During the Republic of China era, I achieved unparalleled success by returning to the past.

The Third Prison of the Police Station. This prison held Chinese people who had committed crimes in the foreign concessions.

The chains rattled and clattered as they moved along the corridor floor. The prisoners, who had already fallen asleep, quietly opened their eyes, peering out with curiosity.

The cold handcuffs and shackles on his body, the damp, musty smell, the stench of decay, the grime of tobacco and sweat mingling together, made him dizzy and lightheaded. Song Beiyou's expression was indifferent, his hawk-like eyes scanning the surroundings.

Clang! The police officer leading the way opened a cell door, banging his baton against the iron bars, and shouted at the group of figures on the communal bunk, "New recruits! Don't let anyone get killed!"

A deep voice came from the shadows: "Don't worry, sir, I guarantee no one will die."

The constable turned around, his face hidden in the shadows beneath his white helmet, only his cold, menacing eyes visible: "Go inside."

Song Beiyou stood at the door without moving: "Sir, you locked me in this communal sleeping area, aren't you going to remove my handcuffs and shackles?"

"Hehe, the higher-ups said you're in extreme danger. Go in obediently and don't make things difficult for us."

"Hurry up! Stop dawdling! If you delay any longer, I'll break your legs!" came an impatient shout from behind.

Song Beiyou turned around, causing the chains to rattle. The policeman who had just spoken was startled and took a step back, then shouted angrily, "What are you looking at!"

Song Beiyou walked expressionlessly into the stench-filled cell. The iron door slammed shut behind him and locked immediately, the footsteps of several patrol officers hurrying away into the distance. At the end of the corridor, only a few rays of dim light seeped through the iron bars of the window.

The cell was unusually quiet, but Song Beiyou could feel that pairs of malicious eyes were fixed on him from the large communal sleeping platform against the wall.

Song Beiyou stretched his limbs, making a clanging sound as he leaned against the cold iron railing.

"Kid, what did you do to get in here?" The same deep male voice asked from the shadows of the dormitory.

"They said I kidnapped a foreigner."

"Wow! You've got guts, kid. Male or female?"

"A woman."

"A woman!" The previously quiet dormitory immediately became agitated, with figures popping out one after another.

"Hey kid, have you tried it? What does it taste like?"

"I heard that Western women's genitals aren't vertical, but horizontal. Is that true?"

The cell erupted in laughter, like cold water poured into a hot oil pan.

Song Beiyou said indifferently, "Want to know? Go out and find a foreign woman, and see for yourself."

His mind stirred slightly. The Book of Impermanence flew out on its own, turning to the second page, where the blood mist surged like a living thing, and the last remaining corner was rapidly dissipating.

"The time has come." Song Beiyou focused his mind, his consciousness touching the scene in the water mirror.

Ripples spread silently, instantly engulfing the entire cell. The swaying figures, the boisterous laughter, even the faint light filtering through the iron bars—everything suddenly froze.

His consciousness was immediately drawn in by an invisible force.

……

As time passed and the surrounding scenery changed in an instant, Song Beiyou found himself in an unfamiliar body.

On a winter morning, as the sun rises, its rays pierce through the wisps of white mist and fall upon us.

He shrugged his shoulders, turned his neck to quickly adjust to his new body, and raised his hand—what came into view was a pair of rough, large hands with distinct knuckles. He clenched his fists, the knuckles cracking, the veins on the back of his hands bulging, full of explosive power.

In front of them was a shiny wooden dummy, with a gray cloth sandbag hanging on a wooden frame next to it, and the ground beneath their feet was compacted and leveled.

This is where Ding Qiang practices martial arts.

Lines of blood-red characters flowed and spread out.

Current time: 20th of the 11th lunar month.

[The one who survived the calamity: Ding Qiang, successor of the White Ape Eight-Armed Fist.]

[The time remaining after death: three hours.]

[The person who survives the calamity can wear a mask: 0/1]

[The Collection of Masks: Qianyuan's Eight Awakenings - First Awakening, Butcher Ding's Dissection of an Ox - Twenty Years]

Song Beiyou focused intently, scanning the rows one by one.

"So it turns out they wanted my soul to possess him and help him overcome his tribulation. Three hours, six hours in total, this time they gave me quite a long preparation time. After all, it's soul possession, so it takes more time to adapt."

"Only one mask can be worn? It must be the inherited one." The Book of Impermanence opened to the first page, revealing the weathered and ancient inherited mask, which Qingfengban wore on his face. Instantly, a familiar heat surged from deep within his spine, quickly flowing throughout his body.

This body was already large and strong, like a gorilla, and with an additional 20% increase in physique, the improvement is enormous.

Suddenly, an unfamiliar memory exploded in his mind. Song Beiyou concentrated for a moment to digest it, and he had already understood the main situation of Ding Qiang. He then looked around.

There were several mud-brick houses around the courtyard, and smoke was rising from a side room. The environment was much better than that of Yaoshui Village.

From my memory, this place is Fangua Village, also in the Zhabei area, less than ten miles from Yaoshui Village. The local people mostly make a living by growing pumpkins, hence the name.

Ding Qiang was the leader of the Yihe Society's gang of thugs, a notorious and ruthless figure known far and wide for his family's domineering boxing skills.

Six hours after the killing. It's early morning now, so it will be afternoon when Ding Qiang dies. But his memory only goes up to this moment; what happens afterward is a blank.

He wore only a coarse cloth short jacket, revealing his dark and muscular arms, which bulged with the slightest exertion. Song Beiyou looked at the wooden dummy, mentally recalling and integrating Ding Qiang's memories of boxing techniques.

A surge of passion welled up in my chest.

He clenched his fists, lowered his waist and hips, and began practicing against the wooden dummy, like playing ping-pong.

The White Ape with Eight Arms is known for its speed, rage, and ferocity, with each move aiming for instantaneous explosiveness. The so-called "eight arms" do not refer to physical arms, but rather to the overlapping and flying fist shadows when the punching speed is extremely fast, as if eight arms are shooting out at once, dazzling the eyes and making it difficult to distinguish between reality and illusion.

With muscle memory, Song Beiyou became more and more adept at fighting, and his speed increased. Swinging, smashing, pounding, chopping... the sound of his arms hitting the wooden stake was almost continuous.

He couldn't even feel the pain; he only felt a thoroughly exhilarating pleasure.

This set of boxing techniques incorporates the ruthlessness of Tongbei Quan, with its core principle being "the arm swings like a whip, power reaching the extremities." It emphasizes the integration of body strength, focusing solely on offense and never on defense, risking one's life for another. Even its training methods are extremely fierce and domineering, easily damaging one's muscles and bones.

Just as he was getting into the swing of things, a line of bloody writing slowly began to trickle down the surface of the wooden stake that he was pounding so hard:

[If you successfully overcome the tribulation, you can choose one of the abilities of the "Tribulation Bearer" to condense into a mask. If you fail, all your lifespan will be deducted.]

Calamities are karma, unavoidable, accumulating heavier with time until death. Each calamity has its merits and demerits, and rewards are given accordingly.

The blood-red words vanished instantly, and Song Beiyou was overjoyed. He could choose one ability to use as a mask, and the White Ape Eight Arms was the first choice. As for how to overcome the tribulation, it was the same as when he overcame his own tribulation; he could not passively avoid it, but had to face the killing tribulation head-on.

He focused on his slightly reddened, steaming arms, opened his mouth wide, took a deep breath, and flexed the muscles in his arms, shoulders, and back. He immediately felt his blood and energy surge like a tide, and the skin and flesh of his arms twitched slightly.

This boxing style is incredibly satisfying and exhilarating! Let's do it again!

"Qiangbao, stop hitting him, it's time to eat!"

Song Beiyou paused, then slowly withdrew his fist, released his energy, and regulated his breathing, following his memory. Looking towards the source of the sound, he saw a hunched old man with a full head of silver hair standing at the door of the side room, looking at him with kind yet slightly cloudy eyes.