Chapter 5: Practicing Martial Arts Cultivates the Heart

After completely handing Fang Can over to the gang members for management, he was led away to complete his initiation procedures.

Along the way, after holding back for a while, the gang member escorting him finally couldn’t help asking: “How did you come to know Master Li?”

As he asked, the gang member—appearing to be in his early thirties—could not suppress his curiosity about this short-haired, older recruit who had entered through connections.

After all, eighteen wasn’t late for martial cultivation—just halfway to the grave—but even so, Li Feng had chosen to bring Fang Can in, an act bordering on arbitrary privilege.

Regardless, someone who entered through a department head’s influence was not someone he could afford to offend; making friendly overtures was always safe.

Knowing this was an inquiry into his status, possibly affecting his reputation within the sect, Fang Can remained utterly confident:

“Master Li and I hit it off immediately. He sensed I possessed extraordinary talent and, fearing I’d be lost to another sect, strongly urged me to join.”

The gang member’s lips twitched slightly, finding the boy utterly baffling, but he asked no more and burst into a hearty laugh:

“Then when you’ve got your footing here, little brother, don’t forget to lend a hand to your old brother. Any trouble, just come find me—I’m Liu Yue. Call me Old Liu from now on.”

“Alright, Old Liu.” Fang Can nodded seriously, showing not a hint of modesty, like a boy with no guile at all.

As they walked and chatted, mostly Fang Can asked questions—basic, common-knowledge inquiries.

Though unsure why Fang Can asked these things, Liu Yue still answered every question honestly.

From Old Liu, Fang Can learned their nation was called Dayan, vast and sprawling, with countless powerful sects like Tiger Fierce Gate dominating regions spanning a hundred li.

Listening to Liu Yue’s explanation, Fang Can felt Dayan was doomed.

After all, a country crawling with local warlords meant the imperial court had weak control—either the Emperor of Dayan was playing a grand game, or he was insane.

Their own Tiger Fierce Gate was the dominant force within a hundred li, and its usual business wasn’t noble—it collected protection fees, held stakes in gambling dens and brothels, occasionally escorted caravans, and sometimes ambushed travelers.

In short, in this region, Tiger Fierce Gate was a local emperor; nothing could be done without its permission. It was the kind of villain a novel’s hero would crush.

Guided by Old Liu, Fang Can memorized the locations of the sect’s mess hall, scripture library, training hall, and dormitories.

After a brief registration of his information, Fang Can was officially admitted.

He also received two sets of black-and-red uniforms with a tiger-devouring emblem on the chest, secured a private dormitory, and gained a monthly stipend of three taels of silver.

Through Old Liu’s explanation, Fang Can learned the lowest-ranking members in Tiger Fierce Gate weren’t new recruits like him, but the laborers and servants.

They handled daily chores—sweeping, feeding horses—and slept crammed ten or more to a single room.

If a new recruit like Fang Can showed no martial talent or value after some time, he’d either be expelled or demoted to laborer.

In this age, simply having a meal was hard enough; countless others would kneel and beg for such an opportunity.

After circling around for about half an hour, completing all necessary formalities, Liu Yue returned to his post, leaving Fang Can alone to face his single-room dormitory.

The room was isolated, roughly twenty square meters, sparsely furnished but clean: one desk, one chair, one bed, one quilt.

“So this is where I’ll live now,” Fang Can muttered, placing his nightclothes on the pillow, knowing he’d need a long time to adapt to this environment.

‘And no smartphones or computers—even if I cultivate to the peak of mastery, my quality of life will still be worse than modern times, except maybe for Cao Pi.’

Fang Can mused inwardly, wondering if martial cultivation could achieve the immortality depicted in fantasy novels.

If it could, then once he became immortal, he’d push harder to rediscover the technological tree of the Industrial Revolution, and in his lifetime, watch some classic adult films.

‘Forget it. First, set a small goal: achieve immortality, then watch a movie.’ Fang Can set his first small objective.

Lying on the hard wooden bed, to prepare for the afternoon training hall session, Fang Can forced his restless mind into sleep.

…

At noon, Fang Can awoke after a half-hour nap, recognized his surroundings, and rose to head toward the training hall.

But before stepping out, he paused, turned back, and pulled a packet of transparent pills from the fold of his neatly stacked nightclothes before leaving.

Without a word, from afar, Fang Can heard the training hall filled with the shouts of exerted Qi.

As he drew closer, he felt a wave of heat—thick with male pheromones—pouring from the entire training hall.

On a space the size of four or five soccer fields, hundreds of men of varying ages, shirtless, displayed their skills despite the cool autumn weather.

Some lifted multi-hundred-pound millstones effortlessly, others darted across five-meter-high plum-blossom stakes with blurring footwork like fish in water.

Even children of fourteen or fifteen swung thirty- to forty-pound sabers with roaring force.

‘Impressive.’ Watching this crowd of human monsters, Fang Can felt he’d come to the right place.

As he stared, a hoarse voice came from his side: “You’re the disciple Master Li brought in today, aren’t you?”

Fang Can turned and saw a middle-aged man, over forty, with a square face brimming with menace, approaching.

Seeing Fang Can nod, the man gave a cold nod:

“I’m Yang Lie, instructor of the Training Hall.”

“Liu Xiao told me your situation. You’ve never trained before, and you can’t keep up with peers your age. I’ll start from the very beginning.”

Fang Can nodded. He’d already prepared himself mentally—first be the grandson, then become the patriarch.

“Good. Forget everything else. Memorize every word I say next.”

Yang Lie’s gaze locked onto Fang Can: “Martial cultivation’s core is cultivating the heart. Only when your heart believes can the wonders of the Dao manifest in the flesh.”

“Cultivating the heart?” Fang Can blinked, surprised—this martial path was nothing like he’d imagined.

“You don’t need to understand why. Just know I’m absolutely right. If your will is strong enough, your faith sincere enough, the entire world will make way for you.”

Yang Lie spoke with absolute certainty, like a cult leader drilling his doctrine into Fang Can.

(End of Chapter)