The rotting wooden door of the firewood room closed silently behind him, completely cutting off the hustle and bustle of the deep courtyards of the Prince's Mansion.
The small courtyard was dead silent. Weeds grew past knee height, casting twisted, ghostly shadows in the twilight. The only two adobe huts had peeling, mottled walls that exposed the rotting yellow mud beneath. The window paper was torn wide open, and the wailing cold wind poured in unhindered.
Qin Lie leaned his back against the cold, rough door panel. His violent heartbeat thudded against his frail chest.
Thump-thump! Thump-thump!
Like the beating of a war drum.
Every single pulse tugged at the deep purple toxic patch on his chest, sending a chilling, bone-deep, dull ache through him. He panted heavily. The cold air, mixed with dust and the smell of rotting grass roots, scraped across his dry, cracked throat, bringing a burning sensation of searing heat.
Like a severely wounded and dying lone wolf, he had finally dragged his broken body back to his temporarily safe lair.
His tense nerves suddenly relaxed. A sense of exhaustion, heavy as lead, instantly crushed him. His body slid softly down the door panel and slumped onto the cold ground, kicking up a choking cloud of dust.
He had no mind for the filth.
Trembling, using the very last of his strength, he pulled out the three things he had clutched tightly against his chest.
On the left was that egg-sized, pitch-black "stubborn stone" that looked like a cinder. It was icy and heavy to the touch, its surface coated with a thick layer of grime and grease that clung to his hands.
On the right was that thread-bound book, so tattered it was about to fall apart. The cover was completely gone, leaving only half a scorched piece of cardboard. The pages were loose, exuding a heavy stench of mold and burnt residue.
Finally, there was the palm-sized, jagged-edged Ancient Bronze Mirror Fragment.
Cold.
A constant, unchanging cold. Like ten-thousand-year-old mysterious ice buried deep underground.
Three items.
They lay spread across his mud-stained, withered, chicken-claw-like palms. Under the very last sliver of bleak daylight filtering through the broken window, they looked entirely unremarkable. Like genuine trash.
Qin Lie stared fixedly at them. On his sallow face, sweat mixed with grime slid down his angular cheekbones, dripping onto the cold muddy ground and splashing into tiny, turbid mud-blossoms.
It worked!
Fifty copper coins!
In exchange for a tattered volume that might conceal ancient martial arts imprints!
In exchange for a genuine Origin Stone wrapped in a thick crust!
And this fragment... this unfathomably mysterious ancient bronze mirror capable of piercing through illusions!
This was an unprecedented windfall!
He parted his cracked lips and smiled silently.
The smile was twisted, carrying the frantic madness of having cheated death and a trace of... bone-deep mockery.
The unbridled sneers of those stall owners.
Old Cripple's indifferent and derisive gaze.
Recalling them now, it was like an absurdly preposterous play.
Who was the fool?
Who was the blind man?
Trembling, he carefully tucked the black stone and the tattered book back into his innermost pocket, pressing them right against his burning skin. The rough, cold texture brought an unprecedented sense of grounding.
Then, he gripped the Ancient Bronze Mirror Fragment tightly.
Cold.
Constant.
Like a calming needle resting in a stormy sea.
He forcefully suppressed the hatred, wild elation, lingering fear—all the violently surging emotions churning within his chest—leaving behind only a freeze-like calmness.
Strength!
What he needed most right now was strength!
Teeth and claws capable of tearing open a gap in this desperate situation!
Struggling, he used the cold wall for support and managed to stand up with difficulty.
Step.
By step.
Dragging his lead-heavy legs, he shuffled to the only relatively dry corner of the courtyard—beside a stack of half-rotted firewood.
Sitting down against the cold firewood stack, he closed his eyes and drew a deep breath.
The cold air poured into his lungs, bringing a tearing pain, yet it made his mind clearer.
He sank his consciousness into his embrace, communicating with the chilling ancient bronze mirror.
"Reflect..."
He commanded silently.
Target: that tattered book pressed tightly against his chest!
Hum!
A faint tremor came from the mirror fragment. A familiar stream of icy energy, like the finest silver thread, cautiously probed outward.
This time, it did not explore the material of the book pages; instead, it wrapped directly around the blurred characters and crude, twisted patterns upon them!
Hum—
The dark gold patterns on the surface of the mirror fragment suddenly lit up!
Brighter than that time in the black market alley!
More stable!
An invisible, cold, and majestic will descended instantly!
Qin Lie felt as though his mind had suffered a heavy boom! The scene before his eyes abruptly shifted!
The image of that tattered book was yanked straight out of his embrace by an invisible mighty force and projected deep into his consciousness!
Illuminated by the cold light of the mirror, the originally blurry characters, which looked like ghost talismans, were like dirt tossed into pure water!
The impurities were instantly stripped away, revealing clear and sharp brushstrokes!
Those crude, distorted illustration lines came alive, rapidly disassembling and reconstructing beneath the cold mirror light!
The force-generation trajectory of muscles!
The subtle articulation of tendons and bones!
The circulation nodes of vital energy and blood!
Move by move, the most primitive and crude fist framework was torn to pieces at this moment, then reassembled by a cold will that understood the origin of all things—in a way surpassing mortal comprehension!
Recombined!
Simplified!
Stripping away all unnecessary flashy transitions!
Eliminating all redundant movements of gathering force!
Retaining only the most direct, vicious, and lethal path of attack!
At the same time, the blurred fragments of the mental realm belonging to the ancestral remnant technique practiced in his past life—the *Zhenwu Art*, with its mountain-like heaviness and monolith-like stability—were also forcibly captured and extracted by the mirror's will!
Like the purest core of an ore, it was hammered straight into the framework of this fist technique, which had been optimized to the extreme!
Hum!
Deep within his consciousness, light and shadow shifted, finally freezing in place!
A brand-new "book" hovered before Qin Lie's "eyes." Its pages were formed of chilling mirror light. On the cover, three large characters condensed from countless tiny golden runes exuded a heavy and sharp aura—
*Stone-Breaking Fist*!
Below was a line of small annotated text:
"Optimized deductive version of basic boxing. Stripped of complexity, retaining only combat. Fusing mountain heaviness into the fist bones, condensing monolith stability into the fingertips. Turning the decayed into a sharp blade."
Qin Lie snapped his eyes open!
Deep within his pupils, the cold trajectory of that mirror-light book seemed to linger!
He panted rapidly, his heart beating wildly, almost bursting through his throat!
It worked!
It really worked!
The mirror had not only optimized the fist technique!
It had also fused the mental realm of the *Zhenwu Art*!
Turning the decayed into a sharp blade!
He looked down eagerly at his own hands. Withered, covered in tiny cuts and grime, they trembled slightly in the dim light.
Struggling, he leaned against the cold firewood stack and wobbled to his feet. His legs felt as though he were stepping on cotton, unsubstantial and weak. With every breath, the toxic patch on his chest sent a chilling, stabbing pain.
Yet he paid it no mind.
All his focus was immersed in the first opening move of the brand-new fist technique within his mind.
"Hoo..."
He let out a long, slow breath of stale air. The vapor condensed into a short white arrow in the chilling air.
He sank his consciousness into his body, guiding the faint, lingering thread of pale golden energy deep within his dantian—a wisp of vital sensation newly birthed after practicing the optimized version of the *Zhenwu Art*.
The pale golden stream of energy moved laboriously and slowly along a brand-new path it had never traversed before.
This path bypassed his fractured and blocked main meridians, intricately wrapping around the bones of his arms and several relatively intact muscle and tendon nodes, finally converging upon the phalangeal joints of his right fist!
Hum!
An extremely faint yet incomparably clear sense of heaviness, like a droplet falling into a deep pool, quietly blossomed deep within the bones of his right fist!
"Ha!"
A suppressed low growl burst from Qin Lie's throat.
Not out of anger.
It was strength!
A long-lost sense of power!
He violently twisted his waist! Sinked his shoulders! Pouring all the remaining strength of his body—along with that wisp of pale golden energy and the newly condensed, imperceptible heaviness deep within his bones—he viciously poured it all into his right fist!
Punching out into the empty, cold air before him!
His movement was clumsy, even somewhat staggered, and the posture possessed zero aesthetic value. It was merely the most primitive, direct straight punch!
The punch landed soundlessly. There was no whistling tear through the air, no surging wave of pressure. Only Qin Lie himself could clearly feel that the moment he threw the punch, several key muscles on his arm tightened like wound-up springs!
The heaviness deep within his bones erupted instantly, like a tiny phantom mountain peak flashing momentarily across his knuckles!
Thud!
His fist struck the cold air, producing a dull sound like hitting thick, damp leather.
Inside the courtyard, dead silence reigned. The weeds remained still, and the cold wind continued to wail, as if nothing had happened at all.
Qin Lie maintained his punching posture, breathing heavily. Sweat streamed like a small creek down his sunken temples and angular neck, dripping onto the icy mud and splashing into tiny muddy droplets.
A single punch had almost drained the tiny sliver of strength that had just recovered in his broken body. His arm ached as if it were being torn apart, and the toxic patch on his chest sent needle-like stabs of pain.
Yet on his sallow face, a smile slowly, slowly bloomed—one that was nearly ferocious!
It worked!
He clearly "saw"—no, he clearly "felt"—the moment his fist struck the air, that imperceptible heaviness erupted!
Though weak, it unquestionably caused the power of this punch to far exceed the limit that his shattered body should have possessed!
No flashy techniques!
No complicated moves!
Only the purest, condensed-to-the-extreme destructive force!
Turning the decayed into a sharp blade!
The mirror had not lied to him!
This optimized *Stone-Breaking Fist* was the claws and teeth tailored specifically for him at this moment!
"Again!"
Flames of madness burned within Qin Lie's eyes.
He ignored the ache in his arm, the stabbing pain in his chest, and the weakness of his body. His consciousness sank inward once more, laboriously mobilizing the wisp of pale golden energy within his dantian, guiding it along that brand-new path optimized by the mirror, converging once more upon the bones of his right fist!
Twist the waist!
Sink the shoulders!
Throw the punch!
Thud!
Another dull sound of striking the empty air.
The movement was still clumsy and staggering, but it seemed an infinitesimal fraction smoother than before. The sensation of heaviness condensing on his knuckles also seemed to gather a fraction faster.
Sweat soaked his tattered inner garment, clinging tightly to his angular spine. A gust of cold wind blew, bringing a bone-chilling cold, yet he remained entirely unaware of it.
Punch.
After punch.
Monotonous.
Tedious.
Repeating the exact same basic straight punch.
In this forgotten corner of the courtyard, amid the deepening twilight and the wailing cold wind, he was like an untiring, crazily striking beast of burden beating against a boulder.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
The dull sounds of impact became the sole rhythm in this dead silence.
At first, his movements were sluggish and stiff, every punch accompanied by his body's unbearable trembling. Every time he mobilized that wisp of pale golden energy, it felt like trekking across a blazing knife-mountain, bringing a tearing agony through his meridians.
The deep purple toxic patch on his chest surged with the circulation of his blood and energy, continuously sending chilling pains and blockages, like a cold, stubborn stone blocking the riverbed where his power flowed.
Qin Lie clenched his teeth. His lower lip had long since been bitten through, fresh blood mixing with sweat to leave a dark red trail at the corner of his mouth.
He stared fixedly at the empty air before him, his gaze ferocious, like that of a mortal enemy. His willpower, acting like the most stubborn drill bit, repeatedly battered against that brand-new path optimized by the mirror, guiding that faint wisp of energy to impact the budding heaviness deep within his arm bones.
At the same time, the bronze mirror fragment pressed tightly against his chest, radiating a constant, icy touch. A faint yet distinct stream of cool energy continuously probed into his body, acting like the most precise probe, "reflecting" every subtle muscle tremor, every structural limit of his tendons and bones, and every convergence node of his blood and energy during each punch!
Especially the instant that heavy "mountain intent" gathered and erupted upon his knuckles, the mirror's reflecting power keenly captured every detail of that instantaneous force transmission, continuously feeding this data back in the form of a cold data stream deep into Qin Lie's consciousness!
Where was the force applied too forcefully, risking muscle tears?
Where was the angle deviated, causing a loss in force transmission?
Where was it blocked by the cold deathly qi of the toxic patch on his chest?
Everything was rendered in minute detail!
Like a master craftsman, Qin Lie constantly fine-tuned his posture, his force-application angle, his energy guidance, and even his breathing rhythm based on the cold "data" fed back by the mirror!
Thud!
Another punch struck out!
This time, the movement was still clumsy, but the trajectory of his arm swinging out seemed a fraction straighter than before! The heaviness condensed on his knuckles seemed to erupt with slightly greater cohesion! The loss in force transmission seemed to decrease by an imperceptible fraction!
Improvement!
Infinitesimally small, but it undeniably existed!
A brighter light burned in Qin Lie's eyes. He was completely immersed in this frantic tempering and cold "data" correction.
He forgot the time.
He forgot the cold.
He forgot the severe pain and weakness of his body.
Only the fist!
Only the strength!
Only that bit of claws and teeth, forged entirely by his own hands, belonging to him alone!
Sweat soaked into the muddy ground beneath him, staining a small dark patch of dampness before being dried away by the cold wind, leaving behind white salt crystals.
His body grew increasingly hot. With every breath, he exhaled scorching white vapor. Beneath the surface of his skin, beneath that sickly sallow layer, an extremely faint, almost invisible trace of crimson faintly bled through—the manifestation of his blood and qi being forcibly stimulated to scour his broken body.
The purple toxic patch on his chest seemed to... fade by an infinitesimal fraction under the impact of his circulating blood?
I.
How much time had passed? How many punches had he thrown?
"Hah..."
Qin Lie let out a long, hoarse gasp, like a broken bellows pulled to its absolute limit. His body swayed violently, darkness washing over his vision in waves as golden stars danced before his eyes.
A strong wave of dizziness and exhaustion struck him like a tidal wave. His legs turned to jelly, unable to support him any longer.
Bang!
He heavily collapsed onto the cold, hard mud!
His knees struck the ground, sending a piercing pain through him. He braced his hands against the earth and began to cough violently, coughing so bitterly and deeply it felt as though he might hack out his entire lungs.
Every cough tugged at the aching nerves throughout his entire body. Sweat gushed like a waterfall from his forehead and temples, dripping into the soil below.
He panted heavily, his chest heaving violently like an old bellows. With every inhalation, his throat burned with fiery pain.
Deep within his dantian, that wisp of pale golden energy had long since been entirely depleted, leaving it empty.
His arms ached so intensely he could barely lift them. The trace of heaviness deep within his bones was now so faint it was nearly imperceptible. His body felt completely hollowed out, leaving behind only endless fatigue and bone-deep soreness.
He raised his head with difficulty. Sweat blurred his vision.
The courtyard was completely swallowed by heavy night, save for the weak, flickering lamplight seeping through the broken window—the lamp Uncle Fu had secretly left in his room.
The cold wind grew fiercer, whipping up withered grass and fallen leaves on the ground, making wailing, sorrowful sounds like a ghost crying.
Qin Lie parted his lips and smiled silently.
That smile looked exceptionally ferocious amidst the sweat and grime on his face, yet also exceptionally... gratifying!
Struggling, using arms so sore they had nearly lost all sensation, he pushed against the cold ground, inch by difficult inch, and stood up once more!
His body still trembled uncontrollably, his legs weak and floating, yet he stood!
His spine remained straight as an arrow in the heavy night!
Though still skin and bones, he stood like a long spear bent back by a violent gale, stubbornly springing upright once more!
A faint yet incomparably clear warm current, like the melting stream of early spring, quietly blossomed deep within his exhausted dantian!
More solid than before!
More resilient!
Carrying a trace of monolith-like heaviness!
That was the vital sensation of the *Zhenwu Art*!
After this frantic tempering, not only had it not been exhausted, it had actually... grown a fraction stronger!
At the same time, he clearly sensed that deep within the soreness of his arms, amidst his tendons and bones, an indescribable... resilience seemed to have been added!
The frequency of the chilling, stabbing pains from the deep purple toxic patch on his chest also seemed to have... decreased by a fraction!
Strength!
Though pitifully weak, it was truly, undeniably strength that belonged to him alone!
It was growing!
It was reviving!
He slowly raised his right hand. Withered, covered in tiny cuts and mud stains, it was merely a blurred silhouette in the deep night. Yet he could feel that his finger joints seemed... a fraction harder than before!
*Stone-Breaking Fist*!
Stone-breaking!
He abruptly clenched his fist! His knuckles made a slight cracking sound from the force.
An extremely faint yet heavy and sharp aura flashed across his tightly clenched fist-edge!
Like the cold flash of a blade cutting through the deep night!
Qin Lie slowly loosened his fist. He took a long, deep breath of the freezing, bone-chilling night wind, mixed with the scent of dust, rotting weeds, and sweat. It poured into his lungs, bringing a tearing pain, yet it made the flames in his eyes burn all the more fiercely.
Dragging his aching, nearly numb legs, step by step, he moved back toward the dilapidated hut that emitted the weak lamplight.
His steps remained unsteady, but with every footfall, there was a trace of imperceptible heaviness that had not been there when he first came out!
Pushing open the creaking, broken door, the dim lamplight barely illuminated the utterly crude furnishings within.
A creaking broken wooden bed. A table missing a leg, propped up by stones. On the table sat a crude pottery bowl containing the cold, watery porridge Uncle Fu had secretly brought him.
Qin Lie walked over to the table, not even glancing at the bowl of cold porridge.
His gaze fell upon the corner of the table.
There, quietly resting, was a brand-new, perfectly intact book.
It was the most basic *Vigorous Ox Boxing Manual* issued by the Prince's Mansion's armory.
Brand new, yet cheap. Like leftover scraps tossed to a beggar.
The corners of Qin Lie's mouth slowly curved upward, forming an arc that was chilling and sarcastic to the extreme.
He reached out. Withered fingers pinched the brand-new *Vigorous Ox Boxing Manual*.
The cover was smooth, carrying the scent of inferior ink.
He flipped it open casually. Inside were neat yet rigid illustrations of the forms, along with a few hollow qi-cultivation formulas.
After reading a few pages, his gaze remained indifferent, as if he were looking at a pile of worthless waste paper.
Then, with a flick of his wrist—
Rips—
The brand-new pages were mercilessly torn out!
Page.
After page.
The harsh sound of tearing was exceptionally clear in the dead silence of the rundown room.
Without a glance, he casually tossed the torn pages into the pile of half-rotted firewood in the corner used for kindling.
Soon, the brand-new *Vigorous Ox Boxing Manual* was reduced to nothing but a bare, hard cover stamped with the words "Prince's Mansion Armory."
Qin Lie picked up the half-charred charcoal pencil from the table—the one he usually used for bookkeeping.
Lowering his head, his withered fingers pinched the charcoal pencil. On the blank space of the cover, with heavy strokes and stroke by stroke, he wrote three crooked yet powerful large characters that pierced straight through to the back—
*Stone*!
*Breaking*!
*Fist*!
Having finished, he casually tossed the "new boxing manual," now reduced to a mere cover, back onto the corner of the table, as if discarding a genuine piece of trash.
Only after doing all this did he pick up the crude pottery bowl on the table.
The watery porridge inside had long since gone completely cold, a layer of grey-white skin congealing over its surface, emitting a faint sour odor.
He tilted his head back.
Glug! Glug!
As if drinking the fiercest liquor, he drained the cold, sour watery porridge in one breath!
The cold porridge slid down his throat into his empty stomach, bringing a spasm-like chill.
He paid it no mind, using his tattered sleeve to wipe away the remaining porridge stains from the corner of his mouth.
On his sallow face, there was no expression.
Only those eyes, under the dim lamplight, burned terrifyingly bright. Like a lone wolf lying in wait during a freezing night.
He walked to the corner. A pile of half-man-high dry firewood stood there.
Bending down, from the very bottom, he pulled out a piece of hardwood firewood about three paces long and as thick as a wrist.
The wood was hard, covered in rough bark knots, feeling heavy in his hand.
He weighed it. It would do well enough.
Then, he blew out the flickering oil lamp on the table.
The small hut was instantly swallowed completely by ink-black darkness, save for a few bleak points of starlight leaking through the broken window.
Gripping the rough hardwood stick, dragging his still-aching body, Qin Lie stepped once more, step by step, into the cold night of the courtyard.
The biting cold wind whipped his thin, tattered clothes.
He stood still.
Closed his eyes.
Drew a deep breath of the freezing cold air.
His consciousness sank into his dantian. That newborn thread of pale golden energy, carrying the heaviness of a monolith, flowed slowly along the brand-new path optimized by the mirror.
This time, it was no longer restricted to his arms, but spread throughout the relatively intact muscles and bones of his entire body, finally converging upon the hands gripping the wooden stick!
Hum!
A faint yet incomparably clear sense of heaviness, like the slumbering soul of a mountain, quietly awakened at both ends of the rough wooden stick!
Qin Lie snapped his eyes open!
Deep within his pupils, cold light burst forth!
He moved!
No longer a clumsy straight punch, but a twist of the waist! A sinking of the hips! A spin of his body!
Leveraging the twisting force of his waist and legs, he swung that crude hardwood stick in his hand like an earth-splitting giant axe, violently slashing downward into the thick, empty darkness before him!
Whoosh!
The shadow of the stick tore through the air, emitting a short, dull whistle!
His movement still retained its newly learned sluggishness, yet compared to his bare fists earlier, it carried an indomitable, tragic momentum!
The tip of the stick tore through the darkness, heavy power gathering and erupting at the head of the staff! Though weak, it carried a desperate determination to split open boulders!
Bang!
The wooden stick smashed heavily into the cold muddy ground, kicking up a few frozen clods of earth!
Qin Lie's body swayed. The ache in his arms struck once more, yet he did not stop for an instant!
Twisting his body!
Revolving!
The wooden stick whistled through the air!
A horizontal sweep!
An upward slash!
A diagonal chop!
His movements grew faster and faster!
More and more fluid!
The techniques were still the most basic power-generating forms of the "Stone-Breaking Fist"!
Only the fists had been replaced by the three-foot piece of hardwood in his hand!
With every strike of the stick!
Came a suppressed, beast-like growl from deep within Qin Lie's throat!
Every time the force erupted at the tip of the stick!
It sent a chilling, stabbing pain through the toxic blotch on his chest!
As if beaten fiercely by this pure, unadulterated strength!
Fading by a fraction!
In the small courtyard.
Shadows of the stick flew everywhere!
The sound of the stick tearing through the air was endless!
Like a torrential rain lashing against tattered banana leaves!
A thin, gaunt figure.
In the thick, impenetrable night.
Like a tireless, frenzied demon.
Fiercely brandishing a crude wooden stick!
Cleaving through the darkness!
Cleaving through despair!
Striking toward that distant, yet unreachable...
Path to survival, bought with blood and fire!
Outside the courtyard wall.
In the deeper shadows.
A pair of young eyes.
Peering through a crack in the wall.
Gazed fixedly at the figure wildly swinging the stick inside.
His pupils contracted to the size of pinpricks from extreme shock!
Lin Feng clamped a hand tightly over his mouth.
Just to keep the cry of astonishment from bursting out of his throat.
His body stiffened.
Like a frozen statue.
Only his heart.
Pounded furiously inside his chest!
Thump-thump! Thump-thump!
Like a battle drum!
The Heir...
That stick technique...
That imposing aura...
That resolute, tragic intent to kill...
Could this...
Could this really be the ruined Heir of the rumors—whose meridians were completely severed, whose dantian was shattered, and who could only hide in the woodshed coughing up blood?!