Chapter 8: Breakthrough to the Woodcutting Realm

By the fire, everyone in the Great Xia camp was present, lying down or leaning against something.

A few of the youngest, exhausted from the journey, had already fallen asleep.

The vast majority, however, kept their eyes open, fixed on a tall man wearing only a hide skirt and bare-chested.

On closer look, it wasn’t the man they were staring at,

but the piece of meat in his hand.

The meat in his hand was clearly just roasted, still sizzling with aroma.

Almost without exception, everyone awake kept swallowing saliva.

The man was naturally Xia Hong.

Others might need time to adjust to the new environment, but he couldn’t—he had to raise his strength as quickly as possible and break through to the Woodcutting Realm.

“Five catties at a time shouldn’t be a problem!”

Cold beast flesh contained immense energy; eating too much at once could kill a person.

Xia Hong wasn’t eating it for the first time—he knew this well, and based on past experience, five catties at a time should be fine for him.

As the meat entered his stomach, the first sensation was fullness.

As the fullness grew, his blood began to boil, and a fierce burning sensation surged from his abdomen.

Immediately, sweat erupted wildly from his forehead, shoulders, back, limbs, even the soles of his feet and palms.

His hand muscles swelled, and veins bulged across his forehead, back of hands, legs, and every part of his body.

Xia Hong’s breathing grew heavy, carrying a burning sensation; the air he exhaled was strikingly clear to everyone in the camp.

Suddenly, Xia Hong moved.

He drew his fists back, then thrust his waist forward in a straight punch, his fists like two cannonballs—though there was nothing to strike, the air trembled violently; anyone caught in it would meet a dire fate.

“Watch closely—this is the Long Fist. Rise like a gale, strike like lightning. Front hand leads, rear hand follows, both hands exchange in one continuous surge. When we have enough cold beast flesh, everyone in camp, men and women alike, will train with me.”

As he punched, Xia Hong explained the Taizu Long Fist to the camp.

Crystal fruit could only maintain basic sustenance; to cultivate, one needed cold beast flesh.

It was simple to understand: eating enough to fill your stomach only kept the body functioning at a basic level.

To forge the body and enhance its functions, you had to eat meat.

The cultivation method in this world was blunt and brutal: consume vast amounts of cold beast flesh, then expel it repeatedly to absorb its energy, steadily increasing physical strength.

In truth, no one in the camp didn’t want to cultivate.

But when survival itself was a problem, cultivation became a luxury.

Even now, as Xia Ding taught them the Long Fist forms, they could only lie still and listen.

Not because they didn’t want to stand—they moved less to conserve energy.

“Chuan, did Uncle Ding teach Hong this Long Fist?”

Watching Xia Hong still performing powerfully in the center, Yuan Hong’s eyes showed a trace of envy as he turned to ask Xia Chuan beside him.

Xia Chuan’s face was full of pride as he whispered, “My brother created this a month ago. Let me tell you, practicing this Long Fist speeds up the absorption of cold beast flesh energy.”

Hearing this, Yuan Hong’s pupils shrank sharply.

He had eaten cold beast flesh before—he knew what that meant.

Absorbing cold beast flesh energy increased strength; speeding up that absorption meant speeding up cultivation.

“Really?”

“Of course. My brother taught me—I tried it myself.”

“Good. When we get cold beast flesh, I’ll train too.”

“Don’t worry—didn’t you hear? My brother just said he’ll teach us once we have enough flesh.”

…………

In the following days, Xia Hong stuck rigidly to five catties daily, based on his physical limits, and his strength indeed grew steadily.

Before the camp was attacked, his base strength was already four thousand catties; over the next five days, he gained nearly a hundred catties of power each day.

The camp’s tool for measuring strength was a set of brown circular wooden posts.

There were twelve in total: five of one hundred catties, two of five hundred catties, and five of one thousand catties.

Every day, when Xia Hong measured his strength, everyone in camp watched.

From the first day’s 4,100 catties to the seventh day’s 4,900 catties.

The camp’s spirits lifted further; their eyes, fixed on the sealed cave entrance, slowly kindled with hope.

In the past, when Xia Ding and the Woodcutting Team were still alive, the cave entrance was opened at night for air; now, sealed away for months on end, they suffered even more.

More critically, the crystal fruit was running low.

Even with minimal rations, there were only seven hundred catties left.

What remained wouldn’t last three days.

Everyone’s hope rested solely on Xia Hong.

So, on the eighth day, just before nightfall, when Xia Hong walked toward the brown wooden posts,

every eye in camp fixed on him.

Xia Hong, fully aware of the camp’s situation, understood their feelings.

He said nothing, only silently stacked the five one-thousand-catty posts together.

He slowly squatted, wrapping both arms around the bottom post.

He took a deep breath, then exerted force.

Five thousand catties—ordinary people couldn’t imagine such weight.

But for people in this world, five thousand catties was merely basic.

Lifting something weighing five thousand catties didn’t mean one could only exert five thousand catties of force.

Take Xia Ding—his base strength was over seven thousand catties.

But Xia Hong had observed: when Xia Ding swung his axe, his power was certainly over ten thousand catties.

Force output varied by technique, body condition, and circumstance—but base strength never lied.

Why must one have over five thousand catties of base strength to go outside and cut wood? Xia Hong had asked Xia Ding this before.

Xia Ding didn’t answer—just tossed him a stone axe and told him to chop trees.

The trees the Woodcutting Team had brought back from the outskirts of Redwood Ridge.

At the time, Xia Hong’s base strength was only two thousand catties; he swung the axe once, his palms split open, and his elbow joint shattered outright.

These trees had already been cut by Xia Ding’s team and brought back to the cave, left there for many days—the outer crystalline layer had already melted.

With only two thousand catties of base strength, he couldn’t even break the bark.

Xia Hong immediately realized: in this extreme cold, neither humans nor trees could be judged by ordinary standards.

Besides, just one glance at the towering, dense forest on Redwood Ridge showed that, compared to humans, these trees thrived far better.

“Five thousand catties is only the first step!”

Xia Hong growled, eyes blazing, and surged upward with both arms—muscles across his body swelled, his blood seemed to boil.

The five one-thousand-catty posts, before the camp’s hopeful eyes, slowly rose from the ground until lifted above Xia Hong’s head.

“Brother, you broke through.”

“Chief, strong!”

“Five thousand catties! Hahaha, Chief is amazing!”

“Hong, you’ve reached the Woodcutting Realm.”

Crash…

Xia Hong dropped the posts to the ground with a thunderous bang, turned back to the crowd, and finally wore a long-absent look of relief.

“When night falls, I’m going out to find crystal fruit!”

(End of Chapter)