Chapter 343 - 191: Have I Given You Too Much Face?

Chapter 343: Chapter 191: Have I Given You Too Much Face?

Behind the stunning moves and sharp skills that outsiders saw were countless all-nighters just like this one.

Wan Ze slowly exhaled a murky breath.

The breath leaving his mouth formed a faint white mist in the cool morning air before quickly dissipating.

After finishing his stance training, Wan Ze paced a few steps inside the training hall.

In the corner of the room stood an old wooden chair.

The chair’s paint was peeling, and the backrest slat had been worn into a slight depression, conforming to the curve of a human body.

Wan Ze sat down on the chair and pulled a small key from his pocket.

He bent down. Next to the chair was a small, mahogany-colored cabinet. A small brass lock hung from one of its drawers. It was an old-fashioned pin-tumbler lock, its body engraved with a few blurry, illegible characters.

Wan Ze inserted the key into the keyhole.

CLICK.

With a gentle twist, the bolt sprang open, and the lock fell with a CLATTER.

He pulled open the drawer.

Inside the drawer, several small, cloth-bound booklets were arranged neatly. The covers were made of a coarse, dark blue fabric, and their edges were slightly frayed.

The cloth was more durable than ordinary paper, less prone to dampness and mold, making it suitable for long-term preservation. The booklets were stacked neatly, their corners perfectly aligned.

The booklet on top was slightly older than the others. Its fabric cover was somewhat faded, the original dark blue having turned to a grayish-blue.

Wan Ze took it out.

"Ten Thousand Waves Secret Martial Arts..."

Five large words were written on the cover in flamboyant, sharp calligraphy.

Wan Ze ran his thumb over the cover.

He then opened it to the first page.

The booklet had been opened many times. The binding between the pages was a little loose, and turning a page produced a faint tearing sound.

The first page was densely packed with tiny characters, accompanied by illustrations depicting the body’s meridian pathways and the trajectory of the Fist Technique.

He had already reached the Basic level in his Cultivation of this Secret Martial Art.

The name "Ten Thousand Waves" sounded magnificent, but in practice, it was dreadfully tedious. Its core concept was "Stacking Force." This meant that when you threw a punch, the Power wasn’t delivered all at once. Instead, at the moment the fist made contact, the muscles would contract layer by layer, stacking the Power wave upon wave.

The task of performing it fifteen thousand times didn’t just mean throwing over ten thousand punches casually. Every single punch had to be perfect, every detail precise. The angle, force, and speed of the punch—none could be lacking.

Wan Ze had currently performed it over 3,300 times, leaving him more than ten thousand repetitions short of the Intermediate level.

At his current Cultivation frequency, it would probably take him another twenty-some days.

It didn’t sound long, but that was assuming he trained without interruption every day. If anything caused a delay, the timeline would be pushed back.

Wan Ze stared at the words in the booklet for a few seconds, then closed it.

He placed the booklet back in the drawer but didn’t lock it.

Sitting on the chair, he folded his hands on his knees, his gaze landing on the opposite wall.

The white paint on the wall was peeling in places, revealing the gray concrete underneath, which looked like a map covered in irregular shapes.

Wan Ze’s eyes were unfocused; his mind was elsewhere.

’Cultivation on the Martial Dao can be handled step by step.’

’I’m never worried about that.’

’I have talent, and I have diligence. Increasing my attribute values is just a matter of time. If I don’t train enough today, I’ll make up for it tomorrow. If tomorrow’s not enough, I’ll continue the day after. There are no shortcuts on this path, but there’s no ceiling, either. As long as you’re willing to practice, your body will reward you. That’s the fairest thing about the Martial Dao.’

’But Huangliang is different.’

’If I enter Huangliang again...’

Wan Ze’s brow furrowed slightly.

’The things in the Huangliang dreamscape can’t be handled with just hard work. That world has its own rules, and those rules are unreasonable; they don’t play fair. No matter how well you train in reality, once you enter Huangliang, you’re just an ordinary person who knows a little kung fu.’

’The only thing I can rely on in Huangliang is the Qi Refining Technique!’

And for Wan Ze, the Core of the Qi Refining Technique was his Spiritual Form.

’I hope Brother Jia has some good news...’

Wan Ze thought to himself.

Just as he was thinking, a rooster suddenly crowed outside the window.

"COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO!"

The sound was loud and abrupt, particularly jarring in the morning silence. Immediately after, several other roosters in the distance began to crow in response, their calls rising and falling.

Wan Ze turned his head to look out the window.

The sky had already shifted from orange-red to a pale blue. The morning breeze had swept the clouds away, revealing a vast, clear blue expanse.

The outlines of distant buildings emerged from the darkness, becoming grayish-white silhouettes.

The breakfast shop across the street had turned on its lights. An orange-yellow glow shone from the window, and he could see people bustling about inside.

"It’s already dawn!"

Wan Ze was taken aback for a moment before it registered.

He looked down at his clothes.

His training clothes were soaked through, clinging tightly to his body and outlining the muscles of his chest and back. A strong smell of sweat rose from the fabric, mixed with the scent of the fibers themselves. It wasn’t foul, but it certainly wasn’t pleasant.

Wan Ze stood up from the chair and rolled his shoulders, hearing a faint CLICK from the joints.

He turned and walked over to a simple shower stall in the corner of the training hall, then turned the faucet.

The water from the pipes ran for a while before it warmed up; the initial stream was bone-chillingly cold.

After a quick shower, Wan Ze changed into clean clothes.

Once he had washed up, he looked in the mirror.

The person in the mirror had bloodshot eyes.

The whites of his eyes were threaded with red, but his spirit seemed intact; he didn’t have that look of dull exhaustion.

Wan Ze splashed his face with cold water, took a deep breath, and strode out of the room.