Chapter 10: Martial Aptitude

Huang Yu stood with his mouth slightly open, watching Zheng Fa follow Wu Guanxia away.

He couldn’t quite name the feeling in his chest.

He recalled the words he had just spoken:

“Maybe a bit better than you…”

“You’re not any worse than him…”

Those words were just comfort.

Could you really not be worse than him?

The faint sense of “we’re on the same side” vanished from his heart; instead, he felt his jealousy toward this “new friend” had grown stronger than before.

Compared to his inexplicable thoughts, others’ reactions were simpler: Who is this guy?

Gao Yuan being called away was expected by everyone.

Han Cheng wasn’t without background—he was one of the three scholar candidates, just quieter, so less noticeable among the three.

But Zheng Fa…

“Where did Zheng Fa come from? Does anyone know him?”

“I think he always sat in the corner.”

I remember—he looked ordinary, from a poor family. I thought he was just there to fill a spot, but I never expected…

But a few had seen Huang Yu speaking with Zheng Fa earlier.

“Huang Brother, are you acquainted with that Zheng Brother?”

Huang Yu looked at the man who spoke—he had been one of those clustered around Gao Yuan before.

He remembered more clearly: when he said, “I didn’t bring money.”

The undisguised sneer on that man’s face.

Now, seeing the man’s warm smile, Huang Yu felt something was off.

“I… I came with him. Uh, his family’s poor—poorer than mine.”

“A poor family produces a noble son!” the man replied, not showing even a trace of his earlier contempt, but instead speaking with genuine admiration: “Zheng Brother is truly extraordinary.”

Wait, where did your snobbish attitude go?

Huang Yu felt he had been severely discriminated against.

“Huang Brother, it’s not that I changed quickly.” The man seemed to sense his gloom and pointed to his silk robe: “Before, we were both clinging to the same leg. There was only one leg—I had money, you didn’t, so naturally I kicked you out.”

His words were so blunt they bordered on crude, yet somehow felt strangely sincere.

“But now it’s different, Huang Brother. Zheng Brother might be another leg—and you’ve already grabbed hold.”

Huang Yu felt a sudden epiphany.

He had, it seemed, actually warmed the right cold hearth?

“But there are still three others,” Huang Yu realized something was wrong—nothing was settled yet.

“It’ll be too late!” The man looked at him as if he were an idiot: “You got here before me, so I’m courting you. If I wait until he gets the page position, I won’t even have the right to court him.”

As he spoke, the man nodded toward Huang Yu’s back. Huang Yu turned and saw several other youths smiling warmly at him.

He finally understood:

This is what it means when one man ascends, and even dogs and chickens…

Huh?

…

When Zheng Fa stepped out of the pavilion, the gazes upon him were more varied.

Behind him, the boys’ looks held confusion and enthusiasm.

Before him, Gao Yuan and Han Cheng’s expressions carried scrutiny and wariness.

What puzzled Zheng Fa most was Wu Guanxia’s gaze—subtly cold toward him.

Had he offended this man?

Wu Guanxia showed no intention to speak with them, merely leading the three forward at a brisk pace.

The three dared not speak, only hurried to keep up, with no time to notice the scenery along the way.

Zheng Fa sensed they were heading toward the outer courtyard; when Wu Guanxia stopped, they stood before a spacious yard.

It was called a yard, but more like a wide training ground.

Half the ground was paved with large, solid slate slabs, upon which stood stone weights of various sizes and weights; the originally rough surfaces had been polished smooth by countless footsteps.

At the end of the slabs stood a row of small huts, each with weapon racks planted before their doors.

The unpaved ground was overgrown with grass, and at its far end stood a row of targets.

A large man galloped across the grass, leaping and twisting as he drew his bow and loosed arrows.

Swish! Swish! Swish!

Zheng Fa couldn’t tell how many arrows he shot at once, but Wu Guanxia clapped and laughed loudly: “Master Xu’s marksmanship is divine!”

Hearing this, the big man spun his horse and charged straight toward Zheng Fa and the others.

Clip-clop! Clip-clop!

The sound of hooves on slate grew louder, closer.

Yet the man showed no sign of slowing—he leaned low, adopting a charging posture.

His jaw was covered in thick, unkempt black whiskers; his frame was massive. As he charged toward Zheng Fa and the others, his presence was terrifying.

“Whoa!”

Zheng Fa felt the horse’s hot breath on his face before the man yanked the reins hard, lifting the hooves into the air.

The massive black hoof—bigger than his face—hung less than three inches from his forehead!

Han Cheng beside Zheng Fa toppled backward onto the ground with a cry of pain.

The big man dismounted, grabbed Han Cheng by the collar, and frowned: “This kid’s no good—lacks courage!”

“This isn’t for you to train as your personal guard,” Wu Guanxia smiled, his expression unchanged even as the horse charged.

“Huh?”

“These three are candidates for the Seventh Young Master’s page. The Lady said to let you judge their aptitude.”

Wu Guanxia then explained to Zheng Fa and the others: “The Seventh Young Master’s page must study literature with Master Shen and martial arts with you, Master Xu. Please assess these three.”

Master Xu placed Han Cheng on the ground and pressed his large hands against Han Cheng’s shoulders, back, and hips.

“No good. This boy has the lowest possible martial aptitude.”

Before anyone could speak, Han Cheng snapped: “You just touched me a few times—you can judge my aptitude?”

“Ha!” Master Xu now smiled at him: “You’ve got some guts. You’re not convinced?”

“Not convinced!”

Han Cheng gritted his teeth.

“I’ve felt every guard in the Zhao household. What their aptitude is, whether they have a future in martial arts—I’ve never been wrong.”

Han Cheng’s face still showed defiance.

“Tell me—do you usually skip meals? Dislike fatty meat?”

Han Cheng went pale—he had been struck exactly.

“Martial aptitude boils down to two things—born well, and fed well!”

“Your bone structure at birth—how large, how dense, any deformities or imbalances, whether your muscles and tendons have strength—that decides most of it. If you have this talent, the clearest sign is: you can eat!”

Han Cheng was speechless.

“But talent alone isn’t enough—you must have food to eat!” Master Xu, now warmed to his topic, continued: “If someone has great talent but lacks food—it’s worse than having no talent at all! Wu Guanxia, you’re a martial cultivator too—you understand what I mean.”

Wu Guanxia nodded: “Indeed. Talent is a double-edged sword. Those with great talent consume more food, burn energy faster. If they don’t eat enough, they won’t just fail to cultivate—they’ll live shorter lives than ordinary people.”

“Exactly! Like rare flowers—some places grow weeds, but these flowers won’t even sprout!”

Zheng Fa again felt Wu Guanxia’s gaze occasionally land on him—as if those words were meant for him.

He hadn’t imagined it.

In Wu Guanxia’s mind, the Lady had sent Zheng Fa and the other two to Xu Zheng precisely to remind him.