A low chuckle rippled through the audience. Zhao Chongyuan stopped fiddling with his prayer beads, a slight smile playing on his lips.

Jiang Lan didn't respond.

Wang Yaozu's smile faded, and he looked him up and down before sighing, "But then again, we're complete strangers with no grudges against each other, yet today we're facing each other in this ring. It's truly a cruel twist of fate."

His words sounded like a sigh, but his gaze remained unchanged; it was still the look of someone eyeing prey.

Jiang Lan said calmly, "The world is a narrow place, and one is often not in control of one's own destiny."

Wang Yaozu narrowed his eyes. He understood—these eight words weren't a sigh, but a declaration: on this stage, only fists and kicks matter. He slowly nodded, the mocking smile on his lips completely vanishing, and his gaze became focused.

The audience fell silent. A gust of wind blew across the dock, swirling a few withered leaves around the edge of the ring.

Under the awning, people whispered among themselves: "Is that Jiang Lan from Guangchang Martial Arts School? The newly appointed martial arts scholar?"

"Six acupoints against seven acupoints, is there any chance of victory?"

"The canal gang is really out of talent; they even sent out someone like this."

"Shh, keep your voice down, Huo Yuanlong is over there."

The murmurs buzzed like flies for a while, then gradually subsided.

Huo Yuanlong sat under the awning, his hands gripping the armrests of the chair tightly. Song Kui stood behind him, his grip on the knife at his waist tightening and loosening repeatedly.

The Cheng family members looked ashen-faced, and several of them had already lowered their heads, not daring to look at the arena.

Zhao Chongyuan picked up his teacup, took a small sip, and said something to the person next to him. The person next to him nodded with a smile.

On the stage, Jiang Lan and Wang Yaozu stared at each other.

Jiang Lan's breathing gradually deepened, and the energy in her dantian slowly circulated. The effects of the Peiyuan Pill were still present, and heat traveled through her body. Her Baihui acupoint swelled slightly, as if something was pushing inside.

Wang Yaozu slowly raised his hands, fingers spread, fists facing forward. The starting stance of the Mountain-Breaking Hand technique is like a fully drawn bow, where the power is stored but not released.

Another gong sounded—

"Fist exchange, begin!"

The dock was deathly silent. Only the wind remained.

Jiang Lan took half a step forward. She didn't retreat.

He didn't come here today to lose!