A person sacrifices himself to become a saint in a chaotic world of martial arts.

Back home, Su Bai continued his diligent cultivation.

The small courtyard he rented wasn't large, with three rooms—one bright and two dark—built of blue bricks and gray tiles, and kept quite clean. The courtyard wall was made of blue bricks, and over the years, fine moss grew between the bricks, while a few clumps of wild grass swayed gently in the wind on the top of the wall. In the courtyard stood an old locust tree, its branches and leaves lush and its canopy spreading out, casting deep shade over half the courtyard. Under the tree were a stone table and two stone stools, the stone tabletop somewhat mottled from wind and rain, with specks of moss growing on the edges.

Every morning, just as dawn breaks and the first hint of light appears in the east, he rises to practice his swordsmanship. The flashing blade and the whistling sound startle sparrows from the branches, sending them fluttering away in a flurry. Before the morning mist has fully dissipated, the blade slices through the fog, leaving fleeting traces. He handles official business during the day and meditates and practices breathing exercises in the evenings to cultivate his inner energy. His days are simple and regular, like a precisely timed clock that never stops.

strength.

strength.

Everything comes down to ability.

He knew better than anyone that his victory over An Wuou this time involved a degree of luck, and also an element of An Wuou's prior serious injury. If he had faced a true master of the sixth realm of martial arts head-on, he might not have escaped unscathed. In that battle, he won because of timing, because of the unexpected, and because of An Wuou's carelessness. He didn't win because of superior strength.

Not enough, far from enough.

After An Wuou's incident ended, Su Bai's life returned to normal.

For two months in a row, nothing happened.

No missions, no conflicts, no surprises. Life was as still as a stagnant pool, rarely even rippling. He practiced his sword, meditated, read, and slept every day, day after day, month after month. Occasionally, a neighbor would pass by and, hearing the whistling of the sword coming from the yard, would quicken their pace, glancing back at the tightly closed wooden door with a hint of awe in their eyes.

On that very day, he finally broke through to the sixth realm of martial arts—the Divine Power Realm.

It was an ordinary night.

The moon hung high in the sky, its clear light like water. Su Bai sat cross-legged on the couch, his palms facing upwards, his eyes slightly closed. Moonlight streamed in through the window, casting diamond-shaped patches of light on the floor and bathing him in a silvery glow, highlighting his features. His breathing was long and even, his chest and abdomen rising and falling with each breath, his breath continuous and deep, each breath more profound than the last, as if he had become one with the night.

The room was quiet, so quiet that you could hear the leaves of the old locust tree outside the window rustling in the night wind, and the distant sound of the watchman striking his clapper, one beat after another, growing louder as he called out: "Dry weather—be careful with fire—" The sound was exceptionally clear in the silent night, then gradually faded away.

After an unknown amount of time, he suddenly felt a surge of heat in his dantian. At first, it was just a tiny wisp, like the first trickle of melting snow in spring, barely perceptible. Then, the heat grew stronger and stronger, as if a flame was burning inside his body, traveling along his meridians throughout his entire body. Wherever it passed, every inch of muscle trembled slightly, and every bone creaked softly, as if something was breaking through the soil inside him, trying to burst out of his body.

He suddenly opened his eyes.

A glint of light flashed in his eyes, shining like a cold star in the dim room, illuminating the area a foot or so in front of him, before returning to calm.

He looked down at his hands and slowly clenched his fists. The moment his fists tightened, a soft crackling sound emanated from his knuckles—the crisp sound of bones being compressed by force, one after another, as dense as popping beans, or as if his muscles and bones were rearranging themselves. He felt his whole body brimming with power, a power that was abundant and surging, flowing endlessly through his limbs and bones, as if he could kill a bull with a single punch, shatter a stone with a single palm strike, and crack the ground with a single stomp.

The sixth realm of martial arts: the realm of divine power.

As the name suggests, reaching this level will result in a qualitative leap in strength. With every gesture, one will possess the power of a thousand pounds.

He has finally reached that level.

At the same time, his transfer order finally came down.

The reason why the transfer order took so long to come through is mainly due to the change in position.

Previously, the so-called "errands" only required the decision-making of the county's garrison. The county would report it, the prefecture would go through the motions and stamp it, and that would be the end of it. But going any higher up, things were truly different.

The position of Deputy Chief Clerk is essentially a position in charge of a region. It requires the signature and seal of the Fengshan County Governor, the approval of the County Prefect, the nod of the County Commandant, the filing of the Registrar, and even the transmission of a backup appointment copy. It involves layers of review and hurdles, each of which can take ten days to half a month. As a result, it has been delayed for so long.

Of course, with Ning Yuechan's help and his real achievements this time, as well as the reputation of killing An Wuou, he was promoted smoothly.

The day the transfer order was delivered to the Zhenfu Division, the weather was clear and the sun was shining brightly.

Xing Huai'an personally handed the transfer order to Su Bai, a smile on his face, but a complex emotion lingered in his eyes. The smile was faint, almost imperceptible, yet it was indeed a smile, a slight upward curve at the corners of his lips. He knew Su Bai was leaving; he had known for a long time. But now that the day had come, he still felt a strange mix of emotions. He looked at Su Bai, his gaze lingering on the young man's face for a moment, as if he wanted to say something. His lips moved, but in the end, he simply nodded, raised his hand, and patted Su Bai's shoulder gently, his palm landing on Su Bai's shoulder with a slight pressure.

"Su Bai, a probationary officer of the Southern Garrison Command, has rendered meritorious service in eliminating violence and maintaining peace, killing bandits, and faithfully performing his duties. He is hereby specially transferred to the position of head of the Fenjiang County Garrison."

The transfer order was brief, yet every word carried immense weight. Su Bai received it with both hands, scanning it from top to bottom with a calm expression.

Xing Huai'an didn't react much, since he already knew.

But Officer Li and Officer Wang were excited.

Their gazes fell on the transfer order almost simultaneously, then quickly looked away, exchanging a glance. Their eyes held a hidden meaning, like two hungry wolves eyeing a piece of fat meat, yet unwilling to reveal it too obviously.

Xing Huai'an is leaving, and Su Bai is going to become a jailer.

Isn't that position now very likely to emerge from between the two of them?

Li, the constable, was a middle-aged man in his forties, with a dark complexion, broad shoulders, and a thick waist. He had served in the Zhenfu Division for twenty years and was the most senior. When he heard the news, although his face remained tense, the corners of his eyes turned up slightly, revealing crow's feet. He pursed his lips, trying not to let a smile show. His hands were behind his back, but his fingers were constantly moving, sometimes clenching into fists, sometimes relaxing, as if he were calculating something, or perhaps suppressing his excitement.

Wang Chatou was a few years younger than him, but he was much more composed. He simply nodded slightly, saying nothing, but his hands, behind his back, quietly clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white and his knuckles protruding. He lowered his eyelids, concealing the light in his eyes, took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled.