The next day, despite having gone to bed very late the previous night, Chen Chuan still woke up at his usual time. It made little difference to him; running through a few cycles of his breathing technique brought him right back to peak condition.
Starting today, he planned to temporarily set aside his saber practice in the training hall and focus on correcting his deficiencies according to the pointers He Xiaoxing had given him, for this was the foundation of everything.
Only by shoring up and solidifying the foundation could one build a house upon it.
For the next twenty-odd days, he cultivated quietly in his dormitory, addressing and rectifying the weak points and oversights one by one.
Besides his own efforts, Cheng Zitong also came by to check on him and discuss questions regarding his cultivation. As an instructor, Cheng Zitong had far more experience than he did; even if he might not spot a problem immediately, knowing where an issue lay allowed him to offer valuable guidance.
After all these days, Chen Chuan felt he had gained tremendously. Even without an exact metric of comparison, he could sense that he was considerably stronger than before.
Most noticeably, after nearly a month of conditioning, his mutated tissue had grown significantly more robust, clearly capable of absorbing more damage and exerting greater force.
He walked over to the desk, picked up a notebook lying upon it, and flipped through the pages.
This had arrived ten days after his meeting with He Xiaoxing. There was no return address, but according to Cheng Zitong, the man had likely already reached somewhere new.
The notebook was not very thick, but it was filled with points he needed to watch out for in his future cultivation. There was hardly a superfluous word—it was packed entirely with solid, practical knowledge.
Take using the Aperture Breathing Technique for self-inspection alone: it listed numerous specific techniques, each addressing a different circumstance.
Many people used the Aperture Breathing Technique, and it indeed incorporated plenty of experience from senior martial artists. But figuring out which methods applied to one's specific circumstances meant either searching on one's own or relying on an instructor to point the way. The methods He Xiaoxing provided were clearly an ideal remedy.
Before examining himself according to this approach, even he had not realized he had so many issues; only with the help of those techniques was he able to ferret out every flaw one by one.
Cheng Zitong had told him that in the old era, the First Limit was referred to as "building the bridge of sinew, framing the beam of bone." Broken down, it was actually two stages.
The first stage centered on strengthening the mutated fascia, while the second stage involved allowing the fully spread mutated fascia to penetrate further into the bones, even modifying parts of the bone and muscle in the process.
Many movements in a jin technique derived their support from the skeleton. Different jin techniques prioritized different bones for reinforcement. His jin technique, however, was destined to reinforce the entire body, which meant it would likely take longer.
He was not worried about this, for in truth, the time others could spend training fell far short of his.
Much of their training required recovery periods, forcing them to train in fits and starts, and the amount of time they could put in each day was limited—not to mention the need to gradually recuperate from medicinal stimulants.
He, on the other hand, had no such need. Any strain or injury could be borne by the Second Self. As long as his Second Self could endure it, he could keep training indefinitely. In an extreme case, he could even compress his sleep, though there was no need to go that far just yet.
Just then, distant cheers and clamor drifted in through the window. During these days, the Class B arena tournament was also underway, running from the latter half of the month straight through to the end of the year, while the true semifinals and finals would not begin until after the New Year.
Naturally, this was strictly between Class B students; Class A students never took part in such public matches. If what Class B students learned leaned toward conventional sports and competition, what Class A students learned was pure martial force.
What Wei Chang'an had told him was spot on: the path of a Class A student was fundamentally aimed at the role of a law enforcer. Furthermore, from his conversations with Cheng Zitong, he could sense that these students seemed to serve other functions for the upper echelons as well—it was just that with his current standing, he had no access to that tier yet.
This brought him to the "unlimited defense license." He noted that another of its functions was participating in law enforcement when the state required it. It was very likely that obtaining this license would provide a channel to reach the upper echelons.
Whether for the practical utility of the license itself or the upward mobility it might offer, he was determined to find a way to secure it.
After that day, he had looked into it further. In truth, the license was divided into three grades: Class A, Class B, and Class C. Class A was held for life, but there was no point counting on it; it was directly conferred by the state, not something one could simply earn through an exam. When the upper echelons decided to grant it, the examination was merely a formality.
As for the Class B license, as long as one met the requirements, one could apply and test for it at any time. Once passed, it remained valid for ten years, after which a retest was required. The difficulty was relatively high.
Class C was less demanding and tested every two years, but it was only valid for two years. Moreover, if someone failed to achieve Class B twice in a row, every subsequent attempt incurred an exorbitant examination fee, which increased with each retake.
This meant that if scions of influential families wanted to hold this license, they either had to earn a Class B license or, if holding Class C, repeatedly pour money into it. If a family wanted multiple members to maintain it, the sums invested would be astronomical. It almost seemed like a disguised form of taxation.
Chen Chuan felt that either one should not test at all, or if one did, one had to aim for the Class B license. Setting aside the drain on money, Class C was of very limited use to an individual; because of its short validity, one would probably spend the whole time scrambling for personal gain or preparing an exit strategy.
He could envision the resistance involved. If he did not want to repeat Shen Zheng's fate, martial force alone would not be enough; it would require plenty of maneuvering outside the arena, leveraging every ounce of influence at his disposal.
Fortunately, he still had ample time to prepare. Even so, martial prowess remained paramount. He needed to push the First Limit to his utmost potential before considering anything else.
After skimming through the notebook a bit longer, he set it down and returned to his training.
Near noon, Cheng Zitong arrived at his dorm room and told him, "It's almost the New Year. I originally thought I'd let you get yourself in order first and look for a commission for you next year, but someone pulled some strings and came to me with a request.
"I looked it over. As long as whoever takes it uses good judgment, the danger level isn't actually that high. So I brought it over for you to see. If you think it works, take it; if you don't have the time, I'll turn it down."
Chen Chuan smiled. "Even if you hadn't come looking for me, Teacher, I would have sought you out. My training consumes quite a lot of medicine, and I can't just sit around eating through my savings."
Cheng Zitong chuckled. "It wouldn't come to that. The school definitely won't skimp on your scholarship this year. You made the papers this semester—if they didn't reward you, who else would they give it to? Well, that's practically set in stone, so let's leave it at that. Since you've decided to take it, let's talk about the assignment first."
He pulled a stack of documents from his briefcase. "Look through this first."
Chen Chuan took the files, browsed through a few pages, and could not help feeling a bit surprised. "Something like this is real? I used to think it was just a midnight horror tale or some gimmick cooked up by cinemas."
Cheng Zitong smiled. "While it's gotten distorted and exaggerated in the retellings, it really does exist. If you take this on, you'll be able to see it with your own eyes. Even I have only witnessed it once."
Chen Chuan nodded. "Teacher, I'm quite curious about this too. I'll go check it out today."
"Then be careful and don't be careless," Cheng Zitong said, rising to his feet. "There's a lot to handle toward the end of the year, so I'll be off. The business card with the contact information is in the folder; call that manager yourself."
Chen Chuan agreed, saw Cheng Zitong out, and returned to read the documents thoroughly from start to finish. Once sure he had not missed anything, he retrieved the business card, walked over to a public payphone outside, and dialed the number on it.
The call connected quickly. After a brief conversation, the other party said they would send a car to pick him up. Chen Chuan went to the cafeteria for lunch first, freshened up and changed clothes upon returning, and then took the Xuejun Saber down from its rack.
After a moment's thought, he stepped over to the desk, pulled open the drawer, and brought out the "Wuji" pistol Cheng Zitong had given him days earlier. Then he retrieved the ammunition box, loaded the cartridges into the magazine one by one, and clicked it into the handgun.
Rather than putting the firearm in a holster, he slid it directly into the satchel he carried with him. To him, the pistol was merely a backup; the true core of his combat capability remained the Xuejun Saber.
Once prepared, he headed down the dormitory stairs and walked out the school gate with saber in hand. A car was already parked on the plaza ahead; seeing him emerge, the driver tapped the horn.
Chen Chuan walked over. The car door swung open, and a man stepped out, bowing obsequiously. "Mr. Chen? Manager Huang sent me to pick you up, sir."
Chen Chuan nodded. "Thank you for the trouble."
"No trouble at all, no trouble at all. Please get in."
Chen Chuan got into the car and fastened his seatbelt. The engine purred to life, and the vehicle headed along the road toward the southern district of the city.
Apart from the city center, the southern district was the most prosperous part of the city, home to more than half of Yangzhi City's population. Most of the wealthy were concentrated here, presenting a stark contrast to the northern district in its relative opulence.
After driving for roughly twenty minutes, the car pulled up at a place called the Lanxiang Cinema. Chen Chuan could see an enormous billboard overhead depicting the face of a heavily made-up woman, eyes closed as she blew on a dandelion, its tufted seeds drifting outward with a distinctly artistic flair.
The cinema was fairly large. Though the building was not very tall, its front facade stretched along the street for at least three hundred meters.
The driver drove the car straight through the cinema's arched entrance and parked in an internal parking lot. As the door opened, Chen Chuan stepped out holding his Xuejun Saber, straightened his clothes, and surveyed his surroundings.
Passersby coming and going in the cinema could not help widening their eyes and taking a closer look at him. Several security guards also turned their eyes on him, their expressions a mix of tension, curiosity, and wonder.
For they all knew that anyone walking openly in public bearing weapons had to be from Wuyi Academy and in possession of a weapons license.
The driver jogged ahead, puffing out his chest with his chin raised. "This is Manager Huang's invited guest! Make way, move aside!" Then, turning to Chen Chuan with a respectful inviting gesture, he said deferentially, "Mr. Chen, right this way, please."
Chapter 100