One more morning, no one could say which in count, he rose with the sun, meditated briefly, then set to training using the method from the scroll. Inhale, exhale, the stream of heat ran through his body round after round, swelling like a rushing river channel during a downpour. Gradually the current grew hotter; heat spread through his veins, as if lava flowed where blood once ran. Zhang Min was drenched, as if doused with water. Fat sweat streamed from him; even murky drops formed in his hair.

  Following the cues from the scroll etched in his memory, Zhang Ming did not break his practice. Red as a boiled crab and with eyes bloodshot, he endured the heat. Only after three hours did the burning energy inside calm, and he collapsed, utterly spent. His heart pounded like a drum, his arms trembled slightly, but a smile spread over his face. The stream of warmth that had flowed from his head to his fingertips had become twice as strong as before, as if a clogged riverbed had been partially cleared and the water now ran smoothly.

  At last I broke through, he murmured, looking at the clouds. The first stage of body tempering! Ha! Not even half a year passed.

  While he wrestled with the heat, he did not notice the leaden clouds gathering overhead. The first drops landed on his still-hot face. The rain began. Within breaths it turned to a downpour; a wall of water fell from the sky and wrapped the forest in a white shroud. Zhang Ming did not return to the barracks but stood with arms outstretched under the raging elements. The deluge lashed him from all sides, washing away dirt, sweat, and the spiritual fatigue of recent days. He took several deep breaths, savoring the fresh scent of the woods; cool, clean air filled his chest.

  "Good!" he roared to the sky, clenching his fists. "I endured! Wipe yourselves, you bastards! A-aah! Come on, sky! Is that all you can do? Ha-ha-ha."

  All his efforts paid off Zhang Ming had finally taken the first step into the world of true martial practitioners. Though the breakthrough to the first stage did not make him omnipotent, it noticeably improved his physical condition. His perception sharpened as if senses that had been switched off were now flicking on. Most of all, Zhang Ming rejoiced at the prospects for future earnings. As a mercenary he would now command many times the pay. If he went into trade, no one would stand in his way.

  Time to strip this damned fortress to the bone and go home, he smiled. The girls have probably been waiting long enough. I'm coming.

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  Zhang Ming could hardly wait to test his new strength in practice. That very evening, once the storm subsided, he sought out two of Tu Hama’s sycophants and beat them up without receiving a single scratch, greatly surprising the bandits. Rumors spread like wind through the surrounding barracks. All who had once attacked him preferred to hide farther away.

  "Well done! Now that's what I call something!" praised the shaggy drunk.

  "All thanks to your teachings. Thank you, master!"

  "Ha-ha-ha! Exactly."

  "He broke a bamboo staff over one of them," grumbled Lin Bo. "That's no sword art."

  "You know nothing! Delivering a solid blow isn't simple. Right?"

  "Yes, master," Zhang Ming smiled.

  The next two days passed without challenges. The other bandits, like wary beasts, felt the novice's increased strength and were in no hurry to expose themselves to his heavy blows. They waited, watching from the sidelines; no one treated him with arrogance or rudeness anymore. In an instant he had become one of the strongest warriors in the Brown Boar squad. Using the lull, Zhang Ming slept well, meditated, and ate heartily, his rice ration had suddenly been increased.

  Meanwhile Tu Hama sat among his sycophants with a very ugly expression and arms folded across his chest. His haughty smile slid off every time Zhang Ming came into view, and the wounds and bruises on him dwindled. Tu Hama understood the reason for the novice’s sudden increase in power, he himself was in the realm of body-tempering, so he no longer sent random bandits at him, and he had no sway over those stronger than himself. He felt humiliated and hated the novice more fiercely, but he still did not hurry to soil his own hands; like a snake in the grass, he lay in wait.

  Zhang Ming completely ignored the hateful looks. Peaceful days had come for him in the Earth Dragon fortress, but he could not rest on his laurels. The recent breakthrough made him greedy for power, so Zhang Ming raised the intensity of his training. Mornings he practiced alone; evenings he trained with the sword under the watchful, slightly drunken instruction of the shaggy bandit. During practice of the mysterious technique from the scroll he pushed himself to total exhaustion, yearning to advance another rung in body tempering, though progress slowed markedly.

  I need medicinal herbs. Many and varied, he thought. There’s no more money; I’ll have to go into the forest and find them myself.

  "Old Yu, how do I get out of the fortress?" Zhang Ming asked the shaggy drunk after a match.

  "Where do you plan to go? Leaving for good?" the man asked warily. "Don't forget—you still owe me a cask of wine."

  "No. I’m not going anywhere. I want to go hunting. I’m tired of eating the same herb. I lack meat," Zhang Min grinned. "But how do I get permission from Mo Dousi? He hates me."

  "Right. Your luck sucks. Heh-heh."

  "If I go straight to Tan Gui, Mo will hate me even more. And who knows how the commander will react…"

  "You decided to just drop in on the squad leader? Ha-ha! You’re something else!"