As the aged man faced him, the guide, Gu Cai, took a step back, waiting patiently until the elder finished his meal. Then, he clasped his hands together in greeting and bowed low, speaking with deference: "Esteemed Master Apile, I have brought the person you requested." It was only then that the elder, Master Apile, raised his head.

He was clearly advanced in years, his back slightly hunched, clad entirely in black garments. Most strikingly, a full cowl covered his head, revealing only the lower half of his face to a passerby.

The exposed skin possessed a sickly pallor, bearing the characteristic looseness and wrinkles of old age, lending his features a look of sharp, chiseled severity. "It is you who wishes to study the fist?" The guide shook his head: "Not I." At this, Fang Senyan stepped forward decisively, clasping his own hands and bowing deeply: "It is I who wishes to study the fist." Master Apile offered no return gesture, letting Fang Senyan remain bowed.

He turned instead to the guide and sighed, "Gu Cai, it has been a year, and you have a serious underlying problem with your health." The guide, Gu Cai, looked astonished: "No, Master. My health is excellent.

The company conducted our physicals just last month." Master Apile smiled faintly. He glanced around, spotted several lengths of aluminum wire left near the window, likely remnants from some construction work.

He walked over, picked up one length, and bent it back and forth about twenty times until the wire naturally snapped. He then picked up another nearby piece and continued bending it back and forth seven or eight times before holding it out to Gu Cai: "My child, can you detect any flaw in this aluminum wire?" Gu Cai took a deep breath and shook his head: "No." Master Apile continued earnestly, "Using ordinary inspection methods, you would find no fault in this wire, even after I have bent it seven or eight times.

But you absolutely cannot claim that it harbors no hidden danger—just like the latent illness within your body, which resists detection but whose objective existence cannot be denied." Gu Cai bent over deeply to offer a formal salute: "Please save me, Master." Master Apile frowned slightly—an expression that somehow conveyed unyielding authority without anger, making the speaker instinctively recoil in apprehension. Yet, the overall impression remained defined by two words: ----Gentle.

----Even if that gentleness was tempered with majesty. "To cure your ailment completely, you must abandon your current life and return here to take the vows.

You must distance yourself from the lust and corruption of the outside world!" Gu Cai lifted his head then, speaking with utter seriousness: "Master, in that case, I would prefer an earlier death. If I cannot earn enough money to change the face of my hometown, I will never give up." Master Apile let out a long sigh and waved a hand dismissively.

"Ba Re heard you were coming; he has something he needs to discuss with you." Gu Cai nodded, clapped Fang Senyan on the shoulder, and walked out the door. Only then did Master Apile look up at Fang Senyan, who remained frozen in his posture of bowed hands clasped.

Master Apile snorted lightly, stepped forward, and kneaded Fang Senyan's bones and muscles before calling out abruptly: "Nai Zhu!" A Thai girl, perhaps seventeen or eighteen with slightly darker skin, rushed in from behind and tidied her hair. "Yes, Master?" Master Apile gestured toward Fang Senyan: "This person is here for training.

He appears to have some prior foundation. Assign him directly to the second training regimen.

Also, since he was brought by Gu Cai, the training fee will only be five thousand US dollars." Nai Zhu replied, "Yes, Master. Brother Gu Cai actually paid double that amount just now." Master Apile's eyebrows twitched, but he said nothing.

Upon hearing this, Fang Senyan suddenly stepped forward: "Master Apile, I wish to enter the most arduous training regimen immediately. Money is not an issue." Master Apile looked up at him, chiding sharply, "Why the impatience, young man?" Fang Senyan met his gaze, unwavering: "I insist." Master Apile coughed a few times, pointed sternly at Fang Senyan, and commanded, "Complete the second training plan first.

Now, go out, change your clothes, and start training this afternoon!" Fang Senyan bowed slightly to Master Apile and followed Nai Zhu out. Fang Senyan bowed slightly to Master Apile and followed Nai Zhu out.

Of course, he had already used the Nightmare Imprint, as advised by Jiao Shi, to suppress his attributes/recovery rate to roughly 1.5 times that of an average person, bringing him into parity with the surrounding Muay Thai fighters. Otherwise, no matter how harsh the training, it could not force out the mysterious potential and innate talent hidden deep within his body!

The following days were monotonous for Fang Senyan. The schedule presented by Nai Zhu listed the first item as waking up at 6 AM sharp for a run.

This exercise was intended to build endurance and flesh out the leg muscles, which greatly benefited a fighter's advance and retreat in the ring. Roadwork was universally recognized by Muay Thai practitioners as the foundation of their art.

Because Fang Senyan was immediately placed on the second regimen, he was required to run barefoot, with sandbags strapped to his calves. After running ten kilometers at a steady pace around the village, they returned for breakfast.

The meal was served on fresh, vibrant green banana leaves laid directly on the wooden tables. Steaming hot, everyone used the spoon provided to scoop rice into their bowls, and then take portions of the accompanying dishes on small plates.

The rice was freshly steamed fragrant rice, snow-white and steaming hot. There were only two side dishes: fish boiled wrapped in mint leaves, and a sauced shredded meat dish resembling sweet and sour ribs.

However, both side dishes severely dampened Fang Senyan’s appetite. The shredded meat tasted strangely of sweet and spicy mixed together, like adding a can of soda to braised beef noodle soup.

The fish carried a flavor of mint combined with an indescribably sharp sourness. Frowning and looking near death, Fang Senyan quickly found a lime wedge inside the fish.

Sighing, Fang Senyan looked around, desperately missing fermented bean curd. He noticed a burly man nearby attempting to squeeze a dark, soy-sauce-like substance onto his fish.

He requested a little, but was instantly defeated by the pungent, rotten-fish-and-shrimp aroma. This condiment, known as nam pla or white soy sauce, was made by fermenting small fish and shrimp until the juice could be dripped out.

So, Fang Senyan gritted his teeth and could only ask for plain soy sauce to mix with his rice, eating ravenously. Fortunately, Thai fragrant rice was world-renowned, and this small village was extremely remote—in slang terms, perfectly green, natural, and pollution-free.

The rice grains were stark white and delightfully chewy, releasing an ineffable, subtle sweetness with every mastication. Fang Senyan devoured four large bowls before letting out a satisfied sigh, patting his belly contentedly.

After a brief half-hour rest, the new recruits donned down jackets and padded coats to begin skipping rope, required to maintain a pace of at least one hundred rotations per minute! This intense activity induced heavy perspiration, forcing bodily moisture evaporation, and significantly enhanced leg agility and muscle reaction time.

Fang Senyan even observed some fighters swinging their ropes so fast that dull, resonant "whirring" sounds emanated as they cut through the air, suggesting at least two hundred jumps per minute. Even more outlandish, three fighters to his right, presumably those with deeper mastery, were being pelted with plastic spheres while jumping!

Red spheres required them to dodge, while white spheres demanded they headbutt them away! If anyone faltered, the supervisor nearby would lash their body mercilessly with a whip, leaving behind a hideous, stinging red welt.

The fighters' skin was already covered in a dense scattering of scars, old and new, clearly indicating untold suffering. Witnessing this scene, Fang Senyan felt not shock, but delight.

He sensed that only such rigorously systematic training could truly catalyze his innate abilities! Therefore, he followed every instruction with meticulous care.

Once the rope-skipping drill concluded, another half-hour rest followed, succeeded by cross-country weighted running practice in the hills behind the village, lasting roughly two hours. After lunch, there was an extended rest period, stretching until four in the afternoon, likely due to the heavy workload of the morning session.

The subsequent routines involved shadow boxing (punching empty air) and dynamic stretching for the limbs. Then came hitting the heavy bags.

Fang Senyan was instructed to move around the bag rhythmically, honing his footwork while attacking from different positions, angles, and distances. He watched some Muay Thai practitioners, lost in their practice, leap into the air, executing consecutive knee strikes against the bag—the bag and its frame groaning under the strain of such vicious assault.

The final stage was, naturally, sparring and actual combat. However, this was not for a rookie like Fang Senyan.

He was directed to change into shorts and led to an adjacent room. This room was bare, but the concrete floor was inlaid with a dense matrix of small holes.

Dark purplish-black stains marred the concrete, creating an atmosphere of indescribable, brutal intensity. Fang Senyan looked around, wondering if he had stumbled into an interrogation chamber.

Nai Zhu entered carrying a wooden stick wrapped in leather. She jammed it into one of the concrete holes on the floor to secure it upright.

She then explained the exercise to Fang Senyan and demonstrated the required move: stand still and kick the stick using the inner edge of your shinbone, not the sole of your shoe. The instruction was simple: kick the wooden post—as thick as a bowl—until it broke, and then he could rest.