Yang An rolled up his sleeves and started handing out steamed buns to everyone.

He had a strong grip, holding the buns steady as he passed them out one by one.

The villagers took the still-warm, white-flour buns. As their fingertips touched the fluffy texture, many couldn’t resist bringing them to their noses for a sniff. The scent of wheat, mixed with steam, filled their lungs, bringing a deep sense of comfort.

"Uncle Shouzhuo is truly too generous!" a middle-aged woman said, cradling a bun, her voice full of emotion. "So many white-flour buns, how much grain must this have cost!"

The man next to her chimed in, "Isn’t that the truth! Who could have afforded to be so generous in the past? It’s only because Yang Jing is so successful now that the Yang Family has these kinds of resources. Just look at these buns—how big they’ve risen, so white they’re dazzling. We wouldn’t even dare to dream of this normally."

The crowd murmured amongst themselves, their eyes filled with both gratitude and unconcealed envy.

A younger villager couldn’t help but click his tongue. "Everyone says Yang Jing is doing well in the city, and now it looks like he’s really struck it rich! What little his family lets slip through their fingers is probably thicker than our waists..." 𝗳𝗿𝐞𝕖𝘄𝗲𝕓𝗻𝚘𝚟𝕖𝐥.𝚌𝕠𝕞

At these words, many people nodded silently, and the buns in their hands seemed to grow heavier.

While the villagers were murmuring, Yang Shouzhuo had already taken two buns and was walking toward the refugees at the end of the alley.

When the refugees saw someone approaching, they instinctively shrank back, but their eyes remained glued to the buns in his hands, a mixture of craving and fear.

Yang Shouzhuo’s gaze fell upon two children, a little boy and a little girl.

The boy was about five or six years old, so thin he was just a bag of bones, but his large eyes shone with surprising brightness on his grimy face. The girl beside him was even younger, with brittle, yellowed hair. She huddled in a corner, hugging her knees, her lips chapped and peeling. She looked terribly weak.

Yang Shouzhuo slowed his pace, walked over to the two children, and crouched down.

His movements were unhurried, possessing the characteristic steadiness of an old man. His cloudy eyes were calm, yet they inexplicably put one at ease.

"Take it." He offered a bun to the little boy.

The little boy looked at him timidly, then glanced over at Yang An, who was not far away.

Yang An, who now practiced martial arts, stood there with a straight back, his muscular arms crossed over his chest. His calm gaze swept over the refugees. The unique aura of a martial artist emanating from him kept several restless refugees from making any sudden moves.

Farther back, though the twenty-some villagers from Yang Family Village said nothing, they were all looking over. The sheer presence of such a large group was enough to keep the situation under control.

The little boy hesitated for a moment before finally extending a grimy little hand. He took the bun, quickly stuffed it into his mouth, and began to devour it ravenously, not even forgetting to lick clean the crumbs that fell onto his shirt.

Yang Shouzhuo then offered the other bun to the little girl.

The girl was shyer than the boy. She just stared at him with wide eyes, not daring to reach out.

Yang Shouzhuo didn’t rush her, simply holding the bun out. It wasn’t until the little boy beside her mumbled, "Eat... eat," that the little girl tremblingly took it. She began to eat in small bites, but tears streamed down her cheeks, mixing with the grime on her face and carving two clean streaks.

Yang Shouzhuo remained crouching there, watching the two children finish their buns. Only after they had swallowed the very last crumb did he slowly stand up, pat the dust from his clothes, and turn to walk back.

....

「An hour later.」

The disciples of Sun’s Martial Arts Hall had returned to the training grounds. They rested briefly in the shade of the trees to regulate their breathing. Some closed their eyes to recuperate, while others quietly discussed techniques. A tense silence, like the calm before a storm, hung in the air.

Yang Jing stood behind the railing near the seventh platform, his fingertips unconsciously rubbing the fabric of his outer shirt. In his mind, he once again reviewed the signature moves of Shen Lie, Qian Feng, and the others.

Beside him, Liu Maolin was flexing his wrists, his knuckles letting out soft cracking sounds. His face showed a hint of eagerness to fight.

Before long, the Officials began to guide the crowd into the enclosed area. The Martial Artists at each platform took their positions in order, their gazes sweeping over one another with scrutiny and wariness.

"CLANG—"

A long, resonant clang of a bronze gong suddenly rang out from the center of the training grounds, its sound cutting through all the scattered noise and reaching every person’s ear.

The third round of the competition had officially begun.

The voice of an Official immediately rang out from the high platform. An invisible tension instantly enveloped the training grounds, as if the very air had grown taut.

Everyone knew that from this moment on, every match would be a difficult struggle. Only a few hurdles remained before they could claim the top spot in the arenas and reach tomorrow’s final competition.

The echo of the gong had not yet faded, but all eyes on the training grounds were already focused on the Officials at each platform who were responsible for announcing the names.

At the seventh platform, the middle-aged man in an Official’s uniform cleared his throat, unrolled the list in his hand, and announced in a loud voice, "First match of the third round: Yang Jing of Sun’s Martial Arts Hall versus Zhao Kui of Black Wind Martial Arts Hall!"

Yang Jing was slightly taken aback by the announcement. He hadn’t expected to be the very first to fight in the third round.

He composed himself and walked toward the platform, his steps steady and firm.

In an instant, countless eyes turned toward him.

After the two rounds of competition that morning, Yang Jing’s strength was already known to the crowd. He was a previously unknown master of Anjin.

He might not be considered outstanding among Anjin masters, but any Mingjin Martial Artist who faced him was basically guaranteed to be eliminated, unless they were a monstrous prodigy.

When Zhao Kui stepped onto the platform from the other side, his steps were noticeably heavy.

He was in his early thirties, with a stocky build. His hands were broad with thick fingers, and the heavy calluses on his knuckles were the clear mark of someone who had spent years arduously practicing a Claw Skill.

The moment he stepped onto the platform, he felt a faint yet palpable pressure emanating from Yang Jing, and a thin layer of sweat instantly broke out on his forehead.