Free Web NovelChapter 324: Chapter 134: Peak Master’s Attention, Scions of the Prefecture City (3)
Furthermore, any other Cultivation Resources—be it Elixirs, Cultivation Techniques beyond the basic one, weapons, medicinal herbs, or access to Training Rooms—had to be purchased by disciples using contribution points.
And contribution points... were, in reality, just silver taels.
According to the manual, disciples had to go to the Steward Main Hall to exchange silver taels for contribution points. The exchange rate was one contribution point for one tael of silver.
Besides exchanging silver taels, there were other ways to earn contribution points: completing missions issued by the sect, making contributions to the sect, or earning a high rank in sect-held tournaments to receive rewards.
Realizing all this, Yang Jing was secretly astonished. ’So that’s why Master said I’d be spending a lot of money from now on before I left.’
He had thought joining a major sect would grant him access to ample resources, but now he understood that the sect only provided the bare minimum. To obtain better Cultivation Resources, he would have to strive for them himself. Whether it was silver taels or contribution points, he would have to accumulate them slowly.
He quickly skimmed through the remaining rules in the manual, taking note of a few of the stricter ones.
In truth, the rules of the Xuanzhen Sect and Lingxi Peak weren’t particularly strict. As long as a disciple didn’t commit any unconscionable acts or harm the sect’s interests, the Xuanzhen Sect wouldn’t mete out any serious punishments.
Things like theft, illicitly teaching the sect’s Cultivation Techniques and martial arts, or plotting against fellow disciples... as long as one didn’t violate the sect’s major taboos, the other rules were relatively lenient. When he had spoken with Jia Yuliang earlier, Jia Yuliang had also mentioned that while Outer Sect disciples didn’t have high status, they had a fair amount of freedom.
A moment later, Yang Jing looked out the window. The sky had turned completely dark. The distant mountain peaks were hidden in the night, with only a few scattered lights twinkling in the distance.
He closed the manual and blew out the oil lamp. ’I’ll use the cover of night to practice my fist techniques for a bit,’ he thought, then got up and left his room.
The courtyard was perfectly still. The rooms on either side were empty; the other disciples who lived there hadn’t returned yet. The only sound was the cold wind sweeping through the yard.
Yang Jing gently pushed open the courtyard gate and began to wander along the small path at the base of the peak. In the darkness, he occasionally passed one or two other Outer Sect disciples, also dressed in green robes. They were all strangers, and after a brief, fleeting glance, they would continue on their separate ways without a word of greeting.
He followed the path toward a more secluded area, avoiding the sections with more disciple traffic, and eventually found a spacious clearing at the base of a cliff.
The ground in the clearing was flat and covered with fine gravel. A small, nearby stream was frozen solid, its surface coated in a light layer of white frost.
Surrounded by pine and cypress trees, the area was exceptionally peaceful—the perfect place to practice his fist techniques.
Yang Jing stood in the center of the clearing and slowly stretched his limbs. His joints let out a series of soft pops, chasing away the chill that had settled in his body.
He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling gently as the aura around him grew calm and focused. Then, he stepped forward with his left foot, bent his knees, and settled firmly into a horse stance, his waist rotating slightly.
His right fist shot forward, generating a fierce gale. The wind from the punch howled with a dull WHOOSH as it tore through the air. He had begun practicing the Mountain-Shattering Fist.
Yang Jing performed every move with extreme focus. Each punch was packed with power, and as the crest of his fist cut through the air, you could clearly see the currents ripple in its wake. His arm muscles tensed, veins faintly bulging, perfectly displaying the fierce, sharp power of the Mountain-Shattering Fist.
When he drew his fist back, his movements were calm and controlled. His Inner Strength circulated slowly through his meridians. His footwork was steady and powerful, each solid step causing the gravel-covered ground to tremble slightly.
The cold wind whipped specks of snow against him, quickly dusting the tips of his hair white.
But Yang Jing didn’t seem to notice. His gaze was focused and resolute, locked on the empty space before him as if he were facing a formidable opponent.
He practiced punch after punch, his Inner Strength constantly circulating through his entire body. Every strike served to refine the purity of his Inner Strength and temper the strength of his physical form.
Sweat trickled down from his temples, soaking the hair on his forehead. It ran down his cheeks and dripped onto the icy gravel, where it quickly froze into tiny beads of ice. Yet, a faint warmth radiated from his body, warding off the harsh winter cold.
He had only one thought in his mind: to practice the Mountain-Shattering Fist to the Peak of Transformation as quickly as possible, stabilize his Cultivation, meet the requirements for the Dragon Gate martial trial, pass the assessment to enter the Inner Sect, obtain better Cultivation Resources, and advance as far and as fast as he could on the path of the Martial Dao.
He was doing this for himself, but also for his family.
According to his master, the Xuanzhen Sect’s influence was enormous. If he could make a name for himself within the sect, he could use its power to investigate what had happened to his father and uncle.
At this thought, the determination in Yang Jing’s eyes intensified, and his aura grew even more focused and solid.
He poured his entire focus into every single move. The wind generated by his fists grew fiercer and more powerful, and the sound of them tearing through the air was exceptionally clear in the silent night.
He was completely immersed in refining his fist technique, his mind empty save for the flow of his movements and the circulation of his Inner Strength. The biting wind and the chill of the night were forgotten. The only things that felt real were the solid, percussive impact of each strike and the searing heat of Inner Strength coursing through his meridians.
Before he knew it, two hours had slipped by.
Yang Jing was still repeatedly practicing the Mountain-Shattering Fist. By now, the hair on his forehead was soaked with sweat and plastered to his cheeks. The back of his robe was drenched, outlining the firm contours of his physique. He was dripping with sweat from head to toe.
He slowly drew back his fists and stood still, letting out a long, turbid breath as his chest heaved violently.
His breath condensed into a faint white mist that instantly dissipated in the cold wind.
