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

The medicine cabinets at Jirentang are mottled, with years of medicinal dust embedded in the wood grain.

The shopkeeper's fingertips moved the abacus, the crisp sound of the beads colliding was particularly clear in the quiet pharmacy.

He glanced up and saw Jiang Lan walk in, and his fingertips paused.

"Master Jiang, three pieces, please?"

Jiang Lan didn't stop walking. She went straight to the counter and gently patted the purse containing loose silver on the counter. "Three pieces."

The shopkeeper turned around in response and reached for the medicine cabinet drawer.

He glanced quickly at the closed shop door as he turned to the side, making sure no one was coming or going, before lowering his voice and leaning closer to the counter, his tone tentative: "Master Jiang, have you ever heard of the Gathering Yuan Pill?"

Jiang Lan raised her eyes, her gaze falling on the shopkeeper's face. She remained silent, waiting quietly for him to continue. The calmness in her eyes made the shopkeeper hesitate slightly, no longer daring to beat around the bush.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small porcelain bottle, about the size of his palm. The bottle was made of rough clay and had a cracked mouth, but it didn't even have a label. It was obviously a privately made contraband.

The shopkeeper pushed the porcelain bottle towards Jiang Lan, lowering his voice even further: "Its effects are three times stronger than the Peiyuan Pill, but the price is only seventy percent. Disciples from several martial arts schools in the inner city are secretly using it, and we have countless repeat customers."

Jiang Lan glanced at the porcelain bottle, making no move to take it. "Whose recipe is this?"

In the world of elixirs, the most taboo thing is obtaining them from unknown sources. If the formula and the ingredients are unknown, even the best medicine is a gamble with one's life.

The shopkeeper put on a worldly smile, raised his hand and waved it, trying to gloss over the matter: "Don't worry about it. As long as the herbs are genuine, that's fine. Asking so many questions is pointless."

Jiang Lan's eyes darkened slightly as the events of last month flashed through her mind.

A young disciple at the martial arts school bought these unclaimed pills because they were cheap. After taking them for less than half a day, his internal energy surged wildly, his meridians became blocked, and he was unable to move while lying in bed. It took him a full half month to recover before he could get out of bed.

He raised his hand and gently pushed the porcelain bottle back to the shopkeeper, leaving it untouched.

"We'll talk about it next time."

The shopkeeper's smile froze instantly, a hint of displeasure flashing in his eyes, but he dared not say another word. He reluctantly stuffed the porcelain bottle back into his pocket and pushed the three wrapped Qi-Nourishing Pills towards him. Jiang Lan counted out the loose silver, put it down, put away the oil paper package, lifted the curtain, and stepped out of the pharmacy.

Jiang Lan stopped at a pastry stall on the street corner. His mother loved sweets, so he bought two warm sugar cakes, placed them on oil paper, and turned to walk into the alley.

……

The next day, as soon as it was light, Jiang Lan got up and went to the martial arts school.

As soon as I entered the martial arts school, I sensed something was wrong. The usual shouts of students practicing their punches in the early morning were gone, and the large courtyard was crowded with disciples, all huddled together, whispering among themselves, but no one dared to speak loudly.

A space was cleared in the middle of the crowd, and Zhao Heng stood there.

He was barefoot, stepping on the cold blue bricks. His right arm was still in a sling, the bandage already filthy and black, the corner of the cloth hanging down from his shoulder and dragging on the ground, covered in dust.

His short-sleeved shirt was wrinkled and covered with mud and medicine stains. His face was also covered in mud, and there was a dark red scab on his forehead, dry, cracked, and hideous, indicating that he had been injured at some point.

Zhao Heng, who was once full of vigor and had an arrogant attitude, now looks disheveled.

"I am Wu Xiucai—none of you are a match for me!"

Zhao Heng's voice was terribly hoarse, and every word seemed to be squeezed out of his throat, yet he shouted it out loud with all his might.

He raised his hand to demonstrate the moves of the famous Mountain-Crushing Fist, but his right arm was immobile, so he could only barely swing his left arm.

With a single Tiger Strike, his body wobbled and his power dissipated, completely lacking any form or technique. His sleeve swept across the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.

He then forced himself to use the Double Whip Mountain Shake technique, but after turning halfway, he staggered and almost fell headfirst. He barely managed to steady himself by supporting himself on his knees, his face already deathly pale.

"Good! Good punch!"

He actually cheered loudly to himself, forcing a stiff smile that revealed his teeth, but his eyes were empty and lifeless, devoid of any spirit, only a numb madness remained.

Shen Qing crossed his arms and leaned against the weapon rack, a cold, mocking smile playing on his lips. "If only you had known this would happen, you wouldn't have done it in the first place."

Upon hearing this, the surrounding disciples all turned to look, but no one dared to speak. Everyone knew that Zhao Heng's current predicament was entirely his own fault for being arrogant and disdainful of others; he had no one to blame but himself.

Zhao Heng suddenly stopped moving and froze on the spot. His body was tense, and his eyes were fixed on the blue bricks under his feet, without moving.

A moment later, his legs buckled, and he knelt down, his forehead slamming heavily against the cold brick floor. He muttered repeatedly, his voice trembling with fear and tears: "My lord, spare me... I was wrong... The arena was unfair... I was wrong..."

His forehead slammed against the ground repeatedly, making dull thuds. The wound that had already scabbed over instantly burst open again, and blood flowed down his forehead, seeping into the cracks of the blue bricks, spreading out as dark red spots.

Liu Yun came from the backyard carrying a medicine pot. When she saw the scene in the yard, she stopped abruptly, her expression changed slightly, and she stood there in silence for a few breaths before finally turning around and going back to the backyard, unwilling to get involved.

Under the corridor of the martial arts school, Liu Changqing was standing there at some point. He was dressed in a black short shirt, his hands hanging at his sides, his expression indifferent, his gaze calm as he looked at Zhao Heng, who was kneeling on the ground and kowtowing repeatedly.

Zhao Heng kowtowed more than a dozen times, his forehead dripping with blood, but suddenly stood up.

The fear on his face vanished instantly, replaced by extreme alertness, his whole body tense, as if he were guarding against an unseen enemy.

He raised his left fist and gestured repeatedly at the empty air, muttering incantations that grew softer and softer: "Come here... come here and try... I'll punch you to death..."

In the end, only his lips moved slightly, and he could no longer make a sound.

The entire courtyard was completely silent, save for the sound of the wind whistling through the weapon rack, causing the scabbards to clink together with a crisp, jarring ring that sounded particularly jarring in the stillness.

After a long silence, Liu Changqing finally spoke slowly, his voice calm and even: "Sun Gengsan."

Sun Gengsan quickly stepped forward, bowed, and said, "Disciple is here."

"What other relatives does he have?" Liu Changqing's gaze remained fixed on Zhao Heng, his tone revealing neither joy nor anger.

"Master, he also has an older sister who married and moved to the countryside outside the city," Sun Gengsan replied hastily.

"Could someone come and take him away?"

Sun Gengsan looked troubled and hesitated for a moment: "This disciple will go and inquire now, but the journey is long and I'm afraid I won't be able to get here in a while."

Liu Changqing remained silent for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the seemingly insane Zhao Heng, his eyes devoid of any pity, before he said indifferently, "No need."

"Let him go on his own."

In short, the outcome is decided.

Sun Gengsan froze instantly, his face filled with astonishment. The surrounding disciples were also startled and looked up at Liu Changqing.

Zhao Heng continued talking to himself, his words mumbled and unclear, making it impossible to tell whether he was saying "I'm not useless" or "I am a martial arts scholar".

He slowly turned around and walked step by step toward the entrance of the martial arts school.

As he passed the weapons rack, his left foot accidentally kicked the scabbard, which slid across the ground with a screeching sound. He seemed not to hear it, keeping his head down and continuing forward without stopping.

He walked out of the martial arts school and onto the bustling Changping Street. Pedestrians on the street gave him sidelong glances and gave him space, pointing and whispering, "This guy must be crazy," their tone full of sighs and disdain.

Zhao Heng was completely unaware, walking further and further away, still muttering to himself, gesturing with his hands as if performing moves of the famous Mountain-Crushing Fist, his left hand waving wildly in the air, as if he were directing a non-existent match, looking lonely and dejected.

Jiang Lan stood at the entrance of the martial arts school, quietly watching his back as he walked away step by step until he turned the corner at the end of the street and disappeared from sight completely.

Sun Gengsan walked to his side, looked in the direction Zhao Heng had left, and sighed softly, his tone full of emotion: "He used to be such an arrogant person."