One must trust in science.

Seeing Chen Jue standing motionless for a long time, as if lost in a daze, the fluctuations of his internal energy gradually converging, Lin Yuanchao couldn't help but shake his head. Recognizing Chen Jue's profound and enigmatic state, he realized the young man had entered some form of spontaneous epiphany or Daoist meditation. He patted his disciple Yao San on the shoulder and said, "San'er, let's go."

"Master Chen... no, he should be addressed as Master Chen, the enlightened one! He is different from us secular practitioners. Let's leave and not disturb his quiet realization of the Dao."

"Realization of the Dao?"

"Master?" Yao San was confused. Just moments ago, his master had been eager to ask Chen Jue for guidance, yet now, after only a few words, he was turning to leave.

Yao San looked at Chen Jue once more and finally noticed that the talented young man possessed an ethereal, transcendent air, entirely unlike that of an ordinary person. Though Yao San had intended to network and perhaps exchange contact information, he obediently followed his master’s lead.

...

"Master! Why didn't you talk more with Master Chen?" Yao San asked as they walked away from the park.

"He has transcended the mundane world; he is not someone we commoners can approach. Staying near him too long might disrupt his cultivation. When I was young and went to Wudang Mountain for a martial tournament, I once saw a Golden Core master just like him."

"These people pursue the elusive path of immortality. If you spend too much time around them, you'll start questioning your own life. In this day and age, to think there are still young people practicing Internal Alchemy... truly... we must believe in science! We mustn't be superstitious!" Lin Yuanchao grumbled, lecturing his disciple. Despite losing the spar, the old man remained as stubborn and upright as ever, carrying the spirit of a bygone era.

Meanwhile, Chen Jue had been shaken. Upon realizing his practice had hit a dead end—that he had been blindly chasing ancient martial techniques and imitating the essence of his predecessors rather than finding his own true intent—he had nearly lost control of his internal state. His Golden Core had almost collapsed.

Fortunately, his attributes were powerful enough, and his body had already been transformed into a sacred vessel, allowing him to suppress the mental turbulence. Since the human spirit resides primarily in the brain, his formidable physique helped stabilize his mental state.

...

"Is this it? Is this 'moving'?" Chen Jue sighed, realizing he had been standing by the lake until dusk.

He checked his phone and found several missed calls and messages. Cheng Wei had been calling, wondering where he had disappeared to all day. There were also messages from Little Sister Yun asking for martial arts advice, and Political Commissar Yao, asking for his location and reminding him of the competition assembly tomorrow.

Chen Jue replied to them one by one. He stopped dwelling on the concepts of "fist intent" and "being moved," deciding that these were problems he could not solve in an instant. He tucked these thoughts away and walked back to the upscale apartment complex.

Cheng Wei had already returned from work. Seeing Chen Jue appear, he asked where he had been roaming and took him out to a local dumpling restaurant. During the meal, Chen Jue noticed that while Cheng Wei’s liver congestion had improved, his inner heartache remained—he was clearly still pining for his unrequited love.

It was a lingering obsession born from emotional setback, much like the spirit of Lin Yuanchao, the descendant of the Three Emperors Cannon Fist. Each person carried a unique spiritual imprint. Such things were subtle, invisible to anyone who had not yet formed a Golden Core.

"Little Sister Yun is nature, Brother Biao is family-oriented, Cheng Wei is obsessive, Yao San is slick, and Lin Yuanchao is fanatical."

"And what about me?" Chen Jue wondered. "Where is my own sense of being moved?"

His mind was cluttered with stray thoughts, leaving him distracted even while eating. He finished the meal quickly, filling his stomach.

...

He spent another night at Cheng Wei’s place. Even though he could enter a state of embryonic breathing to calm his mind, he felt lost the next morning. It was the same feeling he had when he first returned to his old home in Chen Village—unsure of where the path ahead lay.

After splashing cold water on his face to shake off the lethargy, Chen Jue packed his bag, left the complex, and took a taxi to the designated competition site. He decided to resolve his current obligations first, then return home to meditate on his own true intent.

...

Beyond the Sixth Ring Road of the Northern Capital, Chen Jue arrived at the guesthouse specified by Political Commissar Yao. After checking in with his ID, he received his credentials. Told that transportation would arrive in the afternoon, he went to his room to rest.

About two hours later, a knock at the door revealed Zhou Gang and Political Commissar Yao. Both were in uniform, exuding the righteous, patriotic spirit of soldiers. Chen Jue sensed their steely resolve immediately. Zhou Gang, however, had changed significantly; he appeared more composed than he had half a month ago, clearly having benefited from Chen Jue’s guidance, as he was now able to voluntarily close his pores.

"Coach! I've achieved what you said—the muscles and bones are loose, and the skin is ready to strike! Look!" Zhou Gang raised his hand and exerted his internal force. The hair on the back of his hand stood on end, goosebumps erupted across his skin, and the surface became dark and hard.

"Not bad! You've been working hard. You should be able to place well this time," Chen Jue smiled, seeing the pure, childlike sincerity in the man's eyes. It was like a child getting a perfect score and rushing home to show his parents. It wasn't simple vanity; Zhou Gang was sharing his progress, which was why he had come to thank Chen Jue.

"Heh! I hope so, Coach! I want to win a good ranking and bring honor to our regiment!" Zhou Gang scratched his head, blushing.

Political Commissar Yao briefed Chen Jue on the competition schedule, and the three of them headed downstairs to catch the waiting jeep.

...

The car drove for a long time, presumably out of the city, and eventually entered a base similar to the one where Zhou Gang’s regiment was stationed. The sounds of training echoed everywhere. Upon getting out, Chen Jue saw many civilian practitioners who, like him, lacked the bearing of professional soldiers.

Among these civilians were men and women, young and old, including Daoists with hair buns and ordained martial monks. It seemed the organizers had gathered experts from every known martial arts sect.

They followed the Political Commissar to a guesthouse within the base, where they were told the competition would last for three days of total isolation. Chen Jue had no objections; he was here for the stipend and the prize money, which would alleviate his financial pressure.

...

After dropping off his bag, Chen Jue accompanied Zhou Gang to the training ground. According to the Commissar, the facility was used for combat training and featured high-tech equipment, specialized nutritional supplements, and healing medicines unavailable to the public.

Chen Jue originally had little interest, his mind still occupied by his internal struggle, but he couldn't refuse Zhou Gang's persistent invitations. He followed him into the vast indoor training center.

The training ground was roughly half the size of a soccer field, equipped with fitness machines, punching bags, wooden dummies, sparring rings, and a row of high-tech force sensors designed to measure grip strength and striking power.

Many people surrounded the machines, discussing their scores—soldiers and civilian experts alike. Although the competition followed two separate tracks, they were free to interact and share combat experience during their downtime.

"Coach! That looks like a machine for testing striking power!"

"I've seen it online, but I didn't expect to see one here." Zhou Gang, only twenty years old, was full of youthful curiosity. He dragged Chen Jue into the queue behind a machine.

In front of it stood a fierce-looking Shaolin monk. With his waist and stance perfectly aligned, he exhaled like thunder and delivered a heavy punch—a secret technique of the Great Diamond Fist—striking the padded sensor.

*Boom!*

Chen Jue watched as the pad caved in under the force, then snapped back to its original shape. A damp mark remained on the leather, indicating that the monk had combined both "bright" and "dark" energy in his strike.

"Another master of dark energy?" Chen Jue frowned. It seemed that by stepping out of the mountains, he had entered a circle where such masters were far more common than he had realized. These sects were clearly not just famous in name only.

The monitor flashed, stopping at 321 kg. The monk shook his head, looking dissatisfied, and was about to go again when his fellow monks stopped him.

"Junior Brother Yantong, there are many people behind us. Let's yield the spot to these patrons," one said. They didn't want to be too high-profile, lest their scores be scrutinized by others before the actual tournament.

Many shared this caution, but Zhou Gang, being naive, thought it was fun. He pulled Chen Jue to the front. When it was his turn, he unleashed a burst of bright energy—a *Gong* character Tiger-Subduing Fist—hitting the pad with a thud. The display showed 250 kg.

"Ah! That's quite a difference!" Zhou Gang looked at the record on the display—the one set by the Shaolin monk. He was 71 kg short. It was clear to any observer that his physical conditioning and technique were a tier below.

"Coach! Do you want to try?" Zhou Gang asked, looking at Chen Jue expectantly. He still vividly remembered the punch Chen Jue had used to obliterate a sandbag back at the regiment. He wanted to see how much force Chen Jue could register.

Surely, he would be stronger than the 321 kg set by the Shaolin monk, right?