Seeing the look on Lin Yue’s face grow darker, Qi Yun knew that if she let Zhao Wenzheng continue, something bad might really happen. She quickly cut in, "Alright, it’s getting late. Junior Brother Lin is still injured and needs to rest and recover properly. We should go. We’ll come see you another time."

As she spoke, she gave Xu Hong a meaningful look.

Xu Hong quickly stood up as well. "Right, right. Junior Brother Lin, you focus on your recovery. We’ll come back another day."

Zhao Wenzheng wanted to say more, but a sharp look from Qi Yun silenced him. He could only shut his mouth resentfully and get up to follow.

The three of them said their goodbyes to Lin Yue and quickly left the room.

The door was gently pulled shut, and silence once again fell over the room.

Lin Yue leaned against the headboard, his brow knitted so tightly it looked like a tangled knot.

Zhao Wenzheng’s words, his master’s attitude, the missing Token, and Yang Jing’s shocking progress... Countless thoughts swirled in his mind, leaving him in a state of utter turmoil.

Jealousy, indignation, resentment, and a thread of indescribable panic intertwined, creating a heavy tightness in his chest.

...

Time slipped away like sand through fingers. In the blink of an eye, two months had passed.

The winds of Yuhe County had gradually blown away the shock of Shen Lie’s death.

The authorities had investigated for a long time, but the killer remained at large, having seemingly vanished into thin air without leaving a single useful clue behind.

Although Po Mountain Martial Arts Hall was still investigating intermittently, they had lost their initial urgency. After all, life had to go on, and the hall’s operations couldn’t be perpetually held back by a cold case.

People around town still mentioned the incident occasionally, mostly with a mix of pity and speculation.

But that was all. The initial uproar was gone.

Shen Lie, once a renowned expert among the younger generation of Yuhe County, had ultimately become a historical footnote people mentioned in passing. Like a pebble tossed into a lake, he caused a few ripples before sinking into silence, leaving no further trace.

「That morning.」

「Sun’s Martial Arts Hall, the front courtyard.」

The morning sun was just rising, its golden rays spilling across the bluestone slabs, casting a warm glow.

Yang Jing was in the middle of the yard practicing the Mountain-Shattering Fist, each and every move seemingly packed with immense power.

He wore only a simple training top, and with every punch, the taut lines of the muscles on his bronze-skinned arms were visible, brimming with explosive force.

For the past two months, Sun Yong had become increasingly dedicated to his training. Not only did he personally instruct Yang Jing on the finer points of his fist techniques every day, but he also provided him with numerous nourishing medicinal herbs, in addition to the twenty catties of high-grade Exotic Beast Meat collected from the Exotic Beast Pavilion.

Thick medicinal soups and Elixirs were a daily staple, and there was always more than enough Exotic Beast Meat stewed until it was perfectly tender. This abundance of dietary and medicinal support acted as a catalyst, causing his Inner Strength to grow at a ferocious pace.

As he now performed the Mountain-Shattering Fist, his posture unfolded like a range of overlapping mountain peaks, advancing layer by layer. Its ferocity was imbued with a profound weightiness, as if it truly possessed the power to make mountains crumble.

Every punch he threw was accompanied by a dull whoosh, tearing through the air and kicking up a small whirlwind that sent a few dead leaves and twigs on the ground spinning.

"HAH!"

Yang Jing let out a low shout. The edge of his fist abruptly changed direction as he executed the Mountain-Shattering Stone-Splitting technique. His Inner Strength surged through his meridians like a raging river, gathering in his fist before he smashed it forward.

Before his fist even reached the distant wooden post, an invisible wave of force swept past it. The post, as thick as a large bowl, actually trembled slightly, and a few wood shavings rustled from its surface.

Yang Jing pulled back his stance and stood still, letting out a long, turbid breath. It was a sustained exhalation, forming a faint white mist in the cool morning air.

"Not bad," came Sun Yong’s voice from behind, tinged with approval.

Yang Jing quickly turned. Seeing that his master had appeared by the courtyard wall at some point and was watching him, he bowed in respect. "Master."

Sun Yong nodded, his gaze falling upon him. "The ferocity of your Mountain-Shattering Fist has begun to take shape," he said slowly, "but it still lacks a certain fluidity. Hardness cannot be sustained, and softness cannot purely defend. Only by blending the hard and the soft can you reach a state of perfection. Practice it again, and pay attention to how you release, retract, and transition your Inner Strength."

"Yes, Master!" Yang Jing replied. He took a deep breath and once again assumed the opening stance of the Mountain-Shattering Fist.

The morning sunlight fell upon his straight, tall figure, stretching his shadow long across the ground, full of vigorous life and power.

Sun Yong stood to the side, watching the growing ferocity and stability in Yang Jing’s form, a nearly imperceptible smile gracing his eyes.

He gave a slight nod, clearly quite satisfied with Yang Jing’s progress over the past two months.

Sun Yong stroked his short beard, said no more, and turned to walk leisurely toward the inner courtyard.

Yang Jing, for his part, refocused his mind and practiced the Mountain-Shattering Fist once more from beginning to end.

This time, he paid special attention to his master’s advice about blending hard and soft, trying to retract some of his force at the turning points in his routine. As expected, he felt the flow of his Inner Strength become much smoother and more harmonious.

An hour later, he slowly concluded his practice. His chest rose and fell slightly, and his forehead was covered in fine beads of sweat that trickled down his cheeks and dripped onto the front of his shirt, soaking a small, dark patch.

"Senior Brother Yang, take a rest," a voice called out from behind him.

Jiang Haoyang came running over, a clean, coarse cloth towel in his hand and an ingratiating smile on his face.

Ever since Yang Jing had shown him a few basic fist techniques, he had made a habit of seeking Yang Jing out for advice whenever he was resting.

Over time, he had become the person who stuck to Yang Jing the most at the Martial Arts Hall, diligently performing tasks like serving tea and water.

Yang Jing took the towel with a smile and a word of thanks. He walked over to a stone bench by the wall and sat down, casually wiping the sweat from his face.