Chapter Two: Once More, Complete

After practicing the soft fist a few more times, the improvement was barely noticeable.

“This set of boxing is just for building a foundation, for invigorating the blood and energy,” Jiang Ming murmured, shaking his head as he sat down to drink a glass of water. In his mind, the method of practicing the Military Boxing surfaced, and he began to ponder its essence.

It was as if countless miniature figures appeared in his mind, each demonstrating the movements. He compared these with the memories of his former self’s training, analyzing every transition and the hidden mysteries in each technique and form.

Gradually, the multitude of figures dwindled until they merged into one.

Jiang Ming opened his eyes with a flash of insight.

“The Military Boxing is about dominance. The movements are crisp, direct, heavy, and powerful. Practicing the boxing not only tempers the body, but also hones one’s temperament, forging an unyielding confidence.”

He stood up, moved to the center of the living room, and adopted the stance once more.

“The teacher once said, whether it’s the Soft Fist, the Military Boxing, or the Shocking Fist, once you reach perfection, you undergo a cleansing of the muscles and marrow. That’s the profound wisdom and supreme principle hidden in these routines, which is why they’re so widely taught—and my hope as well.”

His steps were steady, his fists cutting the air with a whistle.

After a single repetition, he had fully mastered the Military Boxing at the minor accomplishment level.

Jiang Ming didn’t stop.

As he practiced, his moves were like a tiger descending the mountain, or a river pouring forth without end.

After three rounds—

“Major accomplishment!”

“There’s a tingling sensation in my bones now!”

Jiang Ming’s face lit up with joy, but he couldn’t help rubbing his stomach.

He was hungry.

The source of improvement in cultivation was food.

Without enough food, no matter how talented you were, it was useless.

He opened the fridge—there was a pork knuckle left, and a few cans of meat. He took them all out and heated them in the microwave.

While waiting, he checked his phone. His balance was 180,000 credit points.

“Not sure if that’s enough,” he thought.

By the time he finished his glass of water, the food was ready. He ate heartily, finished an apple, and drank two more glasses of water.

After a short rest, he resumed training.

As the city lights flickered on and night fell, Jiang Ming’s body suddenly trembled. A strange, powerful energy surged through his limbs and bones, strengthening his body and cleansing his marrow.

He had perfected the Military Boxing, and experienced another cleansing, far stronger than what he’d achieved with the Soft Fist.

The tingling sensation in his bones grew more intense, spreading throughout his body.

Jiang Ming pushed on, continuing to practice the Military Boxing.

With each repetition, he improved.

This was the benefit of reaching perfection in a routine—it filled him with delight.

The food in his stomach was being digested at a rapid pace.

When he finally stopped, he rubbed his stomach again.

“This is true cultivation!” Jiang Ming smiled, pulled out his phone, and opened the food delivery app, finding a restaurant run by the City Lord’s Mansion.

“To support third-year students, as long as you’re verified, meals are half price every day, but you can’t order more than three standard meals per day.”

“Medicinal meals for nourishing energy and blood are 3,000 apiece—still 1,500 at half price.”

Jiang Ming placed an order for three meals—the daily allowance.

While waiting, he pondered the method for practicing the Shocking Fist.

From his predecessor’s memories, out of fifty students in the class, only about a dozen had even started on the Shocking Fist, and only two had reached minor accomplishment—one of them being Fatty Wang.

As for major accomplishment?

There were only a handful in the entire school.

The training was just too difficult.

Jiang Ming thought it over and understood why. The Shocking Fist emphasized power generated from the inch, using that force to vibrate skin, muscles, bones, and organs, reaching deep into the marrow.

In short, it meant external force transmitted internally, penetrating all the way to the bone marrow.

One misstep, and you could easily injure yourself.

He remembered that many classmates, caught up in perfectionism, had injured themselves by overtraining—some even coughed up blood on the spot.

Besides, there was a special breathing method to coordinate with the fist—external force with internal breath—so that the power reached the organs and blood for the best effect.

Jiang Ming closed his eyes; a storm of insight erupted in his mind as he dissected the Shocking Fist, pondering its principles and the essentials of breath.

A knock at the door interrupted him.

He collected his meal.

Setting two portions aside, he opened one. The meal was substantial: a nourishing ginseng soup, a portion of beast meat, a serving of spiritual greens, one spiritual fruit, and two meat patties.

In no time, it was all in his stomach, and a warm current spread throughout his body—he could feel the essence of the food being absorbed.

He stood, adjusted his state, and began training.

Raise the hand, inhale, throw the punch, exhale—three linked breaths, the breath sinking through the twelve chambers, passing the upper, entering the middle, reaching the lower, then another punch, force oscillating at each inch.

First round to find the feel, second round to settle into the rhythm.

By the third round, he had entered the basics.

Jiang Ming felt a warm sensation throughout his body, and the tingling in his bones intensified.

“No wonder Fatty Wang reached the stage where bones and tendons resonated so quickly—his strength has already reached a subtle level, now he’s sprinting toward the second stage of martial cultivation.”

Now he understood why: talent was one thing, but the Shocking Fist’s training effects were another.

Even the entry level was comparable to the perfection of Military Boxing.

Almost all the essence from his food was absorbed.

“The Shocking Fist, coordinated with breath, is about the shock—transmitting force inside, vibrating the organs. Each repetition is like tempering the body, but a single mistake can cause internal injury.”

As Jiang Ming reflected, he continued training.

At midnight, after finishing his third meal and a brief rest, he resumed cultivation.

Wasting time was unfair to his future self.

Within his reach, at every inch, force rippled. Faintly, he could sense the surging of blood and the resonance of bones and tendons.

His breathing grew stronger and more powerful.

Buzz...

After a long while, Jiang Ming paused. A surge of powerful, strange energy erupted from deep within, sweeping through his body like a tidal wave.

Again and again.

This was the activation of latent potential—the hidden treasure deep within the human body.

At the same time, black, oily filth seeped from his pores.

“The Shocking Fist—perfected!”

Jiang Ming exhaled a long, foul breath, exhilarated.

So this is the gift of a hundredfold insight?

As his excitement slowly subsided, he took a shower. When he emerged, his skin was fair with a healthy flush, almost radiant with moisture.

Jiang Ming felt utterly clear and light, as if a lifelong burden had been lifted.

Glancing at the cracked floor where he’d been training, he paid it no mind and returned to his bedroom to rest.

Utter exhaustion.

He woke the next day around five, rubbing his stomach in hunger.

After tending to his personal hygiene, he found the milk and drank six cartons straight before stopping.

“I can’t keep training at home, or I’ll bring the whole place down!”

Shaking his head, Jiang Ming stepped out.

Not far from his residential complex was a park.

There, many elderly men were already exercising. Though their movements seemed slow, there was strength in every gesture.

He found a quiet corner, closed his eyes to review the Shocking Fist once more, then began practicing.

After a round, his whole body was filled with a tingling sensation—not uncomfortable, but a greedily satisfying pleasure, like scratching an itch between the toes.

He couldn’t stop.

In the gentle warmth of the morning sun, Jiang Ming was utterly absorbed in his practice.

As his fists moved, the air resonated with the sounds of wind and thunder.