Chapter Two: The Bronze Medal

The sky had not yet brightened when Tang Tian rose from bed right on schedule. He washed up briefly, switched on the light, sat at his desk, spread out a sheet of letter paper, and, head down, began to write in swift strokes.

“Qianhui: How have you been lately? I miss you very much. All is well with me, so don’t worry. The new semester has begun, and I’m still serving as Assistant Instructor for Teacher Cen’s swordsmanship class. Without you here, I find things a bit dull. They look down on me, and I don’t like them much either. Teacher Cen’s health hasn’t been great lately—he’s a good man, and I hope he always stays well. How is Uncle Yu’s health? Please send him my regards for me. I really wish I could see the Perseus Nebula Falls you mentioned, to know how magnificent they truly are. I’m still persevering in my training; perhaps it will continue for a long time yet, but I’m not willing to give up…”

He wrote at length, all about the little events of daily life. Carefully, he folded the letter, slipped it into an envelope, and sealed it.

He wrote the address with care: Perseus Constellation, White Rainbow Star, White Rainbow City, Fifteenth Avenue, White Rainbow Academy, Class 3A, to Shangguan Qianhui (recipient).

When he finished, he took the Skyway postage stamp he had prepared earlier and affixed it to the envelope.

With all this done, he stood up and went out into the courtyard.

The morning air was crisp and biting. Tang Tian stretched his limbs until his muscles loosened up, then assumed his stance and began his daily training.

He was practicing the Basic Fist Form.

After nearly a year, his mastery of the Basic Fist Form was approaching perfection.

The Basic Fist Form comprised three moves: the driving punch, the thrust punch, and the hook punch. The driving punch was powerful and forceful; the thrust punch was nimble and swift, light as a butterfly weaving through flowers; the hook punch lay between the two, placing greater emphasis on the angle of attack.

These seemingly simple basic movements, in Tang Tian’s hands, possessed an elegant beauty—the beauty of simplicity and coordination honed by relentless practice.

Focused and absorbed, Tang Tian showed not the slightest hint of boredom on his face despite the monotony of training.

Soon, he was drenched in sweat, his clothes soaked through, beads of perspiration rolling down his neck.

A faint mist seemed to rise from his body.

He practiced the movements again and again, pausing occasionally to reflect, but soon plunging back in. Time slipped by; the sun leapt above the horizon, and much of the morning chill was swept away.

Tang Tian trained with utter self-forgetfulness.

Suddenly, a shrill bell rang out, and Tang Tian stopped. Time was up!

His heavy breathing echoed through the courtyard. Hands braced on his knees, sweat dripping from his chin to the ground, he was instantly overwhelmed by exhaustion—the fatigue had not been felt during the training, but surged over him the moment he stopped.

Five minutes later, Tang Tian snapped out of his blank state, straightened up, and, though his legs felt weak, shuffled toward the pool in the corner of the yard.

The pool was filled with water. Reaching the edge, Tang Tian plunged in with a splash.

The morning water was icy cold, sending a jolt through him the instant he hit it.

He grimaced in discomfort, needing time to acclimate to the cold. After about two minutes, his body adjusted, and he sat cross-legged, beginning his meditative breathing.

After five years at Ander Academy, Tang Tian had long since mastered the Basic Internal Method. The Basic Internal Method did not depend on innate talent—anyone could reach mastery with persistence in a year or two. Tang Tian’s aptitude was mediocre, but he never slacked; he had achieved perfection in the Basic Internal Method long ago. He quickly sought out a second-tier method, but Ander Academy only taught the basics. To learn a second-tier method, one had to advance to the next level.

Tang Tian, unwilling to waste time, sought other ways. Teacher Cen, hearing of Tang Tian’s situation, invited him to be his assistant, paying him with a second-tier Soul General Card, “Qi Cultivation Formula,” as compensation.

Thus, Tang Tian began practicing the second-tier technique.

The “Qi Cultivation Formula” was also suitable for those with poor physical endowment; its sole advantage was the longevity of breath and energy. Now Tang Tian was nearing mastery of this technique as well. Lower-level methods were relatively simple, relying mainly on perseverance rather than skill.

A gentle, sustained warmth spread through his body, dispelling the cold and swiftly restoring his exhausted strength.

An hour later, Tang Tian opened his eyes.

He was once again full of energy, all fatigue swept away. He remained reclining in the pool, gazing up at the clear blue sky, lost in thought.

I wonder what Qianhui is doing now…

A gentle look appeared in his eyes, but soon he pulled himself back, reached for the bronze medallion hanging around his neck. The medallion was strung on a red cord, several cords braided together—one woven by his mother, the rest by Qianhui. Each year when Qianhui was in Starwind City, she would re-braid a red cord for Tang Tian’s medallion.

The medallion was about the size of a coin, slightly worn, with an irregular cross-shaped symbol on the front. Tang Tian turned it over; on the back was a winding river, in which countless tiny stars seemed to twinkle. His gaze settled on the bottom of the river, where a row of gray numbers appeared, so faint as to be nearly invisible unless one looked closely.

Tang Tian had worn this medallion since childhood, but only discovered the numbers a few years ago.

He realized the numbers changed only after he began practicing basic martial arts.

The discovery filled Tang Tian with curiosity.

Though careless in manner, he was not stupid. He quickly figured out the pattern: each time he completed a qualified basic martial arts set, the numbers would increment.

From that day, he began to realize that his seemingly ordinary mother might not be so ordinary after all. He suddenly noticed how little he knew about her past.

And that scoundrel who abandoned his wife and child…

Tang Tian burned with a desire to know, to unravel all these mysteries.

The medallion was his only clue.

He began obsessively practicing basic martial arts, watching the numbers change every day. When he finally perfected the Basic Sword Technique, the numbers stopped moving. Tang Tian started experimenting, training in second-tier techniques, but the numbers did not budge. Only when he switched to the Basic Palm Technique did they start ticking up again.

Only basic martial arts caused the numbers to change.

Year after year, he cycled through one basic technique after another. The numbers climbed from ten thousand, to twenty thousand, endlessly upward; the medallion remained otherwise unresponsive. The attitudes of those around him gradually shifted—scorn and ridicule became constant companions. Tang Tian went from being a regular student at Ander Academy, to a repeat year, then to a “super” repeat student.

For five years, Tang Tian never wavered.

The numbers kept changing.

99,9400.

Tang Tian put the medallion back around his neck, unaware that the gray numbers had suddenly begun to emit a faint glow.

He leapt out of the pool, dried off, changed into clean clothes, grabbed the letter to Qianhui from the desk, and headed out.

His house was quite far from Ander Academy, and the morning streets were sparsely populated.

Starwind City had only one Skyway mail service, located at the southern end of the city, in the Windletter Post Office. Tang Tian moved quickly—his basic agility technique was also perfected. His upper body remained motionless while his legs shifted in a unique rhythm: one long stride, immediately followed by three quick smaller steps, alternating back and forth.

It was still early; the post office had not yet opened, so Tang Tian slipped the letter into the mailbox at the entrance.

Perseus was so far away—by the time Qianhui received this letter, it would surely be three months later.

He looked up at the blue sky, feeling cheerful, the corners of his mouth lifting into a smile as he turned toward the school.

When Tang Tian neared the academy, a large crowd had gathered at the entrance, blocking it completely. Tang Tian frowned; today he was supervising swordsmanship class practice, and being late would not do. He felt grateful for all Teacher Cen’s help and care, so he took his duties very seriously—never late or leaving early, a far cry from his own attitude toward classes.

“Make way!”

He pushed through the crowd. The students shoved aside were about to curse, but seeing it was Tang Tian, they quickly shrank back.

“Gu Xiaoyu, as long as you kowtow, I’ll let you off today!” crowed a smug boy, nose in the air. He was dressed in fine clothes, the fabric of high quality—clearly from a well-off family. Around him stood several sturdy boys, all with mocking grins. In the dirt before them crouched a thin, frail youth, hunched over in pain.

“Kowtow! Hurry up, class is about to start!”

“Damn, looks like we didn’t beat you enough!”

The bullies jeered.

Tang Tian’s face showed clear disgust. Though he was something of a school tyrant himself, he never bullied the weak. More importantly, these louts were blocking the school gate—class was starting soon.

“New here?” Tang Tian stepped forward, expression hard. “Clear off!”

“Oh, you’ve got some nerve, meddling in my business?” sneered the leader.

Tang Tian knew if he wasted more time, he’d be late, so he didn’t bother with words. His body shifted—a sidestep with precision down to the centimeter—and he was suddenly before his opponent. Under the startled gaze of the other boy, Tang Tian grabbed him by the throat.

With one hand, he lifted the boy like a chicken.

Choking, the boy’s mind went blank.

“Let go! How dare you—”

“You’re finished!”

The others, rattled, rushed him. With vast experience in brawling, Tang Tian swung the boy in his hand, bashing the oncoming group.

In moments, they were all laid out.

“Tang Tian really is ruthless!”

“Of course! The old school tyrant! Happens every year—if someone doesn’t sort out the newcomers, they never learn respect!”

“Honestly, our academy’s discipline isn’t bad, and Tang Tian deserves the credit! Keeps the place in line!”

Tang Tian spared not a glance for the fallen bullies, hurrying off to the training field.

He arrived just as the bell rang.

Close call!

Tang Tian breathed a sigh of relief, then swept his gaze over the students in the swordsmanship class. After yesterday’s rumors, his fierce reputation had already spread; the students watched him warily.

Feigning a cough, Tang Tian waved his hand. “Begin practice!”