Two days ago, Fang Ping had gone to the internet café to look up some information. But time was limited—well, more accurately, his money for internet fees was limited.
Because of that, he hadn't managed to check everything in detail. For instance, regarding the Martial Arts Exam, the online information was vague and scattered.
Without a smartphone, without a home computer, learning anything these days was a struggle. Unless he went to an internet café, he was practically cut off from the world.
And worse still—some questions were too embarrassing to ask outright. To most people, this was common knowledge.
Looks like I need to buy a computer, Fang Ping thought, conveniently ignoring the fact that computers also cost money.
Still, even if he wasn't too clear on the details, Yang Jian—who had set his mind on taking the Martial Arts Exam—definitely knew more.
So when Yang Jian brought up the topic, Fang Ping casually remarked, "I remember last year's Martial Arts Exam wasn't that difficult, right? With your conditions, you should have no trouble clearing all four stages. Or… did the policies change this year?"
He deliberately kept it vague. After all, it was normal for exam policies to shift slightly each year. Fang Ping wasn't worried about Yang Jian getting suspicious.
Besides, a little flattery never hurt. Maybe Yang Jian would open up more.
Sure enough, Yang Jian didn't notice Fang Ping's ignorance. On the contrary, his smile grew brighter.
It wasn't often Fang Ping showed interest in martial arts, so Yang Jian was more than happy to talk.
Chen Fan, for example, had no interest at all—so even if Yang Jian talked, it was like throwing words into the wind.
Now that Fang Ping had opened the door, Yang Jian was all smiles. "You're giving me too much credit. And really, since when has the Martial Arts Exam ever been easy?
But this year, there are indeed some changes. I'm not fully clear yet, but when Senior Wang comes the day after tomorrow, he'll probably explain.
Still, I've done some digging, asked a few teachers, and compared to last year, there are a few differences."
When he stopped there, Fang Ping recognized the tactic instantly. This guy was trying to hook him, leave him curious.
But Fang Ping didn't bite. With someone like Yang Jian, you didn't even have to ask. Once the topic was open, he wouldn't be able to hold back.
Sure enough, when Fang Ping stayed quiet, Yang Jian, a little dissatisfied, continued, "Take the first stage—the political screening."
Fang Ping's brow twitched slightly, and Yang Jian went on, "In the past, they checked three generations of direct relatives for criminal records.
This year, it's been relaxed to just two generations—parents, siblings, that kind of thing.
But honestly, that doesn't affect us much. Unless your grandfather was some kind of criminal, it's no problem."
The first gate of the Martial Arts Exam: political screening.
It made sense. Martial artists weren't ordinary people—their destructive potential far exceeded the average citizen.
The government poured enormous resources into cultivating martial artists. They weren't going to do that just to create criminals.
Of course, there was no law that said if your parents were criminals, you would be too. But when you had the luxury of choosing, stricter standards were safer. Complaining was pointless.
"Even though the screening's relaxed, it's not really an advantage for us. In fact, it's a disadvantage—more people qualify now.
But the second stage, now that's where we benefit."
Yang Jian grinned. "The second stage is the Martial Arts Physical Exam. It's not the tests themselves that changed, but the age limit.
Before, the upper limit was 22 years old. This year, it's been lowered to 20! Let's see how those bastards keep repeating grades now. Serves them right!"
Martial artists weren't necessarily better off being younger. Too young, and their bones weren't fully developed. Their minds weren't mature either.
Starting martial training too early could harm the body. Worse, it could give underage kids dangerous strength and lead to reckless behavior.
That was precisely why the Martial Arts Faculty was established only at the university level.
By then, students were usually mature enough, their bodies fully grown. Training then was both safer and more effective, and fewer martial artists went astray.
Repeating a year or two was normal. If you failed once, you'd gain experience, know your weaknesses, and improve.
So every year, repeat students made up a good portion of candidates.
With the old limit at 22, some repeated several years.
But now, with the cap slashed to 20, many repeaters' hopes were crushed overnight.
After all, high schoolers were usually 18 to 20. Repeat once, and you might already be too old.
Fang Ping wasn't worried. At 18, even two more years of repeating wouldn't disqualify him.
He thought for a moment, then asked, "So the repeaters had no reaction?"
Yang Jian laughed. "Of course they did! A while back, things were chaotic. But what can they do?
If you failed the first time, then at 20-plus, even if you pass, you're dead weight.
Protesting is useless. The majority of candidates are first-timers. Everyone's happy to see repeaters gone.
It's only the liberal arts exam that's still open to older candidates."
Fang Ping nodded, then steered back, "So how different is the Martial Arts Physical Exam from the regular one?"
Yang Jian scratched his head, giving Fang Ping a funny look.
Chen Fan, who had been silent until now, couldn't help but retort, "Are you serious? Of course there's a huge difference. Fang Ping, are you half-asleep?
Even I've heard about the Martial Arts Physical Exam. You think the ten-thousand yuan fee is for nothing?
They check everything. Bones for injuries or deformities, eyesight, scars. If you're lacking, you're out.
Most important of all—they check your qi and blood. If your vitality is too weak, nothing else matters.
Some people are just born frail. No matter what they eat, they never recover. Those people will never touch martial arts.
And the poorer your background, the worse your qi and blood usually are. That's why big cities produce more martial artists than towns, and towns more than rural villages.
Even if your difference is small, the quotas are fixed. They'll always pick the best."
Fang Ping nodded. With his qi and blood recently strengthened, he should be above average now.
The old Fang Ping might not have made the cut.
But was 1.1 qi and blood enough? Hard to say. Probably best to boost it further before the exam.
What intrigued him more was Chen Fan's phrasing—it sounded like there was now specialized equipment to test qi and blood.
In his past life, "qi and blood" was purely a traditional Chinese medicine concept, diagnosed by pulse and observation.
But for large-scale exams, that was impractical. There had to be modern instruments by now.
As Fang Ping mulled over this, Yang Jian continued, "Besides those two changes, the rest is the same.
Pass the political screening, pass the physical exam, and you move on to the third stage: the practical test.
After that come the two real nightmares: cultural exams and professional exams…"
"Cough, cough!"
Fang Ping remembered skimming something about cultural exams online the other day, but he hadn't paid attention.
Now he asked, "The cultural exam shouldn't be a big deal, right? You're worried about that?"
To him, it sounded like an arts college exam—once you pass the physical and talent requirements, the cultural side was usually easier.
Ninety percent of their school should be fine.
But Yang Jian only smiled bitterly. "Easy for you to say. For me, not so much.
Last year, the minimum Martial Arts score line was ten points higher than the key liberal arts line. With my grades, I might not even reach it."
"Of course it's higher," Chen Fan said calmly. "Martial artists aren't just brutes. Being stronger than the liberal arts line is normal. Otherwise, how would they qualify as elites?"
Martial artists were hailed as society's elite. Could mere muscle rule nations and manage enterprises?
That was a fairy tale.
TV dramas where an illiterate farmer stumbled on a manual and became a master—nonsense!
A brute might get strong, but never reach the peak.
Even if you gave him a manual, he couldn't read it. Even if he could read, he wouldn't understand it.
Martial arts texts were often obscure—some too difficult even for college students.
That was why martial artists had to master far more than just fighting.
They needed medical knowledge, human anatomy, skeletal and meridian charts—clear in their minds.
And that was just in high school. At university, martial students studied even more: mineralogy, nutrition…
The so-called "professional exam" tested all this.
In addition to cultural exams and physical training, students had to grasp these extra disciplines.
Only true geniuses could pass all that.
To get into the Martial Arts Faculty, you needed top cultural grades, peak physical condition, and wide-ranging professional knowledge.
After listening to the "Five Gates of the Martial Arts Exam," Fang Ping felt utterly drained.
For the first three, his unreliable "system" gave him some confidence. He had ways to push through.
But the cultural and professional exams?
This wasn't just about the Martial Arts Exam—it was a full academic grind.
Wasn't martial arts supposed to be about the body? Why do I have to score higher than liberal arts students?
And fine, textbooks he could handle—they weren't too different from before. Except history, which now had added martial elements.
But the professional knowledge?
Fang Ping had zero foundation.
With the exam looming, how could he possibly catch up?
God, why me?
His chest ached with frustration. Maybe… maybe being a salted fish didn't sound so bad.
(End of Chapter)