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

The turmoil surrounding the Golden Scales Gathering subsided after a few days.

As the Lunar New Year approaches, red lanterns are hung on Changping Street, and stalls selling New Year's goods line the streets, their shouts carrying the chill of winter through the alleys.

Jiang Lan stayed indoors, practicing boxing in the courtyard every day.

He stood with his hands at his sides, not in a fist stance, his breathing long and even, guiding the internal energy of his body.

His shoulder blades slid away like live fish, his back resembled a dragon lying in wait, and his arms were as soft as if they had no bones, completely lacking the fierceness of a powerful punch.

The Mountain-Crushing Fist is a powerful fist technique, with moves like Tiger's Leap, Tiger's Pounce, and Tiger's Swing, each capable of splitting mountains and shattering rocks.

But in a state of perfect harmony, there is no boundary between strength and gentleness.

The punch seemed slow and sluggish, but at the end of the punch, the hidden power suddenly exploded, the tip of the whip cracked the air with a short, crisp sound, and the leaves and dust in the courtyard flew up.

After finishing his punch, Jiang Lan's expression was calm and his breathing steady.

A flash of inspiration struck him:

Heaven rewards diligence; no effort is ever wasted.

【Crushing Mountain Fist (Perfect): 1/5000】

Jiang Lan exhaled, feeling somewhat more at ease.

If I were to encounter Luo Lie again now, I could defeat him in less than ten moves.

If it were Shi Yunshan, a peak cultivator with nine acupoints, one would need to cultivate their internal energy to at least the third level to have a 70% chance of winning...

"Ah Lan." Cheng Erniang, gripping a spatula, came out of the kitchen. "The Reed Bay is raising funds to build a Dragon King Temple to pray for rain and protect the fishermen. Are you going?"

"today?"

"Yes, Uncle Gao has been preparing for this for a long time."

"go."

Jiang Lan nodded, went inside to change her clothes, and then came out.

The snow stung my face as it hit the road to Reed Bay. My footsteps crunched on the frozen ground.

The reeds were withered and decaying, and grayish-white reed fluff filled the air like falling snow.

In the past, people walked this road to work at the docks. They would set off before dawn, wearing coarse cloth slings over their shoulders, trousers rolled up to their knees, and straw sandals that would fall apart after walking only half the distance.

Li Antian walked ahead with long strides, and Shi Tou had to jog to keep up. Shi Tou, with a blade of grass in his mouth and humming a little tune, lagged behind. Wang Mazi walked silently, and when they reached the dock, he worked silently. During breaks, he squatted by the wall, his pipe glowing intermittently.

Four people carrying 200-pound bags of grain together, scrambling for goods in the pouring rain, could still share a bowl of hot water in a dilapidated shed.

Shi Tou said, "Save enough money and open a shop in the prefectural city."

Wang Mazi said that when his son grows up, he will come to the docks to work.

Li Antian just smiled and didn't say anything.

Later, Jiang Lan gave up manual labor and went to a martial arts school to practice boxing. Shi Tou went to the prefectural city and disappeared without a trace. Wang Mazi was conscripted and fled north in the dead of winter, his fate unknown.

Li Antian is still at the dock, but he has gone from carrying heavy loads to doing odd jobs.

Reed Bay is still Reed Bay.

The person is no longer the same.

The area in front of the Dragon King Temple was packed with people.

In previous years, only a few dozen people participated in fundraising. Today, more than a hundred people surrounded the area, making it completely packed. An octagonal table was set up at the temple gate, with a donation box placed there. Uncle Gao stood to the side, his blue cloth jacket faded from washing, his figure thin and frail.

He used to run a stall in his early years and was well-versed in human relationships. He was in charge of organizing weddings and funerals in the countryside. He had a loud voice and was very polite.

"Aunt Liu, twelve coins—"

Sing your name to drown out the noise.

Jiang Lan stood at the back of the crowd, neither pushing nor shoving. Most of the names she heard were unfamiliar, and those that did sound familiar were elderly people she didn't recognize.

His gaze swept across the area, then suddenly stopped.

Li Antian huddled against the wall, holding a six or seven-year-old girl in his arms.

The girl was thin, but had big eyes. Her floral cotton-padded jacket was full of patches, and she timidly huddled in her father's arms.

Jiang Lan stepped forward.

"Yasuda-nii".

Li Antian looked up, stunned, and hurriedly stood up. He stood up so quickly that the girl in his arms almost slipped out of his grasp, but he quickly held her tightly, "Master Jiang... Master Jiang."

My lips were cracked and bleeding.

"Why bring the child out in this cold weather?" Jiang Lan asked calmly.

"The child's mother is sick and needs to avoid the wind for fear of catching the virus, so I have to keep her with me." Li Antian lowered his head, his smile fading in the cold wind. "Wherever I go, she goes."

Jiang Lan lowered his eyes and looked at the maid.

The girl wasn't shy; she stared straight at him with her big eyes. He held out a finger and waved it lightly in front of her. The girl raised her small hand and grasped his finger.

My little hands are cold.

Jiang Lan did not withdraw her hand.

"Uncle, your hands are warm." The little girl said in a childish voice, grinning, with a missing front tooth.

The surrounding noise suddenly faded away.

Jiang Lan reached into his robes, pulled out some loose silver, wrapped it in cloth, and stuffed it into Li Antian's hand.

"During the Lunar New Year, we buy food and new clothes for the children."

Li Antian's hands trembled, and his eyes reddened: "Master Jiang, what you gave me before was enough..."

"It's for the child, not for you," Jiang Lan interrupted him. "The child's clothes are getting old; it's time to get some new ones for the New Year."

Li Antian choked up, unable to utter a word of thanks, and could only lower his head and clutch the money tightly. The girl, bewildered, raised her hand and touched her father's chin.

"Any news from my old friends at the dock?" Jiang Lan asked.

Li Antian shook his head, his voice low and somber: "There's no news of Shi Tou, his fate unknown. Wang Mazi was conscripted; the north is bitterly cold, I'm afraid..."

He couldn't continue.

Jiang Lan remained silent for a moment, then turned and walked towards the donation box.

When Uncle Gao saw him, his pupils contracted, and he immediately bowed deeply, his waist bent extremely low: "Master Jiang, you've come."

Jiang Lan remained silent, took out a ten-tael silver ingot, and placed it in the donation box.

Uncle Gao's voice suddenly changed, and he shouted, "Jiang Lan, Master Jiang, please donate ten taels of silver!"

The entire room fell silent.

The next second, an uproar erupted.

"Ten taels?!"

"That's Jiang Lan, the martial arts scholar? A figure from Reed Bay!"

"From humble beginnings, now he's a master!"

Shock, envy, awe—all sorts of gazes converged, and a cacophony of voices rose. Jiang Lan remained expressionless, nodded slightly, and turned to leave.

The call of "Master Jiang" came from behind him, but he ignored it and kept going.

The crowd automatically parted to make way.

Upon reaching the temple gate, I stopped and turned back.

Li Antian remained standing by the wall, holding the sleeping girl, head bowed and silent. A buzz of voices rose around him, like the cacophony of a swarm of bees.

Jiang Lan withdrew her gaze and walked away.

The wind was even stronger on the way home.

He pulled his collar tighter and walked hurriedly.

The four who once traveled together are now separated by life and death. Shi Tou has disappeared, Wang Mazi has died, and Li Antian is trapped in poverty, struggling to make ends meet.

He walked on the same road, with someone behind him calling him "Master," wearing new boots and carrying some silver in his pocket.

The road hasn't changed, but the people walking on it are no longer in the same social class.

In the past, straw sandals with exposed toes would turn purple from the cold, and people dared not walk fast for fear that the sandals would fall apart.

Today's new boots keep me warm, but the road ahead feels longer.