Fifth Academy, Training Ground No. 3
"Becoming a martial artist requires talent. Most of you will fail." The instructor's voice sliced through the training hall's oppressive humidity like a blade. "But even reaching martial apprentice status elevates you above common civilians. Better food. Safer housing. Actual survival chances. And it all begins with mastering the Body Forging Method."
Fifty pairs of desperate eyes hung on every syllable. All civilians, clutching their only lifeline to power in a world that devoured the weak. The academies held monopolies on cultivation techniques—make a single mistake, and your potential would stagnate forever. Worse, improper practice could cripple you permanently, leaving you as beast fodder.
Ye Tian absorbed every word from his position among the crowd, ten days deep into his infiltration of Fifth Academy.
Each morning brought identical routine: technique demonstrations, painstaking instruction in eighteen foundational movements. Maybe transmigration had supercharged his soul, sharpened his memory beyond normal human limits. The complete sequence was already burned into his consciousness—every movement, every breathing pattern, every subtle energy flow mastered to perfection.
Around him, other students still fumbled with basic positions after weeks of practice. Pathetic.
Private coaching offered accelerated learning, but those fees exceeded most families' annual income. Another barrier designed to keep the poor exactly where they belonged.
"The Body Forging Method demands flawless execution before real cultivation begins. Watch the first movement carefully..."
The instructor flowed through each position with mechanical precision. Sweat beaded on Ye Tian's forehead from the stifling air—fifty bodies packed into inadequate space made breathing feel like manual labor. An hour crawled past. Finally, dismissal. Students shuffled out in exhausted clusters, comparing progress and nursing bruised egos.
"Ye Tian! How's your training progressing?" A familiar voice intercepted him near the exit. Zhang Bao's pudgy face glowed with misplaced excitement. "I've mastered thirteen movements now! Soon I'll be ready for actual cultivation!"
His closest acquaintance after ten days of careful relationship building. Enthusiastic, friendly, completely oblivious to his genetic limitations.
"Only eight movements mastered so far." The lie tasted bitter but necessary.
No point advertising his real progress. Unnecessary attention brought unwanted complications, especially for someone still mapping this dangerous world's power structures.
"Keep pushing yourself! We'll both become legendary warriors someday!" Zhang Bao's infectious grin couldn't quite mask the desperation lurking behind his eyes—the brittle hope of someone clinging to impossible dreams.
That forced optimism made Ye Tian's chest tighten. He'd scanned Zhang Bao's talent within hours of meeting him. Inferior grade, barely superior to his original Novice rating. Martial Artist status was theoretically achievable, but the time and resources required? Far beyond any ordinary family's means.
Zhang Bao's future was already written in genetic code: Martial Apprentice at absolute peak, then a stable job until old age claimed him. Or death during one of the periodic beast waves that swept across the frontier bases like tsunamis of claws and fangs.
"Zhang Bao, who's considered the academy's most talented student?"
The question sounded casual enough to avoid suspicion.
"Most talented?" Zhang Bao's voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Talent assessments are state secrets, but cultivation progress tells the real story. Fifth Academy isn't exactly prestigious—truly gifted students attend First Academy instead. Still, we do have one legitimate prodigy."
Ye Tian's pulse quickened. "Who?"
"Chen Dong!" The name emerged like a prayer. "Ordinary family background, regular parents, enrolled just one month ago. But listen to this—he reached Martial Apprentice level in half that time! The dean personally accepted him as a private disciple!"
Electricity shot through Ye Tian's nervous system.
Chen Dong was no longer training with cannon fodder students, but receiving exclusive instruction from the academy's dean. That level of personal attention meant serious genetic gifts—the dean was an Elite Martial Artist at peak realm, his strength dwarfing ordinary peak warriors like a mountain compared to pebbles. Regular Martial Artists were insects by comparison.
Within Linhai Base's rigid hierarchy, Fifth Academy's dean commanded tremendous respect. Elementary talent wouldn't warrant such notice from someone at his level. The prodigy who captured his interest possessed at least Intermediate grade—the minimum requirement for guaranteed Elite Martial Artist advancement and realistic Great Martial Artist potential.
"How can I arrange a meeting with this Chen Dong?"
Before Zhang Bao could respond, excited commotion erupted nearby.
"Chen Dong's here!"
"The dean's personal disciple! What's he doing slumming at Training Ground No. 3?"
"Wasn't he receiving private lessons? Why visit our peasant area?"
Students swarmed like moths toward a flame, clustering around a figure approaching through the main entrance. Envy and jealousy radiated from their expressions in palpable waves—Chen Dong represented everything they desperately craved but could never achieve through their own pathetic efforts.
Ye Tian drifted closer with predatory patience, positioning himself within optimal scanning range while maintaining casual appearance.
Copy Talent activated the instant Chen Dong entered his three-meter detection radius.
Name: Chen Dong
Cultivation Talent: Intermediate
Jackpot.
Pure adrenaline flooded his system, carefully suppressed behind a mask of bored indifference. Strategic calculations clicked into place like puzzle pieces finding their destined positions.
"Chen Dong!" A student called out with naked worship. "Everyone says the dean accepted you as his apprentice! What strength level have you achieved?"
"Two hundred pounds!" Chen Dong's chest swelled like a peacock displaying plumage.
Collective gasps rippled through the gathered crowd like wind through wheat.
Martial Apprentice required mere hundred-pound strength baseline. Chen Dong had achieved double that benchmark in unprecedented time. At this rate, Martial Artist status was practically guaranteed within months rather than years.
Show-off. The motivation became crystal clear through Ye Tian's narrowed eyes. Chen Dong couldn't resist flaunting his recent achievements, parading before former peers like nouveau riche displaying wealth to envious peasants. The same petty psychology that had driven countless small-minded people throughout history.
"Chen Dong, could I get your autograph?"
"Me too! Please sign something for me!"
Students thrust pens and papers forward with desperate enthusiasm. A future Martial Artist's signature held genuine monetary value—if Chen Dong eventually reached Elite Martial Artist status like the dean, such memorabilia could sell for months of ordinary living expenses on the black market.
"Of course! Happy to accommodate everyone!" Chen Dong basked in the attention like a cat in warm sunlight, graciously fulfilling each request with theatrical generosity.
Ye Tian pressed forward through the eager mob—not seeking worthless autographs, but positioning for the prize that actually mattered.
Bodies compressed together in the chaotic scrum. Chen Dong extended his hand to accept another scrap of paper from a worshipful fan.
The moment arrived like destiny.
Skin met skin. Chen Dong's palm was surprisingly soft for someone undergoing constant physical training—probably protected by his elevated status and private instruction. The brief contact sent electricity through Ye Tian's fingertips as his copying ability engaged with mechanical precision.
[Intermediate cultivation talent successfully copied. Merge with existing abilities?]
The system prompt blazed across his vision like victory itself. Ye Tian immediately withdrew his hand, the fleeting contact lost in the general chaos of desperate students grabbing at their idol.
Mission accomplished.
Time to vanish before anyone noticed his real purpose among the crowd of genuine admirers.
Success tasted like freedom itself.
[End of Chapter 3]