With no means left in his own hands, he was practically a disabled man. The three of them—master and disciples—tried sparring, yet they discovered they possessed no martial skill whatsoever.

“Master, that Supreme Pure Lord is too ruthless,” Shi Bingyuan analyzed, though he looked strangely much younger since returning here. “He stripped us bare of everything we had, then gave us a year, saying we could cultivate a (useless scrap) body to the level of immortality. It’s doubtful we can even return to our former state.”

Tian Xiong, appearing no older than twenty-something, spoke with a hard edge. “Master, perhaps we should settle for now. We probably can’t accomplish the main task immediately. Let’s see if we can find anything to help us train. Our time is too limited—we still need to practice martial arts, cultivate qi, and find people to run errands for us. Completing everything within the planned few dozen days, or even within the year Old Lord gave us, seems impossible. So, we must seize every moment and start training now.”

As Tian Xiong spoke, he casually picked up a large stone and brought it down hard against his own head. To his surprise, the stone remained largely intact, but a stream of bright red blood flowed from his scalp.

“Sigh, you are too anxious. Forget it, I’ll think some more about how to properly manipulate time. Since we have nowhere to stay anyway, we’ll settle here,” Zhou Huan said, preparing to lead his two disciples inside to rest.

Just then, an elderly woman—a true dama figure—hurried up behind Zhou Huan, leading a child who looked about eighteen or nineteen. Stopping at Zhou Huan’s doorstep, she declared, “Zhou Huan, you’re always aimless, and this child is aimless too. All they know is petty theft. I don’t think anyone else in the village can take him in, so my soft heart compels me to bring him to you. As for whether you live or die, I don’t care, but I absolutely do not want to see you dead.”

The old woman dropped the child, spun around, and fled down the mountain road toward the village.

Zhou Huan was deeply frustrated. He scratched his head, looking from the boy to Tian Xiong and Shi Bingyuan. “What do you two think?”

Both disciples shook their heads, clueless.

Zhou Huan then turned to the boy. “What’s your name, and why are you always stealing chickens and dogs?”

“My name is Dongzi. They force me to steal. If I didn’t, I’d have starved to death long ago. I begged at their houses, but no one would give me charity, so I had no choice but to do this!”

Upon hearing this, Zhou Huan’s eyes widened. “Young man, say that again. What is your name?”

“My surname is Lin, my given name is Dongzi!” the young man repeated, his articulation perfectly clear. Zhou Huan heard him distinctly. He knew that in his previous life, he had a young attendant who, upon reincarnation, was this Dongzi currently guarding his seclusion.

“Oh, very well. You stay with us from now on. At least with so many of us, I doubt we’ll starve,” Zhou Huan said, still confident in himself. Besides, living in that society surely meant there were ways to survive; they hadn't taken away his survival skills along with his gongfu.

And so, Zhou Huan, his two disciples, and the young attendant spent nearly seven or eight days on the mountain. During this time, Zhou Huan wrote down everything he could recall, including the strategy for his cultivation heart method, preparing to start training. Strangely, cultivating according to what he wrote down didn't work; he couldn't reach that level instantly. The material he’d penned was too advanced. Thus, he had to forge a new path.

While Zhou Huan and Tian Xiong sought a new path at home, Tian Xiong took Dongzi out to forage for food. They returned to their dilapidated shack on the mountain to sleep each night.

Zhou Huan spent another three days thinking and three days writing. Nearly a week passed, and Zhou Huan still hadn't left his room. Finally, he finished his draft, written in cursive. The quality of his handwriting was nowhere near what it had been; it looked like worms crawling across the page. Zhou Huan knew this, but he couldn't change it. Over the course of two weeks, they had all gradually adapted to many things.

“Master, why is life in the Great Qing so hard?” Shi Bingyuan was already starting to complain about enduring it. Zhou Huan reread what he had written one more time.

Then, Zhou Huan announced, “Disciples, take a look at this. If you don't understand, ask me. I think this method should work this time.”

As the three were discussing, a group of over a dozen men appeared from nowhere and burst into the room, intent on dragging Zhou Huan out for a beating.

Zhou Huan tried to placate them with a smile. “Brothers, there’s no need for the violence. I have no money, and we aren’t locals. Perhaps you could leave us be?”

In truth, Zhou Huan felt deeply uneasy. Without their powers, they stood no chance against these men. Every single person carried a wooden club, a knife, or something similar; they were clearly bandits looking to rob them.

“You lot, stop messing around! We’re only robbing because we have no food. Otherwise, who would bother robbing your simple shack? That would be insulting to our profession! Come on, hand over the money!” the leader said, his tone weaving seamlessly between threat and enticement.

“Please, sirs, have mercy! We truly have no money. All we eat these days are wild gourds and seedlings we pick from other people’s fields—we have nothing else!” Zhou Huan pleaded desperately. He genuinely lacked the strength to fight these men who were constantly running around robbing people; they were clearly professionals at it.

After Zhou Huan spoke, one of the bandits became furious. He lifted his leg and delivered a vicious kick straight to Zhou Huan’s chest. A cry of “Ah!” rang out. Zhou Huan was mostly unharmed, but Tian Xiong collapsed instead, having shielded his master. He lay on the ground, genuinely unable to get up from the pain, which was clearly intense.

“You rob and you also beat people?” Zhou Huan asked casually, but the response was another wave of brutality.

These bandits snatched the manuscript Zhou Huan was holding. One of them pushed Zhou Huan aside while examining the writing. “Seeing the characters you wrote actually brings me some comfort. There is someone whose writing is uglier than mine! Fine, just because you write so poorly, you’ve made me happy today, so I won't bother you further. We’ll see how you handle the rest later.”

Zhou Huan was truly at a loss now. His skills were useless; fighting them head-on was impossible, and pleading didn't work. Having no money to give, they were just waiting to be bullied. At this point, Zhou Huan realized he had to stop holding back his thoughts.

“Master!” Shi Bingyuan rushed out to see what was happening. He saw Tian Xiong, helped him up, and anxiously asked, “Junior Brother, are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Taking a punch for Master is nothing,” Tian Xiong replied, feeling somewhat relieved that he had taken the blow instead of his master. It wasn’t that bad, after all.

At that moment, Zhou Huan finally understood completely: in his current state, he was nothing, completely looked down upon by everyone. From this moment on, what Zhou Huan needed to do was master his martial arts. If he couldn't fight off these extortionists, he would forever have to surrender a portion of whatever food he managed to secure.

“Disciples, including Dongzi, how about a week of intensive training?” Zhou Huan proposed.

Of course, everyone readily agreed. Training their skills would, at least, improve their living conditions and relieve the constant need to hide from those ruffians.

“Don’t worry. After one week, if they come again, I will have a way to deal with them. If I can’t beat them, I will kill them!” Zhou Huan was resolute this time. After speaking, he went to the kitchen, retrieved the large cleaver, sharpened it on a whetstone, and placed the sharpened blade by the kitchen door. Whoever came looking for trouble could grab it—they would be struck down immediately, leaving no opportunity for evil deeds!