Chapter 9: The Path of the Warrior for Ordinary People

On the outskirts of Mengyang County, in an abandoned factory.

A violent bout of coughing wracked the heavyset man, only easing when he spat out a mouthful of clotted blood.

His ribs were surely broken. The only question was: how many?

Footsteps echoed.

With a smile, Wang Chao appeared before him.

"I have to say, I rather admire you two youngsters," Wang Chao said, settling down beside him.

Fully aware of Wang Chao’s strength, and with his chest wounded, the heavyset man now behaved with utmost caution. He kept silent, saying little.

Wang Chao chuckled. "My brother got trapped by you two," he said, his words tinged with anger. "But to be fair, Zhang Ze managed to reach the realm of a First-Grade Martial Artist on his own. That’s some talent."

He muttered to himself, and the heavyset man couldn’t discern his intentions.

"Capturing me is useless. Once Xiao Ze hears about this, he’ll definitely slip away," Liu, the heavyset man, replied weakly, blood seeping from his lips.

Wang Chao produced a pale green pill in his hand. "You recognize this?"

"First-Grade Recovery Pill. Market price is a hundred thousand apiece," Wang Chao said. "Giving this to you, I really hate to part with it." He moved closer, whispering into Liu’s ear, "It all depends on your brother’s choice."

...

"You have no background—in other words, you’re clean." The vehicle sped along, and the bald man, seeing Zhang Ze’s confusion, explained further.

"Because of that, not only me—plenty of people want to recruit you."

Their conversation came to nothing, and in the silence, the car gradually slowed to a halt.

Before them lay an ordinary village.

"The people we’re looking for are here. Let’s go," the bald man said, beckoning Zhang Ze.

Shouldering his satchel, Zhang Ze’s attention was drawn to a group not far off: four people, supporting each other in pairs. They appeared to be two couples, but what struck Zhang Ze was their pallor and their staggering, unsteady gait.

"It’s nothing strange. These country folk, if they want to take a chance, have to buy organ parts," the bald man remarked, though Zhang Ze hadn’t yet grasped the deeper meaning.

...

They pressed on, soon reaching the heart of the village.

For the two hundred days Zhang Ze had spent in this world, he’d remained around Mengyang County. The orphanage existed only in his memory; he’d never ventured into the countryside. The air of decay that hung over the village unsettled him deeply.

Seeing the gravity on Zhang Ze’s face, the bald man merely shook his head, offering no explanation.

Amid their footsteps, rhythmic clamor arose.

Looking out, Zhang Ze saw twenty or thirty youths wielding sticks in an open space. In stark contrast to the village’s decline, these teenagers, barely fourteen or fifteen, radiated vigorous energy.

Zhang Ze, familiar with the world of martial artists, asked softly, "Are they training their bodies?"

In this world, people relentlessly pursued physical perfection, breaking their limits to become supreme martial artists. Witnessing the scene, Zhang Ze’s curiosity was piqued.

The bald man smiled. "These kids work hard not only because physical advancement is difficult," he explained. "Every one of them carries heavy burdens..."

Before he could finish, a call rang out from nearby: "Uncle Bald!"

The youth was still somewhat boyish, but his muscles were sharply defined. Zhang Ze sensed his strength, placing him as a First-Grade Martial Artist.

"He must be past 70S..." Zhang Ze guessed as the boy approached the bald man.

"Li Tian, you haven’t been slacking, have you?" the bald man asked. "Coming with me this time?"

"Yes." The boy, Li Tian, followed Zhang Ze and the bald man, saying nothing more.

They soon entered a courtyard.

"Have all these kids reached above 80S?" someone asked.

"No need for more talk. Prepare for three days; as soon as the goods arrive, arrange for their breakthrough," a gruff voice declared as they stepped inside.

The middle-aged man’s face was worn and weary. Through the bald man, Zhang Ze learned this was the person he’d come to find—Er Long.

...

"Weren’t you going to wait until Li Tian reached around 90S before coming?" Er Long asked the bald man quietly.

"Brother Long, Tian’s strength has passed 80S. A day more or less won’t matter," the bald man replied. "But there’s other business this time."

He gestured toward Zhang Ze, who stepped forward and opened his satchel, waiting in silence.

Er Long was startled at the sight of the pills, but quickly understood Zhang Ze's purpose and wasted no words. His aide counted them, whispered a tally.

"I’ll pay 1.15 million. If you agree, I’ll take these pills," Er Long said, looking at Zhang Ze.

For Zhang Ze, that meant after the bald man took his ten, he’d have 1.05 million left. Acceptable.

"So be it."

"Ha! Good, you’re straightforward," Er Long laughed.

After some idle conversation, Zhang Ze received confirmation from the bank and was ready to leave. Yet, at Er Long and the bald man's insistence, he accompanied them to the square.

...

The youths were still training, their sticks sending sweat flying with each swing.

Li Tian, too, had been entrusted to Er Long by the bald man for training.

Learning this, Zhang Ze grew curious about Er Long.

In their interaction, he discovered Er Long was not a martial artist. Yet, the First-Grade Martial Artists he'd met along the way held Er Long in great esteem.

"Zhang Ze, do you wonder why everyone respects Brother Long so much?" the bald man asked nonchalantly.

"Let’s hear it," Zhang Ze replied.

"It’s just the villagers’ regard," Er Long dismissed, unconcerned.

But the silent Li Tian grew agitated. "That’s not true," he said. "Our respect for Uncle Long comes from the heart. Without him, none of us would have hope of becoming martial artists."

He was, after all, still a boy; his feelings broke through unrestrained.

...

It turned out Er Long was not, as Zhang Ze had imagined, a major pill dealer. Quite the opposite—he wasn’t even involved in the trade. The reason he could handle so many pills was because of the group of youths before them.

Otherwise, how could he not have become a martial artist himself?

Despite what Zhang Ze heard from the bald man and others, he still couldn’t fathom where Er Long found the wealth to support so many village youths in their training.

After all, training and breaking through to become martial artists required much more than a space for practice—it demanded vast sums for pills and logistical support.