At almost the same time Chen Chuan received the approval for his application, Tai Dongwei and the others also received notices from the review board forwarded by the school, requiring them to report to a designated location within six months to undergo the examination for the unlimited defense license.
However, they were taking the Grade C license exam this time, which was far less complicated; the testing location would simply be decided on the fly depending on the time frame they chose to go.
To Tai Dongwei, none of it mattered anyway. They were merely chaperones, there to make up the numbers. All they had to do was wait for the Mutual Aid Society's word, take the test together, and find a way to fail. The society had paid them in advance, after all, and a job paid for had to be done properly, didn't it?
Looked at from the bright side, being chosen to chaperone meant they were trusted. Having an unlimited defense license or not wouldn't close the gap between them and the disciples of power; if anything, having one was even more perilous. As a third-year student, he was acutely aware of what had happened two years ago.
"Senior Shen..."
He couldn't help but let out a sigh. Back then, he too had received help from Shen Zheng. Even though he had already joined the Mutual Aid Society, Shen Zheng hadn't looked down on him for it. As an orphan, that was the first time he had truly felt kindness from another person.
Back then, he had harbored a faint glimmer of hope, wishing Shen Zheng could lead everyone to break out of this cage. Yet even a man like that couldn't pull it off, falling on the road just short of success. Tai Dongwei sometimes wondered: if Senior Shen had made it to Center City back then, would everything have turned out differently?
But in the end, that was nothing more than a pipe dream.
With a self-deprecating chuckle, he tossed the notice onto the table, stood up, and headed toward the training room.
***
Meanwhile, at the Nian residence, after reading through all the exam materials, Chen Chuan placed a call to Cheng Zitong. "Teacher, I received the package."
Cheng Zitong fell silent for a moment before replying, "Good. Let me give you an address. Head over there first, and we'll talk once you arrive. Write this down..." With that, he recited a location.
Once Chen Chuan had written it down, Cheng Zitong added, "Just give my name when you get there."
Chen Chuan agreed.
After hanging up, he checked his map and rode his bicycle toward the south side of the city. Half an hour later, he arrived at the location, only to discover that while it appeared to be a teahouse on the surface, it was actually a private training hall.
Venues like this were common in the south district; fighters with sufficient means often set one up for themselves. The training hall run by Senior Sister He Nan that he had visited last time was much the same—semi-private spaces where owners usually invited familiar fighters or acquaintances to spar, drink tea, and take in the view.
After parking his bicycle, he walked up to the entrance and gave Cheng Zitong's name to the guard at the door.
The security captain said, "You must be young brother Chen. Supervisor Cheng let us know you'd be coming. Please head upstairs."
Chen Chuan stepped into the training hall, changed his shoes, and made his way upstairs. The decor was archaic and elegant, suffused with natural charm, and an incense burner sat smoldering. He walked over to the side facing the river, where a long, cushioned couch was laid out.
He sat down. Positioned relatively high up, the open circular archway looked out onto green bamboo and the flowing river. A breeze blew in, gently stirring the bamboo leaves and the hanging drapes, whose tassels swayed softly. He felt completely relaxed, content to sit in silence and think of nothing at all.
It felt as if only a brief moment had passed when familiar footsteps sounded. He glanced down at his watch, surprised to find that a quarter of an hour had already slipped by.
Cheng Zitong walked in with a briefcase under his arm.
Chen Chuan greeted him, "Teacher."
Cheng Zitong smiled. "Well? Not bad, is it?"
"The atmosphere is wonderful," Chen Chuan said.
Cheng Zitong sat on a couch across from him, leaning against the cushion in a comfortable posture. "I'll be instructing you here over the next few days. You only need to drop by the school once in a while."
Sensing his intentions, Chen Chuan picked up the teapot and poured him a cup. "To provide cover for the assessment?"
"We have to be careful." Cheng Zitong gestured downward with his hand. "Don't bother with that; I'll be leaving soon anyway. Have a seat."
Once Chen Chuan sat down, Cheng Zitong continued, "The assessment will take quite a bit of time. If you suddenly disappear for days on end, it'll draw attention—especially in the second half of the semester, when many upper-year recommended students are graduating. They keep a close eye on anyone who might be potential competition. Even though you're only a first-year, we still need to be cautious.
"During this period, you can vanish from time to time, show your face at the company and the academy every now and then, and tell everyone I'm giving you special training. That way, no one will suspect anything. What do you think?"
"Your arrangements are very sound, Teacher. I have no objections." Chen Chuan took out his dossier and handed it over.
Cheng Zitong took it and flipped through the pages, quickly getting the measure of it. He looked up and asked, "How much longer do you think until you can attempt the breakthrough to the Second Limit?"
Chen Chuan thought for a moment. "In my estimate, about two weeks to a month."
"That's not very long. In that case, I'll guide you right here until then."
Cheng Zitong patted his knee, marveling, "To think that I, Cheng Zitong, would get to teach a student like you. Some folks just bury their heads instructing their disciples and never let them go to school, claiming modern rules don't suit their pupils. If that's so, why bother sending them to Wuyi in the first place?"
He pulled some documents from his briefcase. "Here is some material on stepping into the Second Limit. In the old era, learning was passed down strictly from master to apprentice; nobody knew what was missing or what had been added. Nowadays, we sum up experience, clarify the progression, and document everything. The number of accomplished fighters we produce is hundreds, thousands of times greater than in the past. Only by having enough fighters can the overall standard of martial arts be pushed ever higher. Treating old-era secret transmissions as sacred treasures is putting the cart before the horse."
Chen Chuan knew that Cheng Zitong was always full of grievances whenever this subject came up, never missing a chance to grumble. He had likely suffered no shortage of trouble from those old-era traditions back in the day.
Chen Chuan picked up the materials and leafed through them. They were all useful notes and reflections left behind by former students. Every one of them was printed—cheap-looking to the eye, yet immense in value.
Cheng Zitong gathered his things, took a sip of tea from the table, and stood up. "There's still business at the academy, so I'll be heading back first. If there's anything you don't understand, call me anytime. If I can't answer it, you can write to Old He."
Chen Chuan rose. "I'll see you out, Teacher."
After seeing Cheng Zitong off, he returned and settled in at the training hall.
Over the days that followed, he did his daily training in the martial arts hall downstairs, then came upstairs to read, sip tea, and enjoy the distant scenery during breaks.
In truth, this training hall could also arrange experienced martial artists as sparring partners, though that required an extra fee. He had no need for that just yet; whenever he needed sparring partners, he could simply seek out fellow cadets during his visits to the academy, or even ask an instructor. Their skill and discernment were generally far superior to what could be found outside.
From time to time, he took a moment to drop by the company and clear out past commissions. As time went on, the people at the academy grew accustomed to his pattern of coming and going.
More than two weeks passed like this. By late April, he felt it had become almost impossible to make any further gains in the First Limit.
He could sense that no matter how he stimulated them now, the growth rate of the mutated tissue across his fascia and bones was negligible.
This did not mean the mutated tissue had ceased growing altogether; rather, it was constrained in a specific direction by his breathing technique and stance jin. Were he to let go of that restraint, it would promptly surge outward in other directions.
Reaching this level proved that his control and command over the mutated tissue inside his body had attained true mastery. It was like throwing a punch that could be pulled back at will—neither unable to retract nor locked up completely, which would rob the blow of outward force.
From the records Cheng Zitong had left him, he could tell this was a control unique to Zhouyuan Jin. Even if mutated tissue in a particular area threatened to slip out of control, mutated tissue elsewhere could be brought to bear in coordination to rein it in.
Other people had no such luxury. They could only stimulate their mutated tissue with the utmost caution, nudging it forward step by step. Once control was lost, it was like riding a crazed, bolting stallion; all they could do was try to protect themselves, having no say in where it went. A single slip could trigger systemic collapse and devastation, which was why supreme caution was always required.
To advance to the Second Limit, simply put, a martial artist had to nurture and temper their internal organs.
At this stage, the emphasis was not on expenditure, but on preservation. Only by safeguarding and nourishing them properly would one's life truly belong to oneself.
No matter how powerful one's muscles and bones were, the delivery of nutrients, the surging flow of qi and blood, the breath coursing through the entire body, and even every single exertion of jin—all these demands required robust internal organs to sustain them.
This was why the transition to the Second Limit was centered on the viscera.
Having reviewed all the key points concerning the transition to the Second Limit in his mind, he stood up, opened a case Cheng Zitong had delivered the day before, and took out a cup of prepared, viscous, colorless liquid, placing it before him.
This substance was known as "dan water," used to assist martial artists in stepping into the Second Limit.
Once consumed, it stimulated the internal organs and accelerated the generation of mutated tissue within them. In the old era, this draught had been called the "Yin-Yang Draught," signifying that a single swallow could separate the living from the dead—one realm of yin, one of yang.
This was because compounding techniques back then were crude, and each school jealously guarded its formula as a secret transmission, relying entirely on individual experience. Consequently, drinking it had required careful alignment with celestial cycles and cosmic timings.
The revolutions of the heavens were governed by doctrines such as the "six-six intervals and nine-nine convergences." Depending on the cultivation discipline practiced, one had to select a specific, auspicious day tailored to oneself and down the Yin-Yang Draught within an exact hour.
This was not without reason, as the activity of the five viscera and six bowels fluctuated with the hours of the day. When framed within a broader spatio-temporal scale—aligned with the rhythms of the four seasons and the motions of the stars—it instilled a profound sense of moving in accordance with heaven and riding the currents of nature, providing immense psychological reassurance.
Nowadays, none of that was necessary. This cup of dan water was fundamentally a nutrient solution rich in high-energy compounds, yet it also contained certain toxic substances.
Once ingested, the liquid was first broken down and absorbed by the stomach and intestines, entering the bloodstream to be delivered to cells throughout the body, while the liver and kidneys filtered and broke down the toxins. The martial artist then had to immediately mobilize the power of the heart and lungs through their breathing and jin techniques. In this process, every internal organ was brought into play, fiercely stimulating the underlying mutated tissue that had already penetrated there, causing it to spread and burgeon under the impetus of breathing and jin.
The reason this hurdle had been so perilous in the old era was the inability to strike the right balance. Slightly too much toxicity easily led to poisoning, with obvious consequences; slightly too little failed to achieve the necessary stimulation, and repeated attempts risked the body adapting to the poison, leaving the fighter permanently stalled.
Above all, the draught was extraordinarily difficult to brew, requiring exceedingly rare medicinal ingredients at exorbitant cost—something ordinary people could never afford. Today was naturally different: within the prescribed dosage, the academy provided it free of charge.
Chen Chuan looked at the cup of dan water. Because the mutated tissue in his body was far more abundant than that of his peers, he had specifically asked Cheng Zitong to increase the toxicity when compounding it; otherwise, it would not provide sufficient stimulation. In truth, even if it was slightly excessive, it wouldn't matter—because he had his second self.
He reached out, raised the cup, and drank it down in a single gulp.
Chapter 143