Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

Kanavi extended a finger and drew a line in the air.

"Developing that first bit of strength is like striking a spark in a haystack. It's difficult, but if you keep at it, there's always a chance."

He then extended a second finger and pressed it down hard.

"But mastering the feeling of Qi means turning that spark into a constant flame. What Mr. Ryan meant by 'the feeling of Qi in one breath' is that you must be able to accurately guide that Qi to flow throughout your body with every breath and every movement, without interruption or disorder."

Kanavi took a deep breath, mimicking some kind of profound state, and then suddenly deflated.

"This requires constant focus. If you really get to that point, you're no longer a student; you can go directly to the front desk to apply to become a contracted fighter for the club, get a letter of recommendation, and it will make finding a job much easier in the future."

Xilun's heart stirred slightly.

Sign a fighter!

"Is it that difficult?" Xilun asked in a low voice.

"Of course it's difficult."

Kanavi gave a wry smile and counted on his fingers for Xiren, "The old members that Teacher Ryan brought, that is, Robert's group, were the ones who had already trained their strength before, a total of seventeen people."

"But among these seventeen people, who are able to develop Qi and sign with a club..."

Kanavi held up four fingers and waved them in front of Xiren.

There are only four.

This is the elimination rate on the road to extraordinary achievements; even the first step is brutally competitive.

"Besides," Canavi seemed to realize something, his eyes darkening, "even if you become one of those four lucky ones, it doesn't guarantee you'll rise to prominence. You know the Brotherhood's dock district, right?"

Xilun nodded; he knew the place all too well.

"Those who work as supervisors over there, and have blood on their hands, basically all have a foundation in Qi cultivation," Kanavi sneered. "But having that ability doesn't guarantee you a supervisor position. You have to fight for it, grab it, and even have some 'special connections.'"

The image of Morgan's fleshy face instantly flashed into Xiren's mind.

That tyrant who could lift two hundred pounds of goods with one hand and break a worker's ribs with one kick.

It turns out that Morgan was also someone who had mastered the sense of energy; he might have been one of the "four" back then.

......

When Xiren walked out of the club gates after a day of training, it was already completely dark.

Night always falls exceptionally early in Saint Laurent, with thick coal smoke mixed with the icy river wind, plastering your face like a damp rag.

Normally, this level of training would have been enough to leave Xiren collapsed on the ground, unable to even move a finger.

But today is different.

The pale blue elixir and the still-unexpired can of goat's milk in Kanavia created a strange chemical reaction within him.

Although his stomach was still rumbling in protest due to lack of food, a warm current flowed through his body, relieving his fatigue.

Back to that dormitory filled with the smell of mildew and sweat.

Pushing open the door, a stench of foot odor, cheap tobacco, and damp, rotting wood hit me.

Siren walked across the corridor expressionlessly and climbed into his bed.

On the lower bunk opposite, Cage was sitting cross-legged on the bed, picking at the blisters on his feet by the dim light of the gas lamp.

Cage paused for a moment when he saw Celen return.

"You really went to learn breathing techniques?" Cage asked.

His voice carried a hint of probing, and an undisguised envy.

Xilun nodded wearily, leaned against the cold wall, and let out a long breath.

"Yeah, I practiced all day."

"How does it feel?" Cage leaned closer, not even bothering to lift his feet. "Is it like the legends say, where you can feel the energy flowing through your body as soon as you start practicing?"

Xilun patted his shrunken belly and gave a wry smile.

"It's not that easy. It's like swallowing a bellyful of razor blades; all you feel is pain."

Cage shrank back, seemingly frightened by Siren's description, but the longing in his eyes did not diminish.

“That’s great…”

Cage muttered to himself, his eyes somewhat unfocused, "If I could really master it, I might be able to join the Brotherhood. I heard that Morgan only practiced breathing techniques for a while back then, but later, under his uncle's guidance, he's now a prison warden."

Xilun paused for a moment as he was untying his legs.

"Morgan has an uncle?"

"Yeah, a minor leader in the fraternity," Cage scoffed. "Otherwise, do you think Morgan could become a warden with his limited skills? In our dockside area, plenty of people save up and grit their teeth to go to the club every year, but what happens in the end?"

Cage sighed and pointed to an empty spot on the next bed.

"Old Harry, you know him too. He spent all his savings to go to the club the year before last, and what happened? He didn't build up any strength, he only learned a few basic fighting techniques. He's just a bit stronger and can carry boxes a bit more, but now he's rolling around in the mud just like us."

Xilun remained silent.

This is the fate of most people.

He exhausted his family fortune and gambled everything, only to end up with the identity of a "high-level coolie".

"Is it that difficult?" Xilun asked.

"Difficult!" Cage nodded heavily. "Developing strength once isn't difficult, but the difficulty lies in guiding and stabilizing that strength each time. If it can't be stabilized, the energy can't be sustained for long, and its benefits to the body are not even as substantial as some basic combat techniques."

At this point, Cage looked at Siron, a hint of sympathy in his eyes.

"Sirlen, what are you going to do next? Work at the docks while also going to the club?"

This is a very real problem.

The training intensity at the Iron Cross Club is extremely high. If you also have to do the high-intensity physical labor of a dockworker, your body will definitely break down.

Xilun shook his head; he had already made up his mind on the way back.

"I'm not going."

Siren's voice was soft, but his tone was unusually firm: "I don't plan to go to the docks for a while."

Cage's eyes widened.

"You don't work? What will you eat then? The club's tuition must have already emptied your pockets, right?"

"My savings are alright." Xiren lied; his savings were actually almost gone. "Besides, the club provides lunch, and I'm not too tired after training every day, so the energy expenditure isn't that high."

It's not exactly a lie; after drinking that secret medicine, I really didn't feel tired anymore.

As long as you can get started and master the breathing techniques, all this investment is worthwhile.

"You're crazy," Cage muttered, then bent down again to pick at the blisters on his feet. "I'm definitely not going to do it. I'd better just save up some money and get a job at a newspaper."

The dormitory fell silent again.

Finn, who slept in the upper bunk, has already left to work on a ship.

Cage will have to work as a dockworker for two more months, and the newspaper needs to go through procedures to get him hired.

Everyone is struggling in this quagmire, trying to grasp at a straw to save their lives.

Xilun closed his eyes and rolled over on the rough, damp bed.

The bed frame was as hard as stone, and the bedding smelled musty.

My stomach started growling again.

That feeling of hunger was like a mouse, constantly scratching at my stomach.

In the darkness, rumors about Morgan involuntarily surfaced in Celen's mind.

I heard that Morgan gets to eat freshly baked dark bread every morning, without any sawdust, spread with a thick layer of jam.

Lunch included a whole piece of sizzling, oily fried pork scraps and a vegetable salad.

He lived in a single room, where there was no smell of stinky feet, only a faint scent of tobacco.

In addition to a hard bed and a sturdy oak table, there is even a special washstand and a walk-in closet filled with clean clothes.

No need to squeeze in with others, no need to worry about being woken up by snoring in the middle of the night, and no need to worry about the money under your pillow being stolen.

That's human life.

And this is the livestock pen.