Practicing martial arts is considered unpromising.

At dawn, the Chenchun Reservoir remained as picturesque as ever. Summer had yet to fully arrive, and the water plants flourished. Occasionally, wisps of cooking smoke rose gently from the distant Huang family village.

After swapping in eight-pound sandbags, Chen Jue found the climb up the mountain noticeably more arduous. Fortunately, his physical attributes had soared the previous day, and he managed to jog the entire ten-minute ascent without stopping once. Upon reaching the reservoir’s dam, he was only slightly out of breath, feeling that his endurance had grown by leaps and bounds compared to before.

However, his agility and strength were still below standard. A glance at his chubby belly reminded him that his body fat was too high and his muscles had yet to become strong. Shedding his weights, he spent an hour practicing Boat Fist atop the dam, pushing his skill proficiency to 100 out of 200. At this rate, he reckoned the skill would soon level up again.

After all, Boat Fist was not some complex ancient martial art; it consisted of only a handful of moves, so it was only natural to advance quickly. What delighted him even more was that his free attribute points had increased by another 0.03, filling him with motivation.

He hadn’t expected that the rise in his constitution would also speed up his accumulation of attribute points. Ordinarily, an hour of practice yielded only one or two tiny increments. Clearly, the stronger one’s natural talent, the more efficient their martial training!

Descending from the dam, he hopped onto a small boat moored at the shore. This time, instead of practicing his stance exercises beside the dock, he grew bold and untied the rope from the iron railing, lifted the oar, and rowed toward the reservoir’s center.

Though the water by the shore counted as being on the water, it was nothing compared to the flowing currents in the middle. Luckily, Chenchun Reservoir wasn’t large; after more than ten minutes of rowing, the little boat drifted lazily to its center.

Feeling the boat rock and sway more intensely, Chen Jue put away the oar, assumed the Eight Immortals stance, and began his morning practice amidst the harmony of mountains and water. About an hour and a half passed in this way. As the sun rose in the east and sweat streamed down his body, he finally exhaled deeply, finished his routine, and rowed back to shore.

“Sure enough, practicing in the middle of the water really boosts efficiency!”

A glance at his attribute panel revealed yet another 0.04 free attribute points gained. With last night’s unused points, he now had a total of 0.1 on his panel.

As for the Eight Immortals Stance, his proficiency had gained thirty points during the morning practice, reaching 76 out of 200. Compared to the snail’s pace of the Twelve Movements of the Tendon-Changing Classic, this fist technique and stance were much easier to master.

Yet, as soon as he set foot on shore, Chen Jue spotted Old Master Huang, who was strolling cheerfully along another path running straight from the dam to the Huang family village.

“Young man! Here you are again!”

“I saw you from afar rowing your boat out there. What was it—practicing Boat Fist in the middle of the reservoir?” Old Master Huang looked Chen Jue up and down, curiosity written all over his face.

“That’s right, Grandpa Huang. Are you out for your morning exercise too?” Chen Jue didn’t hide the truth. After all, anyone could see him practicing at the reservoir every day. Those unfamiliar with the facts might simply think he was exercising like anyone else.

But Old Master Huang was his first teacher in Boat Fist and had also learned the Eight Immortals Stance from him; he would surely see through the reason Chen Jue came to the reservoir.

“I’m getting old! If I don’t keep my joints moving every day, I probably won’t make it through this winter.” Old Master Huang said kindly, then asked about Chen Jue’s background.

Previously, he had assumed Chen Jue was just a passerby from the city, here to fish, and had casually taught him some Boat Fist. But after observing him for several days, he realized the young man came to the reservoir rain or shine, clearly living nearby rather than being a city visitor.

“Grandpa Huang, I’m from Chenchun village down below. My name is Chen Jue, and I’m twenty-seven this year.” It was only on their third meeting that Chen Jue revealed his identity. Old Master Huang had never asked before, so he hadn’t intentionally concealed it.

“From Chenchun, eh? Who’s your grandfather? Perhaps I know him,” Old Master Huang nodded.

“My grandfather is Chen Yan. All those fields on that little hill over there belong to my family. Do you remember, Grandpa Huang?” Chen Jue pointed at a hill near the reservoir, covered in lush bayberry trees.

That land was his family’s private plot, planted with bayberry trees by his grandfather’s generation, though the fruit was small and sour. In recent years, no one had bothered to harvest them, and the place was nearly abandoned.

“Oh, so you’re Chen Yan’s grandson!”

“I remember now! Your grandfather was a capable man, always planting crops everywhere. Those bayberry trees were his doing. There were also loquats, sweet potatoes, watermelons—much better than I was in my youth.” Old Master Huang’s face lit up with sudden realization, clearly recalling exchanges with Chen Jue’s grandfather.

After all, Huang family village and Chen family village were separated only by a small stretch of water, and their fields often bordered each other; it was normal to chat occasionally. What’s more, Chen Jue’s family was well-known in Chenchun as a fallen household, with a reputation for decline and misfortune, so many people were aware of them.

“Young man, I see you come here to practice every day at this hour. Don’t you have to work?” Old Master Huang inquired with concern.

“Grandpa Huang, I just quit my job. I have some savings, so I don’t plan to work for a while. Practicing martial arts and keeping fit seems like a good idea.” Chen Jue answered honestly, not hiding anything from the elderly man.

“It’s hard to make a living practicing martial arts,” Old Master Huang said with a sigh. “There was an old gentleman in our village who practiced too. He’d often take a boat out to the water for his training, just like you. I heard he even went off to fight the invaders, but he lived a hard life, never married, stayed single all his days, and died in his sixties.”

“You’re still young, you should go out and make your way in the world. Don’t get stuck here. There’s nothing but farming in these mountains—what future can there be?” Old Master Huang shook his head, offering sincere advice.

“You’re right, Grandpa Huang. I’m just taking a break for now—maybe I’ll go job hunting in a few days,” Chen Jue replied with a gentle smile and a harmless little lie, understanding that the old man was simply concerned for him.

In Chen Jue’s eyes, even if one achieved great worldly success, what could be more joyful than growing stronger through training? Though these were peaceful times, and there was no need for weapons and warfare, who wouldn’t want a healthier, more powerful body?

After chatting a while longer with Grandpa Huang, Chen Jue took his leave, donned his weights, and jogged toward Lin Village for breakfast.

This run finally nudged his agility value up by a small increment, reaching 0.89.

“Looks like eight pounds of weights are definitely more effective than four!”

“And since I’m nearly out of vegetables at home, let’s try power-walking to the market!”