Chapter 3: The Xingyi Clan

Chapter 3: The Xingyi Clan

Known locally as the Jiang Family Martial Gym, the Traditional Martial Arts Hall stood as a towering symbol of power in Lanling Base City. While most families in the HR Union scrambled to recruit martial artists—offering lavish patronage to even Stronkaiser Tier elites—the Jiang Clan had no such need. Their second-generation heirs alone surpassed the strength of ordinary Stronkaiser-level protectors. Why bother with freeloaders who might turn traitorous when the Jiangs already ran the most respected cultivation program in the city?

The Jiangs refused to play the patronage game. Instead, they poured resources into nurturing young martial artists, offering free training through their gyms. Novices started as students and graduated to Intermediate Warriors capable of surviving the Wilderness Zones. Once they reached that threshold, they automatically lost their gym privileges—a policy that kept the Jiang name revered across Lanling. Their influence was near-absolute, a de facto "local emperor" status where a single call to action summoned instant loyalty.

The gym’s signature nine-story alloy towers dominated every district, including satellite cities. The flagship branch in Jiang Inner Territory sprawled across 2,000 square meters, its 70-meter height split evenly: four floors for public trainees, five reserved for the clan’s exclusive use.

By 4 PM, the afternoon crowd had thinned. As Jiang Zhe walked out, students murmured in hushed awe.

“That’s the youngest third-gen heir? He’s actually training now?”

“Yup. They say Young Master Zhe missed Advanced Student rank by a hair at his morning evaluation!”

“Such insane talent?”

“Of course. Jiang bloodline doesn’t breed weaklings. This family’s roots run deep in ancient martial traditions.”

Jiang Zhe smirked. Who didn’t enjoy flattery?

Inside the gym, he took the private elevator to the fifth floor. Steward Wu, the ever-efficient manager, paused mid-task when he saw him.

“Perfect timing, Young Master. Just about to send your monthly allowance.”

“Didn’t you give me spending money at the start of the month?” Jiang Zhe asked, surprised.

The old steward chuckled. “Circumstances change. Now that you’re an Intermediate Student, your stipend must reflect that. Since the elders left abruptly without instructions, I consulted Young Master Wen. We’re retroactively adjusting your July payment to match previous heirs’ standards. August’s amount will wait until the elders return.”

The subtext was clear: a generous raise, courtesy of the steward’s goodwill. If previous allowances hovered around 10,000 credits, this windfall might buy two 5-Series Annihilation Throwing Daggers—enough to make struggling martial artists like Luo Feng drool. Not that Jiang Zhe cared about toys.

“Thank you, Uncle Steward.”

The steward bowed. “100,000 credits are already in your account. But there’s something more important to deliver in person.”

As if on cue, Jiang Zhe’s wrist communicator pinged with a transaction alert. A hundred thousand—routine for a clan heir. But his pulse quickened as the steward produced a porcelain box the size of a ping-pong ball. A faint herbal fragrance wafted out, invigorating his senses the moment he opened it.

“This is called ‘Slag,’” the steward explained. “It accelerates cultivation of Genetic Primordial Energy.”

“Slag? Sounds… crude.”

The term rang no bells—Spirit of Flora? Muya Crystal? Nutrient Serum?—but Jiang Zhe’s mind raced. If this “Slag” came from an alchemical furnace, it might be a relic from a lost civilization.

“Before you learn the Genetic Energy Cultivation Method,” the steward continued, “use this in baths. After training sessions, scrape a grain-sized amount into your bathwater. Just soak, and your physicality will improve.”

“This month’s supply,” he warned, “use it wisely. Once you master the Five-Palm Heavenward Cultivation, apply it directly to your soles, palms, and crown for maximum effect.”

“Thank you for the guidance,” Jiang Zhe said, pocketing the box.

He entered the training hall, finding only his siblings practicing. Second Brother Jiang swung a Horse-Beheading Blade in a thunderous whirlwind—the White Tiger Whistling Wind Blade, not the Ninefold Thunder Blade. Its power level? Conservatively S-rank, maybe even Stellar-Level. Across the room, Jiang Sisi dodged rubber bullets while refining her Micro-Infiltration Body Technique, her movements minimal yet precise.

Jiang Zhe paused, analyzing her footwork. “Chicken Step,” he murmured. The style emphasized balance and combative readiness—hallmarks of Xingyi Quan’s philosophy: “Ten thousand arms embrace the smallest shoot; a nine-story platform rises from a single clod.”

“Focus on your own path,” he reminded himself. “Your priority is striking arts—boosting speed to break into Pre-Warrior.”

His reverie broke when Second Brother bellowed, “Zhe, test your punch force!”

Unaware of his sister’s glare, he’d interrupted Jiang Sisi’s training. She shot him a death stare as he sheepishly muttered, “Didn’t hear anything…”

Jiang Zhe stepped to the Punch Power Tester. After his recent headache, had he crossed the Pre-Warrior threshold like Luo Feng’s 800kg leap?

He exhaled, then exploded into motion—a coiled tiger unleashing power from waist to spine to fist.

“Boom!”

The screen flashed: 958KG!

“Hip joints unstable! You collapsed before impact!” Jiang Sisi snapped. “Try again—dig in with your toes! Channel my footwork!”

He reset, planted his feet, and struck anew. The punch rattled the machine—1088KG! Dozens more blows followed, scores fluctuating between 1010-1060KG.

Second Brother chuckled, pride swelling—until his sister’s icy glare froze him mid-laugh.

“If he asks for the Genetic Energy Method,” she whispered, “do we give it?”

“Why not? It’s not rare.”

She groaned. “Grandfather left with a student heir. Returns to a warrior heir. Imagine his face.”

“…Actually, kinda want to see that.”

Jiang Sisi facepalmed.

(End of Chapter)

Chapter end