Chen Ping descended the bluestone path swiftly.
His footsteps struck the stone stairs with a rhythmic, solid cadence. With every step, he felt an unprecedented sense of stability grounding him.
Behind him, high atop Servant Peak, Manager Wang’s furious curses and the pained groans of the Scarred Foreman struggling to stand were scattered by the mountain wind.
Chen Ping did not look back. He didn’t need to.
He had walked that path enough.
The Servant Management Office at the foot of the mountain was a stone house, slightly larger than Manager Wang’s residence on the peak.
In the open clearing before the door lay a dark, heavy stone lock. Next to it stood a stone stele inscribed with three bold characters:
Five Hundred Jin.
This was the entry threshold for Regular Disciples.
The area was quiet. Only a few servants moved sundries in the distance. An elderly man with graying hair, dressed in slightly worn managerial robes, dozed on the doorstep.
Hearing the crisp sound of footsteps, the old man lifted his heavy eyelids. His murky eyes held little emotion.
“What is it?”
The old man’s voice was dry.
“I am Chen Ping. I would like to apply for the Regular Disciple assessment.”
Chen Ping stood motionless, his voice clear and steady.
The old man looked him up and down, his gaze lingering for a moment.
Chen Ping wore a short jacket of coarse cloth, washed pale. He was still thin. His left sleeve was rolled up, exposing a slender arm with a faint outline of muscle.
His face lacked color, but his eyes were exceptionally calm. They were devoid of the shifting timidity or fawning ingratiation common among servants.
“From up the mountain?”
The old man asked a redundant question, his tone flat.
“Yes.”
“Know the rules? Lift the stone lock. Raise it overhead once. Hold steady for three breaths.”
The old man pointed to the dark stone lock, then closed his eyes again as though he had little interest in the result.
Every year on Servant Peak, several overconfident fools came to try their luck. Most couldn’t even budge the stone lock.
Chen Ping said no more.
He walked to the stone lock.
The stone lock was dark, heavy, and rough to the touch. Chen Ping crouched and gripped its cold handle firmly with both hands. The rock felt hard and chill beneath his fingers.
He drew a deep breath, braced his abdomen and lower back, and planted his legs firmly.
The muscles in his arms instantly tensed. Veins faintly bulged beneath his thin skin.
“Up!”
With a low shout, the stone lock left the ground!
A dull grinding sound echoed as Chen Ping steadily lifted the weight to his waist.
Without pausing, he straightened his back. Pouring every ounce of strength into his limbs, he hoisted the massive stone lock high above his head!
His arm muscles trembled under the enormous strain, and faint sounds came from his bones.
Sweat immediately beaded on his temples and slid down his cheeks.
Yet he kept his eyes focused, his arms firm as cast iron, supporting a weight far beyond anything he could have managed before.
One breath…
Two breaths…
Time seemed to stretch into eternity, yet passed in a heartbeat.
Clang!
Chen Ping guided the stone lock back to the ground with a heavy thud.
He straightened up. His chest heaved, his breathing rapid, but he stood as straight as an arrow.
The old man on the doorstep had opened his eyes. A flicker of surprise passed through his murky gaze.
He rose and slowly walked over, studying where Chen Ping had set down the lock, then his gently heaving chest and quiet eyes.
“Hmm.”
The old man grunted a syllable of acknowledgment.
He turned and walked back into the stone house, returning with a thin wooden plaque and a folded piece of gray cloth.
“Take this plaque. Regular Disciple identity token. And the clothes. Regular Disciple uniform.”
The old man handed the items to Chen Ping; his voice remained dry.
“Find an empty shack at the west end. Tomorrow at five in the morning, report to Foreman Li, the Manager at the Back Mountain Stone Quarry. He will give you your work.”
“Thank you, Manager.”
Chen Ping accepted the items.
The wooden plaque was very light. Carved into its surface was a blurred number: “79”.
The clothes were ordinary coarse linen, slightly thicker than servant attire, dyed a dusty gray.
“Remember. Once you’re a Regular Disciple, the work is heavier, and the rules are stricter. Make mistakes, and you’ll be punished or driven out.”
The old man tossed out the warning before sitting back down on the doorstep, closing his eyes as if nothing had happened.
Chen Ping clutched the identity token and clothes, turning to leave.
The Servant Peak area at the foot of the mountain was much larger than the area above, with several separate districts of shacks. Chen Ping headed west.
On the way, he encountered several Regular Disciples hurrying along. They glanced at him, their gazes lingering briefly on the uniform in his hands, before losing interest.
Just another newcomer.
As expected, the west end had more vacancies. He chose a shack tucked into a corner that looked relatively intact and ducked inside.
It was simple—just a pile of dry grass for a bed—but it was far superior to the drafty, leaking hut on the mountain.
He carefully placed the gray uniform on the grass and tucked the identity token close against his body.
A Regular Disciple. He had made it.
He would no longer have to endure Fatty Wang’s endless persecution and whippings or dangerous labor that might kill him at any moment.
Although it meant heavier workloads and stricter rules… life wasn’t constantly threatened.
Most importantly, he would receive a monthly ration of coarse rice and meager wages.
Wages?
Chen Ping touched the warm Jade Pendant against his chest.
He didn’t need wages to buy anything.
He needed time. He needed undisturbed space.
Regular Disciples worked fixed hours: from five in the morning, at the start of the mao period, until three in the afternoon, at the start of the shen period.
That left him nearly six hours of free time each day!
Moreover, Regular Disciples were relatively independent of each other, unlike servants who were constantly watched by foremen.
For Chen Ping, this was the greatest treasure of all.
The next morning, he reached the Back Mountain Stone Quarry before five.
The scale here was far larger than the operations on the peak.
The huge quarry pit looked as if it had been gnawed by a giant beast, exposing layers of bluish-gray rock. The air was choked with dust, filled with the sounds of clinking chisels, work chants, and the rumble of rolling stones. This chapter is updated first at novelping.com.
Foreman Li was a lean, dark-skinned man. His face was etched with deep lines, and his eyes were sharp.
He glanced at Chen Ping’s identity token without asking much, then pointed at a pile of stone reaching half a man’s height and several heavy iron hammers and steel chisels.
“Newcomer? Strength looks passable. Break these stones.”
Foreman Li’s voice was hoarse and brooked no argument.
“Break the big stones into fist-sized pieces. Keep them even. Finished stone goes over there; unbroken stone is here. Five cubic meters a day.”
“We stop at three in the afternoon. Fail to finish, and your wages will be cut. Break a tool, and you pay for it. Slack off, and get out!”
Then Foreman Li turned away to inspect the other workers, giving Chen Ping no further attention.
Breaking stone was simply hard physical work, less dangerous than mining or clearing steep slopes. It called for stamina and well-aimed force.
Chen Ping picked up a heavy iron hammer. The metal felt cold and dense in his hand.
He walked to a large, bluish rectangular stone that would require two people to encircle. Without hesitation, he chose an angle and swung the hammer.
Thud!
A dull, loud impact echoed. Stone chips flew.
An immense recoil traveled up the handle, shaking his arm and vibrating through his entire body. The muscles in his arm instantly tensed to dissipate the force.
Only a shallow white mark remained on the rectangular stone.
He adjusted his breathing and swung the hammer again.
His action was not fast, but each time, he poured his full strength into hitting the same stress point.
Soreness quickly accumulated in his arms. Sweat soon soaked his back. But his gaze remained focused on that single point on the stone.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
The monotonous, heavy striking sounds merged into the quarry’s massive din. Other Regular Disciples were busy with their own tasks; nobody noticed the newcomer in the corner.
On his first day, Chen Ping worked slowly.
He needed to get used to the hammer’s weight and the sheer effort of the work. When his arms ached too much to lift, he paused for a brief rest.
He practiced the Vitality Technique breathing method, trying to mobilize a faint warm flow from the depths of his body to alleviate the fatigue.
Then, he swung the hammer again.
When the bronze gong sounded at three in the afternoon, he had produced less than three cubic meters of broken stone.
Foreman Li walked over, expressionless. He glanced at the pile and didn’t speak. He simply marked a stroke on his personal wooden board.
The meaning was clear: Task incomplete. No wages today.
Chen Ping silently put down the hammer.
His arms felt like they were filled with lead, burning with pain, but his heart held little discouragement.
He estimated his current strength and skill. Five cubic meters was his limit. He just needed to adapt for a few days. Plus, with the Spirit Rice and meat from his pocket dimension to supplement his diet, he could definitely complete it.
He returned to his shack. The sky was not yet dark.
Instead of entering the space at once, he went to a sheltered spot beneath a rock wall behind his shack.
He assumed the stance and began to practice the Vitality Technique.
His movements were still slow and difficult. After a day of breaking stone, his muscles fought his determination. Every lift of his arms and turn of his waist tugged at aching muscles and joints.
But he gritted his teeth and persisted.
Five sets of the Vitality Technique. This was the iron rule he had set for himself. He must complete it!
It was directly related to whether he could quickly become top among the servant disciples.
Once his strength exceeded one thousand jin…
…he would settle accounts with Fatty Wang!