At dawn, when the Foreman’s grating voice rang out, Chen Ping’s eyes snapped open.
He instinctively moved his limbs, sensing something different.
His body felt light and agile, without the usual heavy fatigue that came after a night’s sleep.
Sitting up, he felt an itch where the whip wounds on his back had scabbed over. At the edges of the hard scabs on his worn shoulders, new flesh peeked through underneath.
The speed of his wound healing was astonishingly fast.
What surprised him even more was his strength.
He grabbed the tattered straw mat that had covered the rice sack last night; it felt almost weightless.
Walking outside and shouldering that heavy basket, he felt it was a bit lighter than yesterday.
He tried loading more grass. The basket was piled higher than yesterday’s peak. When he lifted it, though it still pressed heavily on his shoulders, his steps were steadier, and he could even walk a little faster.
His grass-cutting speed increased as well.
Swinging the Sickle, his arm seemed more powerful. The swish-swish sound of cutting through grass stems became crisp and clean.
Before noon, he had finished the grass in his assigned area and cut another half-basket. He hid the extra grass beneath a field ridge, then rested behind a dead tree, making the most of the time.
Once again, he pulled out that “Vitality Technique” manual.
This time, his body didn’t feel as stiff.
He took up the “Embracing Origin, Guarding Unity” stance and adjusted his breathing, expanding his belly as he inhaled and drawing it in as he exhaled.
He was steadier now, and his breathing came more easily. He held the stance for as long as an incense stick took to burn before his legs began to ache.
Next came “Pushing Mountain, Exploring Sea.”
His left foot stepped forward into a bow stance as his left hand slowly pushed forward. The movements were still slow but somewhat smoother than yesterday.
He could feel the stretch and support in his thigh muscles during the left-leg bow stance. His pushing arm also managed to exert a bit of force.
He exhaled while pushing forward, as if truly pushing something. He inhaled while pulling back, drawing the force inward. After completing the left side, he switched to the right.
After finishing one full set of movements, sweat once again soaked through his clothes.
He was still tired, his muscles aching, tight, and hot, but he no longer felt utterly drained. The effort was great, yet still within what he could bear.
Returning behind the Shack, he grabbed another small handful of Spirit Rice and chewed it down.
A warm current replenished his expended energy.
He sat down leaning against the base of the wall, closed his eyes to rest, and carefully observed the changes in his body.
Within that aching tightness, he seemed to feel the beginnings of new strength. He clenched his fists; his fingers felt stronger. Follow the newest chapters on novelping.com.
The third day, the fourth day… Chen Ping strictly adhered to this cycle.
Work desperately during the day, squeeze out time to practice the technique. Immediately after practicing, enter the space to eat raw rice for replenishment, then rest.
Every time after practicing, his body felt emptied out. But once the raw rice entered his stomach, not only did it quickly refill him, but by the next day, he always felt his strength had grown just a little bit more.
His changes became increasingly evident.
The weight of the basket seemed lighter and lighter. He began to be able to carry a fully loaded basket of grass—packed solid—and jog a few steps with it.
While cutting grass, the Sickle swung with a whooshing sound through the air. When cleaning the Pigsty, swinging the heavy manure fork also became noticeably easier.
The time he needed to complete tasks assigned by Manager Wang grew shorter and shorter.
Before, he had to struggle until dark to barely finish. Now he often finished by late afternoon when the sun slanted westward.
Part of the saved time went toward practicing more discreetly. His movements grew increasingly proficient; his standing meditation times also lengthened.
Another part was genuine rest. He could lean against a haystack, close his eyes without thinking about anything, and let his weary body recover slightly—a luxury previously unattainable for him.
His wounds healed with astonishing speed. New whip marks would scab over overnight; scabs fell off in two or three days, revealing pale pink new skin. The thick calluses worn by basket straps on his shoulders hardened like sheets of iron.
Manager Wang’s gaze fell upon him more frequently now.
Those small eyes no longer held pure disgust or looked at him as worthless trash; they now held scrutiny and puzzlement instead.
The burly servants who always bullied him once deliberately kicked a large bucket of slops in front of him and ordered him to empty it.
Chen Ping glanced at them without speaking. He walked over and grasped both sides of the rim with his hands.
That bucket of slops was filthy and heavy; previously he would have had to drag and pull it along laboriously.
This time, sinking at the waist and exerting force with both arms, he actually lifted that heavy wooden bucket steadily off the ground!
Though the muscles in his arms tensed tightly and veins bulged visibly, he carried the bucket step by step toward the dumping spot, footsteps planted firmly on the ground.
The burly servants exchanged glances and fell silent.
One muttered, “What the hell? Where’d that sickly wretch get the strength?”
Chen Ping dumped the slops, set down the bucket, and wiped his sweat.
He knew his own strength had grown, but he didn’t expect this much growth. His heart churned with indescribable emotion—joy, but also apprehension afterward.
Joy at this tangible change. Apprehension because the change was too conspicuous, easily inviting trouble.
At night, he extended his practice time.
After a full set of the Vitality Technique, his clothes were soaked and his muscles ached, but he felt he could still bear it.
He hesitated a moment, then flipped the page later in the manual showing a new movement called “Cloud Hands.”
He tried to imitate the posture depicted in the picture.
Feet apart, knees slightly bent, center of gravity lowered. Both hands slowly raised from the sides of his body, palms facing each other like holding a larger ball. Then his arms slowly drew arcs in front of his body, left hand above, right hand below, passing each other like parting clouds.
He performed very slowly and clumsily, feeling his shoulder blades and back muscles being pulled and stretched during the arm movements.
Gradually, though, he began to get a feel for it.
Following the arc motions of his arms and coordinating with his breathing, his body seemed to produce a subtle sense of coordination. When his arms crossed overhead drawing arcs, he felt his chest and abdomen stretched open; his breath seemed to flow smoother too.
Adding “Cloud Hands” to the set took much more out of him. Sweat dripped from his chin as he gasped for breath, far more tired than after the basic movements alone.
His stomach was empty again; that familiar sense of emptiness washed over him. He immediately entered the space, grabbed Spirit Rice, and chewed vigorously.
This time he ate twice the usual amount!
A warm current swiftly surged toward his aching limbs and entire body, nourishing his overtaxed tendons and bones.
He sat on the ground, experiencing the process of strength refilling his body. This replenishment seemed to penetrate deeper than before, like parched land thoroughly soaked in sweet spring water!
Waking the next day, Chen Ping felt like a fire was hidden within his body.
He was full of energy. His muscles no longer hurt; instead, they felt supple and strong.
He walked out of the Shack, inhaling the chilly morning air into his lungs, feeling refreshed.
He walked to the spot where the baskets were usually stacked. Nearby lay a discarded stone roller. It was not large, but must have weighed a hundred jin or more.
In the past, its weight had daunted him even when he only looked at it. Today, without quite knowing why, he walked over, bent down, and gripped its rough edges with both hands.
He took a deep breath, waist and legs suddenly exerting force. His arm muscles instantly tensed like iron.
“Up!”
That heavy stone roller was actually lifted clean off the ground by sheer force!
He lifted it only about seventeen centimeters and held it for two or three breaths before he had to lower it. The heavy roller hit the ground with a dull thud.
Chen Ping gasped heavily, looking at his own slightly trembling yet power-filled palms. His heart raced wildly.
If he could lift that stone roller, he probably had strength exceeding two hundred jin!
That left only three hundred jin to reach the required five hundred.
He believed it wouldn’t take long to achieve his goal.
Chen Ping nodded with satisfaction. His strength had grown enormously in that time.
Sensing someone watching him, Chen Ping casually raised his head and looked toward the Pigsty.
Manager Wang stood there, hands clasped behind his back. The earlier thud had clearly alerted him.
Now, he was squinting his small eyes, coldly looking over this way.