Lying Low in the Martial World to Become a Saint-Chapter 41 - 39: The Exam Begins

Twenty-Eighth Year of Emperor Shizong, seventh month, ninth day.

In Gaolin County’s City God Square, flagpoles stood as dense as a forest.

Today was the official start of the Martial Arts Examination.

Passing the Martial Arts Examination and earning the title of Martial Scholar not only brought tax exemptions but also granted privileges far beyond the reach of the common folk.

Thus, the commencement of the Martial Arts Examination had become a grand affair in Gaolin County. Yet in truth, the glory and clamor of this grand affair had little to do with the countless commoners outside the grounds.

On the General Selection Platform to the far north of the training grounds, the Chief Examiner and the Examiners were seated, attended by several Scribes standing to their left and right.

The various colors of their official robes—vermilion, green, black, and white—were arranged in disciplined rows, a silent testament to the rigid hierarchy of their ranks.

Below them were the Martial Artists participating in this year’s examination. They were already standing in silent, orderly ranks according to their place of origin and assigned number. A dense, dark mass of several hundred men.

Every man was powerfully built with corded muscles, dressed in various styles of tight-fitting Martial Attire. They wore wide belts at their waists and thin-soled boots made for speed.

Some were young, their sharp vigor like that of a newly drawn sword; others were steady and seasoned, like a Pan Stone or an ancient pine.

Every eye was fixed upon the General Selection Platform, a mixture of longing, nervousness, and eagerness glinting within them—and for some, the grim resolve of having no path of retreat.

In the covered corridors on either side of the training grounds sat the wealthy merchants and powerful clans of Gaolin County.

The common folk were not even qualified to step through the main gates of the training grounds.

If a well-off family were to support a student, they would need to provide a gift for the teacher, as well as ink, brushes, and paper. But by gritting their teeth, saving on food and clothing, and forgoing fine meals, the family could manage the expense for a few years.

Supporting a martial practitioner, however, was a different matter entirely. The costs were like a great whale drinking the ocean—endless and all-consuming.

A daily diet of meat and fine grains was essential. Otherwise, where would one find the strength to strike a training post thousands of times over?

And that was just the cost of daily sustenance.

The real expense lay in medicinal supplements. A single Pill could cost an ordinary family several months of living expenses; even a typically well-off household would struggle to sustain such an expenditure.

Within the training grounds, ninety percent of the Martial Artists came from Noble Families or had inherited their Martial Arts and possessed some family wealth. The scattered ten percent who remained, even those with exceptional aptitude, had likely exhausted generations of their families’ savings and toil just for the chance to stand here today.

The chances of anyone from that ten percent distinguishing themselves today were infinitesimally small. Most were here merely to be part of the spectacle and gain some experience.

Chen Qing understood this perfectly. In the world of letters, the great scholarly houses monopolized the books, the ink, and the lineages of tutelage.

So too, in this world where the Martial Arts flourished, did the entrenched Noble Families and powerful clans control its most vital resources: money, meat, and secret techniques passed down through their bloodlines.

"Chen Qing!?"

Xu Fang’s gaze suddenly locked onto a figure in the crowd, her eyes filled with disbelief.

"Xiaofang, what is it?" asked a well-preserved woman beside her, who was dressed in an Upper Grade, light-blue silk blouse.

This was Xu Fang’s sister-in-law, Xu Xiuhua.

Xu Fang snapped out of her daze, her expression complicated. "I just saw an acquaintance. I’m surprised to see him here..."

Ever since joining the Huang Family, she had often seen the clan’s own scions—men with powerful physiques, meticulously groomed for success—training until they were drenched in sweat under the tutelage of their Martial Artists.

She had seen the exorbitant cost of their meat-heavy diets, the nourishing medicinal stews, and the constant forging of their bodies with specialized equipment.

She knew all too well the immense resources required to support such an endeavor.

’How could a wild loach from a place like Mute Bay possibly be qualified to stand here?’

Xu Xiuhua followed her gesture and glanced over, her fine brows knitting imperceptibly. "Oh? From a place like Mute Bay?"

Xu Fang bit her lower lip and nodded forcefully, her complicated gaze following Chen Qing’s figure through the crowd. "He... I don’t know what his chances are when he goes up later..."

"Chances?"

Xu Xiuhua scoffed. "Xiaofang, you need to understand something. This Martial Arts Examination is a crucible that forges true gold and washes away the dross. Ninety-nine percent of these men are nothing more than pebbles swept up in a tidal wave. Once the wave recedes, what is sand remains sand. There’s no faking it."

"The fact that he even managed to get in here means his ancestors must be smiling down on him."

The sons of wealthy households and powerful clans are taught by Martial Artists from a young age. They eat meat at every meal, and medicinal supplements are a given.

A fisherman’s son from Mute Bay, trying to compete with them? He should save himself the trouble.

Clearly, Xu Xiuhua did not think much of his chances.

Xu Fang nodded and said no more.

DONG! DONG! DONG!

Suddenly, three earth-shattering drum beats sounded.

Then, a slow, heavy drumbeat began to roll like muffled thunder. The rhythm grew faster and more intense, each beat hammering against the hearts of everyone present, pushing the already taut atmosphere to its breaking point.

Before long, the drumming subsided, its echo still reverberating across the open grounds.

The Chief Examiner slowly rose and walked steadily to the front of the platform.

His gaze was electric as it swept slowly over the crowd. "This year’s Martial Arts Examination is to select the finest talent. On these grounds, only true skill matters! Blades and spears have no eyes; you are responsible for your own life and death! If any among you are caught cheating, you will be punished by military law without mercy!"

He suddenly raised his voice, his sharp shout exploding like a Thunder Shock:

"The hour has arrived--!"

"Begin the examination!!!"

As a Junior Official began calling out names, the Martial Arts Examination officially commenced.

Groups of Martial Artists were seen walking into the training ground, each selecting bows of different stone-weights from the racks.

The first round of assessment tested strength.

The test was judged by the number of times a bow could be drawn. A one-stone bow required one hundred and twenty jin of force to be fully drawn, and a pull was counted as valid as long as the bowstring passed the halfway mark.

The bows on the square ranged from one-stone to twelve-stone in draw weight.

The scoring was clearly divided: drawing a three- or Four-Stone Bow earned a D-grade; four to six-stone, a C-grade; seven to nine-stone, a B-grade. Only those who could draw a Ten-Stone Bow or greater had a chance at an A-grade.

Chen Qing watched the performance of the Martial Artists on the platform, calculating to himself. ’There are only two rounds, and the second, live combat, is too unpredictable. I have to get a good score in this first round.’

Coupled with his relentless training and the nourishment from the Treasure Fish, his Power had been tempered down to his very organs. He was still a fair way from achieving Great Success in Dark Force, but his Long Arm Fist had already reached the level of Great Success. This was his edge.

More and more Martial Artists took the platform, among them Luo Qian and Sun Shun.

"Candidate D-6, Sun Shun: Grade B, Middle."

"Candidate D-15, Luo Qian: Grade B, Lower."

Both of them drew the seven-stone bow. Sun Shun drew it five times, while Luo Qian drew it three times.

"Sigh."

Sun Shun shook his head with a sigh, feeling a pang of bitterness.

He knew his chances of passing the examination this year were slim.

A "B, Middle" grade was a critical threshold. If a candidate failed to score higher in the first round, their hope of passing was slim unless they demonstrated exceptional skill and earned an A-grade in the second round.

Luo Qian’s expression remained neutral. She had come to this Martial Arts Examination with a realistic understanding of her chances of passing.

Her gaze had already locked onto the Martial Artists who were expected to pass, and she was secretly calculating how she might befriend one or two of them.

If this was the case for the elite disciples of the Zhou Institute, the situation was even more difficult for the ordinary ones. Most could barely manage to draw a three or Four-Stone Bow before they were gasping for breath, their elimination in the first round a near certainty.

......