Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

The training room was deathly silent.

Immediately afterwards, a fervent flame burned in everyone's eyes.

"This move is very difficult."

Raine poured cold water on the idea, saying, "It requires an extremely precise control over your strength. Most of you might never even reach the first level in your entire lives."

"But even if I can learn just a little bit..."

A mocking smile curled at the corner of Ryan's lips. "Go be a bodyguard for those rich merchants, or a squire for a noble knight, and you'll never have to worry about food and clothing for the rest of your life."

"Now, everyone disperse."

"Don't try to achieve everything at once. First, try to concentrate your strength on your fist and avoid breaking your wrist."

At Renn's command, the trainees immediately dispersed and began practicing their movements against the air or sandbags.

Xilun walked alone to a sandbag in the corner.

He closed his eyes, the trajectory of Renn's punch replaying in his mind.

That distorted, vibrating sensation of the air.

That kind of spiraling, explosive destructive power.

"His strength is like a drill..."

Xilun took a deep breath, and the heat in his body began to gather in his right arm as he circulated his breathing technique.

He could feel that although his body was full of energy, it was like a pile of loose sand.

The difficulty of controlling them—twisting them together like a rope and then spinning them at high speed—is simply unbelievable.

"No wonder it's called an extraordinary fighting technique."

Xilun opened his eyes, a glint of shrewdness flashing within them.

难？

It's supposed to be difficult.

For him, who possesses the Crimson Panel, there are no skills he cannot learn, only progress bars that he can never grind enough for.

Once he gets the basics down, even if it's a divine skill, he can refine it to its ultimate potential through countless repetitions.

Xilun lowered his waist and clenched his right fist.

He imagined the spiraling force in his mind, trying to guide the airflow to rotate in his meridians.

"drink!"

Xilun let out a low shout and threw a punch.

"puff."

The fist struck the sandbag, making a soft sound.

The sandbag wobbled, and a dent appeared on its surface, but it didn't exhibit the terrifying penetrating effect that Renn had.

Failed.

The force dissipates the moment it comes into contact with the sandbag, making it impossible to form a cohesive drilling force.

Even because he was forcibly controlling the rotation of his energy, Xilun felt a dull pain in the meridians of his right arm, as if needles were pricking him.

"wrong."

Xilun shook his head, undeterred.

He adjusted his breathing, relaxed his muscles, and regained his strength.

once.

twice.

Ten times.

In the corner, the thin figure tirelessly swung his fist.

Sweat dripped down his chin, pooling into a small puddle on the floor.

"Huff... huff..."

Heavy breathing echoed in the corner.

Xilun stopped moving, sweat trickling down his bare upper body, gathering at his chin, and dripping onto the already soaked floor.

"Take a break."

A similarly weary voice came from the side.

Feslow plopped down on the floor, spread his legs wide without any regard for appearances, and haphazardly wiped the sweat from his face with a towel.

Xilun nodded and sat down beside him.

The floor was cool, but for the two people whose body temperatures were alarmingly high at the moment, the coolness was just right.

The two leaned against the wall, watching the other trainees still gritting their teeth and persevering in the training room, and remained silent for a moment.

"These damn prices have gone up again."

Feslow suddenly cursed, breaking the silence, "Yesterday I went to buy dark bread, and that damn bakery owner actually tried to sell stale bread as new bread. It was as hard as a brick just pried off the wall."

Xilun took the water bottle, took a swig, and his Adam's apple bobbed: "How much?"

"Still two pence, but lighter, with more sawdust and sand mixed in," Fessell spat. "It feels like my stomach has been rubbed with sandpaper."

Xilun remained silent.

He knew that feeling. Stomach acid secretion, but it could only digest coarse fiber and impurities; that burning sensation could wake someone up three times in the middle of the night.

"There's a way."

Fieslo lowered his voice as if imparting some survival secret, "Go to the grocery store and buy the cheapest can of ketchup for four pence. The kind that's about to expire, or the can is dented."

Xilun turned to look at him.

"Soak the dark bread in boiling water until it softens and turns into a paste, then mix in a spoonful of tomato sauce." Feslow licked his chapped lips, a shrewd glint in his eyes. "The taste, sweet and sour, can mask the musty and earthy smells. And a hot bowl of it can keep you full all night."

Xilun made a mental calculation.

Four pennies.

It's alright, after all, ketchup lasts a long time.

"It's just that getting hot water is a bit of a hassle."

Feslow seemed to remember something pleasant, raising his eyebrows. "We could rent a place that provides hot water."

"I used to live in a dormitory-style room in the dock area that housed thirty people. The snoring at night was like banging drums. Now I rent a single room at the Golden Bull Hotel. Although it can only fit a bed and a table, at least I live alone. It's quiet, warm, and has a private bathroom. The owner also provides free hot water."

Golden Bull Hotel.

Siren knew the place; it was on the edge of the downtown area and was considered a relatively "decent" budget hotel, costing about four shillings a week.

"Have you struck it rich?" Xilun asked.

"How could that be?" Feslow waved his hand, but the smile in his eyes was impossible to hide. "I just... my Qi has stabilized, hasn't it?"

He reached out and clenched his fist.

On the rough, calloused back of the hand, a faint bluish-black color can be seen, which is a sign that the skin is beginning to toughen.

"I'm currently working as a sparring partner for a baron's son," Feslow said. "That young master is quite pampered, afraid of pain, and doesn't want to train with those instructors who are all about brute force. My job is to train him in moves, make him enjoy the fight, and pretend to be getting beaten up badly. It's a bit embarrassing, but the young master is very generous, giving me five shillings a day and providing dinner."

Xilun seemed to be deep in thought.

This is the most direct manifestation of power.

Even if you're just a sparring partner or a punching bag, as long as you have the skills, your value will be much higher than that of a dockworker.

"And you?" Feslow looked at Siren. "Judging from your mastery of breathing techniques, you should be close."

After thinking for a moment, Xilun said, "It's still a little short."

Feslow's expression became complicated. Envy, jealousy, and finally, all turned into a sigh.

"Wow, that was fast..."

He shook his head. "It took me two months to even get the basics right, and you've only been practicing for a few weeks? Is this what talent is?"

"I was lucky," Siren said calmly.

"This isn't luck," Feslow said seriously. "Moreover, Instructor Renn said that the energy exhaled through breathing exercises constantly tempers your flesh and skin. The so-called first-order baptism is essentially about thoroughly training this body's membranes."

He patted his chest, making a dull thud, as if he had patted a thick layer of cowhide.

"The Iron Wall Breathing Method, as the name suggests, is about training the skin membrane to be as hard as an iron wall. When the skin membrane of the whole body is trained to be impervious to knives and bullets, even ordinary small-caliber pistol bullets can get stuck in the muscles, then you are a true first-level baptist."