From a tuberculosis patient to a martial arts master

"Thank you for your guidance, Manager Jin."

Zhu Hong's heart skipped a beat. With someone as esteemed as Manager Jin offering guidance, he stopped worrying and accepted the "Taizu Long Fist" manual, carefully putting it into his pocket.

"You're welcome."

The playful smile faded from the woman in brocade, and her tone became as gentle as falling catkins: "It was just a casual reminder."

Having said that, she slowly rose, her long dress brushing the ground. As she was about to step out the door, she slightly tilted her head and calmly instructed Zhang Lu'er, who was standing beside her:

"See this young friend out, and do not neglect him."

Zhang Lu'er hurriedly bowed, almost breaking herself into the shape of a shrimp.

"Yes, Steward Jin."

……

There is no moon tonight, and the starlight is dim.

On the third floor of Tingfeng, there is a luxurious carved wooden railing.

"That's the hundredth person."

The woman in brocade leaned against the soft balustrade, her gaze fixed on the window, her thoughts already wandering.

"It's been a full twenty years since I left Shuyang," she murmured silently, her red lips parting slightly to utter barely audible words:

"Time flies..."

Twenty years is but a fleeting moment for a cultivator like her who has reached the Yin Spirit realm.

In this remote border town, where fortune is scarce and people are vulgar, each day she coldly observes and waits to be selected, every moment feeling exceptionally long and tedious. She was thoroughly fed up with everything in Jinyang City.

Good thing!

"Finally, we've reached a hundred."

A barely perceptible ripple finally spread across the eyes of the woman in brocade.

Now, let's just wait and see.

Will these small fish and shrimp that have been caught, as the mystical, multi-armed Taoist priest said, stir up some unusual commotion?

The shadow of arranged marriages has lingered like a malignant tumor for far too long…

"Red letter".

She took a slow breath, concealing all the emotions that had leaked from her eyes, and whispered to the shadows behind her:

"Add Zhu Hong, who was just now, to the list of one hundred people."

She lowered her eyes, the jade bracelet twirling on her fingertip, her voice clear and cold:

"Closely observe his every move, especially the movements of the martial arts student Jianba. Report any abnormality immediately."

"Yes."

……

For several days in a row, the heavy snow cleared up.

Deep in Jinyao Mountain, in a sheltered mountain valley, the snow reflects the thin winter sunlight, illuminating the surroundings in a pale, bright light, with almost no dark corners to be found.

Zhu Hong then stood alone in the snow, practicing the famous "Twelve Forms of Taizu Long Fist" move by move.

Without the guidance of a renowned teacher or the opportunity to hone his skills with fellow practitioners, the only sounds were the howling mountain wind and the soft rustling of snow-laden branches, echoing the whooshing sounds of his fists and feet cutting through the wind.

Pitiful?

No, it's a rare moment of peace and freedom.

One can walk alone, sit alone, sing and drink alone, and even sleep alone. How could one not be as carefree as I am?

"Open the door and welcome guests."

"Progress is made through hard work, like a single whip probing the sea!"

"Wild Horse Parts Its Mane..."

He practiced each move extremely slowly and with utmost seriousness.

He repeatedly pondered the rudimentary formulas and diagrams from the boxing manual in his mind, while his body clumsily imitated them. Whenever he felt something was off, he would stop, frown, recall the movements, and try to adjust the angle of his waist and hips, the arc of his arms, and the rhythm of his breathing.

"This boxing technique looks simple," Zhu Hong thought to himself.

"But in a short period of time, it is not easy to really create the 'momentum' shown on the chart."

Taizu Changquan is indeed a common skill, but the techniques for generating power and the connection between moves all depend on one's own practice, which is far from the martial arts obtained from the "Dead Man's Manual." When practicing, one can visualize the practice in one's mind, and how one's muscles, bones, and blood circulate is as if a master is by one's side, and one can simply imitate it.

"Forget it, you can't rush things."

He resumed his starting stance, his gaze fixed on his fist: "Tomorrow is the selection ceremony; we'll have to put them to the test."

"Now, we'll refine each step one by one."

Time passed.

The mountains have been buried in frost and snow for so long, turning their peaks white.

Zhu Hong stayed with it, disassembling it move by move, starting over, disassembling it again, and starting over again.

If you make a mistake, start over.

When the energy dissipates, it gathers back together.

If your breathing becomes disordered, adjust your breathing.

Occasionally, a wild fox might peek out from the mountains, or a crow might fly across the sky, but he remained unmoved, his mind solely focused on each punch and kick, each breath.

until:

A few streaks of golden and purple light spread across the sky.

Zhu Hong let out a low shout, "Embrace the Moon and Seal the Gate!" He then delivered the final move of the Taizu Fist in one fluid motion before slowly retracting his stance.

"Not bad, I can finally finish performing the Twelve Forms of Emperor Taizu."

In the past few days, every time he practiced the final move, "Embrace the Moon and Seal the Gate," he would stumble. Sometimes his strength would suddenly dissipate, and sometimes the transitions between moves would become stiff and difficult to continue. No matter how much he tried to adjust his breathing and ponder, he could not overcome this hurdle.

After much hard work today, I finally have a sudden realization.

"It's time to go back."

Zhu Hong stopped and looked up at the twilight sky: "It might be difficult to leave the mountain once it gets dark."

……

The next day, at 9:00 AM.

Winters in Jinyang City are always unpalatably cold; the frozen ground chews off a layer of mud from the soles of early risers' shoes.

Emerging from Chicken and Goose Alley, head west.

Upon arriving outside the "Prefectural Examination Hall," it was already packed with people, so crowded that even their breaths seemed to clump together.

"This is impressive."

Zhu Hong straightened his clothes and squeezed into the crowd, sighing, "It seems like they've swept the entire city of Jinyang here."

He looked up.

Outside the vermilion gate of the examination hall stood two rows of constables with swords at their sides, all of them martial arts students, their backs ramrod straight.

Among the crowd, people from all walks of life were clearly distinguished.

On the open ground to the east, a dozen or so young men in fine clothes were gathered together, each wearing a brocade hat and sable fur coat, with jade ornaments at their waists. The one in the lead was particularly wicked, surrounded by seven or eight servants, who had prepared a brazier and soft chairs, and were eating dried fruit.

"That's Chi Yejun. I've seen him before at a tavern on West Street."

Some sharp-eyed people, upon learning the source of the report, spoke with a sour tone as if they had swallowed a whole unripe lemon: "I heard that he never practiced martial arts, but was forced to become a martial arts performer."

Is that really true?

Those around him looked incredulous and couldn't help but gasp in disbelief.

"Why not!"

The man sneered, "He's Madam Chi's third son."

These words silenced everyone.

In Jinyang City, besides the wife of the Chi family patriarch, who else could be addressed as Madam Chi?

It was her son, refined through the process of great medicine, who eventually became a talent.

"Truly, all other pursuits are inferior; only being born into a good family is superior."

A moment later, a man next to him chimed in sourly, "I guess I have no hope in this life. If I can't be reborn into a wealthy family in the next life, I won't even bother to be born."

"Ha ha ha ha……!"

The people nearby burst into laughter upon hearing this.

This group of people, also known as the "Westerners," are clearly divided into several groups: those from poor families, those who work as coders, and those who are merchants, but most of them are already in their thirties.