3: Chapter 3: Money Arrives, Advancement to Martial Master!

When the money arrived, Li Zhengyang was brushing his teeth at home.

His phone vibrated, and a text message notification indicated that 200,000.00 yuan had been deposited into his bank account.

He stuck his toothbrush into the cup, rinsed his mouth, put on his shoes, and headed toward the school.

He had already read the declaration; the format was simple: "I voluntarily forfeit this year's recommended quota for the underprivileged student directed college-to-university program," followed by a signature and a thumbprint.

Director Wang wanted to make some small talk, but Li Zhengyang spoke up as soon as he finished signing.

"Director Wang, I'd like to take some time off."

"Time off?"

"I'd like to take off this week's classes; I'm not feeling very well."

Director Wang hadn't even put down his pen yet and glanced at him.

Having just received two hundred thousand yuan, the kid turned around and asked for leave immediately; it was a bit much. But then, on second thought, the quota was already in his hands, so there was no need to fuss over such trivial matters with him.

"Don't miss the practical combat test this weekend."

"I won't."

"Fine, I approve it."

After leaving the administration building, Li Zhengyang headed straight for the school's back gate.

He didn't live in the dorms; he wasn't used to the four-person school dorms and had moved out during the second semester of his freshman year. The government provided subsidized housing for impoverished households with free monthly rent and half-price utilities, but it was just run-down.

After walking for fifteen minutes, he arrived downstairs.

The old residential complex didn't have an elevator, and he lived on the sixth floor, so he bounded up the stairs two steps at a time.

The stamina of a Second-Rank Martial Artist made climbing these stairs like child's play; he didn't even break a sweat.

He entered, locked the door, and drew the curtains.

Li Zhengyang sat on the edge of the bed, took out his phone, and opened the banking app.

Withdrawing cash was definitely out of the question; two hundred thousand yuan in cash was too conspicuous.

The system's way of consuming money was very flexible. He had tested it: as long as the funds were under his name and he could prove ownership, the balance would be deducted directly when he clicked "Top-up."

No physical banknotes were needed, no handling was required; money stored in the bank card was sufficient.

He faced the system interface, selected "Top-up," and entered the amount: 100,000.

Before pressing his finger down, he hesitated for half a second.

It wasn't that he was reluctant, but he was wondering whether to keep some living expenses.

Forget it.

Charge it all—all in!

The biggest taboo for poor people is leaving themselves an escape route.

If you leave an escape route, you aren't ruthless enough, and if you aren't ruthless enough, you won't earn the next sum.

Confirm top-up.

[Top-up successful!] [Top-up amount: 200,000] [Blood Vitality gained: +2000] [Current Blood Vitality: 2248] [Blood Vitality threshold breakthrough detected] [Realm breakthrough: Second-Rank Martial Artist → Second-Rank Martial Master!]

For the first second, he felt nothing.

At the second second, it started burning from his spine.

The pain spread from his spine along his nerves to his limbs; every muscle was being dismantled and reconstructed, and his bones were cracking and snapping.

Li Zhengyang sprang up from the bed, his back slamming into the wall and knocking off a piece of plaster.

He gritted his teeth, not letting out a sound.

A retired old man lived next door; he was hard of hearing but nosy. If he screamed, the whole building would know by tomorrow that the poor student on the sixth floor was losing his mind in his room.

It hurt for about two minutes.

After two minutes, the pain subsided, replaced by an extremely strange sensation: his body was expelling something.

His pores were oozing fluid.

It was black, thick, and foul-smelling.

Li Zhengyang looked down and saw that the inside of his jacket was soaked; a layer of sticky black grease adhered to the surface of his skin, and the smell was truly overpowering.

"Damn it."

He endured the nausea and stripped off his jacket, then his t-shirt; this stuff was oozing from his entire body.

Martial Master realm.

Put simply, it was a rebirth.

In the Martial Apprentice and Martial Artist stages, one cultivates Blood Vitality, strength, and stamina.

But the Martial Master stage is a threshold of qualitative change; the body must expel the impurities accumulated over years, the bone marrow must be flushed by Blood Vitality, and the internal organs must be recalibrated.

The textbooks call it "cleansing the marrow and cutting the hair," four words that sum it up, sounding quite elegant.

The actual experience, however, is every pore on your body discharging waste.

Li Zhengyang stood shirtless in the middle of the room, the impurities from his body dripping down his legs, forming a small puddle on the floor.

He couldn't wait any longer; if he didn't wash up, the whole room would be ruined.

He rushed into the bathroom, turned on the shower, and let the cold water pour from his head to his feet.

The black substance was washed away and flowed down the drain, but there was still a slimy film on his skin that required vigorous scrubbing.

Li Zhengyang scrubbed for twenty minutes.

He used up more than half a bottle of body wash and a whole bar of soap.

After drying his body and standing in front of the mirror, he was stunned.

The person in the mirror was still him; his facial features hadn't changed, but his entire state was completely different.

His skin was a shade lighter than before—not that kind of feminine whiteness, but a healthy, even glow.

His muscle definition was more pronounced than before, but without the exaggeration of a bodybuilder; it was symmetrical, coordinated, and every muscle fit perfectly onto his frame.

Combined with his already handsome face, he looked even more dashing.

He clenched his fist.

The sense of power was on a completely different level from a Second-Rank Martial Artist.

If a Martial Artist's fist could shatter blue bricks, what could a Martial Master's fist shatter? He didn't want to test it in the rental apartment for now, fearing he might punch through a load-bearing wall.

[Current Blood Vitality: 2248] [Current Realm: Second-Rank Martial Master]

Second-Rank Martial Master.

In the entire Martial Arts Technical College, most of the teaching staff were only at the Martial Master level.

There were no Martial Masters among the students—not a single one.

The genius Fourth-Rank Martial Artist at the school was now a whole major realm behind him.

The transition from Martial Artist to Martial Master wasn't just a matter of a few hundred points of Blood Vitality.

It was a qualitative change.

The limit of a Martial Artist is the peak of human capability; no matter how strong you are, you are essentially still just a human.

A Martial Master begins to touch upon a new realm.

In other words, a Martial Master can condense the Blood Vitality within their body into a layer of protective Qi, can imbue weapons with power, and can do many things that Martial Artists cannot.

In this world, this is called "Entering the Ranks."

The stages before Martial Artist are called "Mortal Ranks," and only from the Martial Master stage can one be considered to have formally stepped over the threshold of martial cultivation.

To put it bluntly, those Martial Apprentices and Martial Artists from before were, in the eyes of true martial cultivators, just ordinary people with slightly better physical fitness.

The road ahead is still long.

Martial Apprentice, Martial Artist, Martial Master, Great Martial Master, Martial Spirit, Martial Ancestor, Martial King, Martial Emperor, Martial Venerable, Martial Saint, Martial God.

Each major realm is divided into nine ranks, and the gap between each rank becomes increasingly absurd as the realm gets higher.

Li Zhengyang had no concept of what level a Martial God was, but he occasionally saw reports in the news, which could be summarized in one sentence: that is a human-shaped nuclear bomb.

It was too early to think about that now.

The most practical problem at hand was.

He was hungry.

Extremely hungry.

The kind of hunger that rises from the bottom of the stomach.

The "cleansing of the marrow and cutting of the hair" had consumed a massive amount of energy, and his body was frantically sending out signals to eat.

Li Zhengyang checked his phone: 8:20 AM.

The breakfast shop downstairs shouldn't be closed yet.

He put on a clean t-shirt and went downstairs.

Fifty meters to the right of the residential complex entrance was "Old Zhou's Breakfast Stall," an old shop that had been open for over a decade. The sign listed steamed buns, soy milk, fried dough sticks, wontons, pan-fried dumplings, and congee.

Old Zhou was in his fifties, his apron covered in oil stains, and he was busy by the steamer.

The stall wasn't big, with only five tables, and two were occupied at the moment.

Li Zhengyang walked in, sat down, and glanced at the steamer.

It was steaming, with at least seven or eight layers stacked up.

He subconsciously rubbed his stomach.

Judging by his current appetite, he wouldn't be full without spending 100 yuan if he ate his fill, and 100 yuan was equivalent to 1 point of Blood Vitality.

Li Zhengyang thought of an idea to get full.

"Boss."

Old Zhou turned around: "What'll you have, young man?"

"I want to discuss something with you."

Old Zhou wiped his hands and walked over: "Go ahead."

"All-you-can-eat, flat rate. I'll eat as much as I want, you name the price."

Old Zhou looked him up and down.

A student. Judging by his size, at most he'd eat two baskets of steamed buns and a bowl of congee, which would only be a dozen yuan or so.

But in business, you can't lose money.

"Thirty."

Old Zhou had done the math when he quoted this price: a basket of steamed buns cost less than three yuan to make. Even if the kid could eat three baskets, plus a bowl of soy milk and a fried dough stick, the cost would be a dozen yuan at most. Thirty yuan meant a net profit of twenty—a huge win.

"Deal." Li Zhengyang took out his phone to scan the QR code. "Boss, don't go back on your word."

"I've been in business for over a decade; my word is law." Old Zhou smiled and handed over the code.

Thirty received.

Li Zhengyang put away his phone: "Bring me four baskets of steamed buns first."

"Four baskets?"

"Four baskets."

Old Zhou smiled, thinking the young man was just bragging; he'd be finished after two baskets.

But four baskets only cost eight yuan, so it didn't matter.

The first basket was served. Li Zhengyang didn't dip them in vinegar; he just shoved them into his mouth one after another.

Eight per basket, gone in forty seconds.

The second basket came up, thirty seconds.

The third and fourth baskets, in less than three minutes total.

Old Zhou watched from the side, his smile slowly freezing.

"Bring four more baskets."

"...Huh?"

"Four baskets. Do you have meat ones?"

"Yes."

When Old Zhou turned to get them from the steamer, his footsteps clearly hesitated.

The fifth to eighth baskets took less than five minutes.

An uncle at the next table held his chopsticks in mid-air, forgetting to put them in his mouth.

"Four more baskets. And a bowl of wontons, two fried dough sticks, and a bowl of white congee."

Old Zhou's smile had completely vanished.

He stood by the steamer, his hand resting on the bamboo basket, looking at the stack of empty baskets on the table, and began to calculate.

That's eight baskets.

A basket costs three yuan to make and sells for six. Eight baskets sell for forty-eight; he had already exceeded the limit.

"Young man, you..."

"Boss, my word is law." Li Zhengyang was chewing the last bun.

Old Zhou's expression turned somewhat ugly.

After finishing the twelve baskets, Li Zhengyang polished off two more bowls of wontons, four fried dough sticks, and two bowls of congee.

Finally, he burped and leaned back in his chair.

That felt good.

A Martial Master's digestive speed is far superior to an ordinary person's; these things would be converted into the energy his body needed within half an hour, so he wouldn't get indigestion.

"Boss, I'll come back tomorrow."

Old Zhou didn't speak.

"Still thirty?"

Old Zhou was silent for three seconds: "Don't come back."

"Boss, your perspective is too narrow." Li Zhengyang stood up and patted his stomach. "Business is about long-term relationships. When I make it big in the future, I'll look after this little shop."

As he walked out of the breakfast shop, he heard Old Zhou complaining to the landlady of the stall next door.

"Damn it, I lost over sixty yuan..."

Li Zhengyang whistled, in a good mood.

Today's breakfast was exceptionally delicious.

Although strictly speaking he paid thirty, he ate over ninety yuan worth of food, a net profit of sixty.

A winner in life.

On the way back, he began to plan his next step.

The hundred thousand was gone, his account was at zero, and apart from the hundred or so yuan in pocket money on him, he was effectively penniless.

He still had a debt of thirty-four thousand outstanding.

Including the money saved from the breakfast he mooched today...

Well, it didn't save much.

He had to find a way to get money as soon as possible.

He needed more money, and he needed it faster.

The loan route was still an option, but the limit was capped, and good opportunities like selling a quota didn't happen every day.

He had to find a way to make money quickly.

...