From that time on, Zhang Min jogged every morning. Waking up, he’d have porridge for breakfast, warm up a bit, then run a slow jog toward the dock, remembering to breathe properly. Passersby watched him with mocking glances; some looked suspiciously, mistaking him for a thief due to his appearance. Once, guards stopped him, but finding only empty pockets, they let him go.
Continuing his dock work, he trained at home upon returning, doing simple exercises like push-ups, squats, and pull-ups for this, he crafted a wooden bar in the yard. Zhang Min started eating better, sometimes even three times a day, and completely gave up the moldy free gruel from the supervisor. The five silver coins from the bandit let him loosen his purse a bit, and of course, he wasn't rushing to return debts.
Although Zhang Min didn't overexert himself in training, the alcohol-ravaged body suffered from the increased load. In the morning, he rose from bed with great difficulty due to muscle pain. The porter's work hadn't gifted him superhuman strength and endurance; rather, it crippled him, and the bum's lifestyle had nearly destroyed his body completely.
On days when he felt better, Zhang Min went out into the backyard where he swung the sword, imagining an opponent before him, or struck at a log tied with branches. He had no skills in wielding a weapon, so he acted intuitively or recalled scenes from movies. At first, Zhang Min wanted to find a fencing teacher, but their fees were too steep, and he had to abandon the idea.
The locals called swordsmanship an art, and a series of connected moves a technique. There were training scrolls and books, but none were sold openly at the market, and Zhang Min had no idea where to look for them, nor the means to buy any.
Time passed, but his physical condition improved very slowly. After two weeks of running, he stopped gasping after simple walks, but he wouldn't call it a serious improvement. He realized that noticeable changes required months of hard training, which meant he would have to keep working as a porter for a very long time.
Unwilling to accept his fate, he made a radical decision to seek work as a soldier, a guard, any role that would pay well. Every day, after hauling heavy loads, he visited teahouses and taverns, listening to rumors, talking with local merchants, and eventually found the first potential employers.
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“The Tsanyan clan recently lost many warriors,” the tavern owner told him. “They take anyone.”
Their reputation isn’t bad. I can take the risk, Zhang Min thought.
Having spent considerably, he bought better clothes, simple but without holes or torn sleeves. He washed and dried his old rags and hid them from the girls’ greedy little hands. Additionally, he bought a spare pair of shoes and a cheap belt on which he hung the sword’s sheath. Dressed in his new garb, he headed toward the large Tsanyan clan residence to try to enlist as a guard-warrior.
Twilight was falling over the city. Zhang Min returned home with mixed feelings. The stale air of the poor district hit him in the face, bringing a whole bouquet of familiar, yet unpleasant smells. Turning onto his street, he spotted two small girls waiting outside the house. Seeing him, they jumped up, straightened quickly, and were about to run off when their father’s words cracked like thunder:
“Stand still!” Zhang Min shouted sternly, “Inside, now!”
When he entered, they sat on the floor, heads bowed guiltily, waiting for punishment. Life had been good for them recently, but everything had a price. They braced for the worst and even squeezed their eyes shut. However, to their surprise, nothing painful happened, no punishment came, no shouting, no pots flying. The sisters lifted their eyes fearfully expecting to see a raised sword but saw none. Their father didn’t look angry; he sat cross-legged and folded arms in front of them with a serious face.
“I won’t be here for a few days,” he said. “I don’t know if I’ll come back.”
The girls’ eyes darted about; they were confused, aside from this drunkard, they had no one. It never occurred to them to run away and live on their own. Now it seemed he was abandoning them himself. Tears rolled down the younger’s cheeks, and the elder simply sniffled. Even with their lousy father, some days were good when he managed to scrounge some money or steal something valuable. Then, in a good mood, he fed them and even bought sweets. For the last month, they had lived as if in paradise.
“I brought rice and dried fruit. Enough for a couple of weeks. Don’t tell anyone about the food. Keep this sack in the cupboard, and this one will go behind the ceiling beam. Strangers won’t find it. There’s a ladder in the yard, easy to get with it,” he explained, scratching his chin before adding, “Under that floorboard lie some coins. Not much, but enough for another sack of rice. I leave tomorrow morning. That’s all.”
He sighed deeply, stood up, and went to cook porridge for the three of them for the first time ever. Under their sad sniffles, Zhang Min dined with his children and went to bed. No one spoke another word. The girls didn’t ask him anything. In the morning, he quietly gathered his things and left, harsh trials awaited him ahead.
