Why do I have so many masters?

The conversation atop the solitary peak was, of course, unknown to Wang Anfeng; the chains and iron buckets on his body together weighed at least over two hundred pounds. The portion of the chains dragging on the ground created two distinct trails on the staircase with every step he took, evidence of their considerable weight.

Lacking inner strength, and with the mountain paths of Shaoshi Mountain being steep and towering, by the time Wang Anfeng reached the river Qinghe at the foot of the mountain, his body was drenched in sweat. The buckets were extremely large and heavy, yet strangely, their capacity was very small. Rather than buckets, they resembled two large hammers, crudely hollowed out for carrying water.

Filling them up was a struggle, and they held only about twenty pounds of water. Thinking of the terrifying ten thousand-pound figure, the youth clenched his teeth, turned around, and tremblingly ascended the stone steps. As the chains weighed him down like a mountain when descending, the climb felt as if a wild ox was pulling him from behind.

His Yi Chan Gong inner strength, suppressed by this brute force, actually began to assault his flesh, veins, and muscles, causing an intolerably itchy and agonizing pain.

It took him twice as long to return to the mountaintop as it did to descend.

In the space where he often practiced his Shaolin Changquan, there were now ten huge jars, with stone steps beside them—clearly meant for the ten thousand pounds of water he was to carry. Wang Anfeng gritted his teeth and carefully stepped onto the narrow stone steps; with such weight on him, a fall could result in at least a month bedridden.

Thus, even though bound by chains, every nerve in his body was tense to its limits.

Even the contraction and exertion of each muscle in his foot as it stepped on the stone step was clearer than ever. He carefully flipped the carrying pole, pouring the scant amount of river water into the jar—just enough to wet the bottom.

Taking a light breath, he turned intending to pour the other side's water but lost balance due to the uneven weight, and because he had just relaxed a moment before, he leaned and fell towards the ground below.

Wang Anfeng's heart skipped a beat, knowing the consequences of such a fall without inner strength to protect him. However, just as he was about to crash harshly against the ground, a palm gently supported his back, effortlessly holding the several hundred pounds without even a slight tremble—only the crisp clash of chains ringing out, trembling into the night.

It was then that Wang Anfeng's heart started to pound rapidly. He subconsciously thanked his master while opening his eyes to see a sharp and icy face, causing his expression to freeze. At that moment, the middle-aged scholar spoke in a frosty tone.

"Every close combat technique prioritizes footwork first. Shaolin emphasizes external cultivation and values control over one's muscles even more. Your skills are a disgrace to the Shaolin founder."

Wang Anfeng was momentarily stunned, looking at the stern scholar who had saved him, and murmured in disbelief:

"Ying... Mr. Ying?"

"Hmph, you think too highly of yourself just for winning a small contest?"

"You didn't beat them because you're strong, but because those opponents were too weak. Go down the mountain and carry water!"

Just as Wang Anfeng was about to express his gratitude, he heard a cold snort, and the palm on his back disappeared as if it had never been there, causing him and the chains and buckets to crash heavily to the ground. The short fall caused no serious injury, but still made Wang Anfeng wince in pain.

The other bucket overturned and clanged down on his head, soaking him with water that added a chill to the night breeze.

After lying there for a good ten minutes, Wang Anfeng struggled to his feet. He was not foolish and from Mr. Ying's words, he realized this punishment must also hold some meaning for his cultivation. Until now, there had been no real harm to him; otherwise, his master would never stand by and watch.

With that thought in mind, he exhaled a deep breath of stale air and once again, with gritted teeth, took to the mountain path to fetch water.

Going back and forth, a full ten hours passed until dawn broke, and the sounds of chanting could be heard within Shaolin. Wang Anfeng's figure stumbled to the end of the mountain path.

With each step, sweat dripped, leaving spots on the path, his face was deathly pale, his eyes shifting between blankness and struggle, the time it took with each step growing longer and longer, and it took him nearly an hour to traverse the final hundred steps.

A young goose-yellow bird lightly chirped and landed on the bucket, and Wang Anfeng's body trembled, causing him to fall sideways, his eyes finally losing focus completely. The middle-aged scholar playing chess softly closed his eyes and sneered.

"Ci Yuan, you've lost this round again."

The monk opposite him chuckled and made his move, reversing the impossible and capturing his opponent's dragon's head. Lifting his gaze towards the astounded Mr. Ying, he raised his hand and softly said,

"No..."

Thud!!

Heavy and thunderous footsteps erupted, along with struggling roars. Mr. Ying's pupils shrank sharply, and he looked up abruptly to see the youth who had reached his limit crash to the ground. In that instant of landing, his right fist smashed forcefully on the stone, propping up his body with eyes wide open in rage.

The force was so great that his right fist cracked open, blood trickling down, but he never let go of the carrying pole.

Birds scattered in fright as Wang Anfeng, drenched in his clothes, struggled to rise, step by step ascending the stone steps. On instinct, he poured what little was left of the river water into the urn.

The slender figure of the young man blocked out the sunlight, casting a heavy shadow over Mr. Ying, who was barely opening his eyes. The monk in front extended his hand to pick up all the black pieces on the chessboard, and said slowly,

"It's you who have lost."

Clatter, clatter—

The clear sound of the chains continued as Wang Anfeng staggered down, turned, and walked towards the mountain path, but after just one step, the brown eyes dimmed, his legs gave way, and the iron buckets fell from his grip. The young man's pupils dilated, reaching out to grab them.

"Still… not enough…"

Splash!

Before the iron bucket hit the ground, Wang Anfeng had already crashed heavily to the floor. Only then did the bucket fall, making a somewhat ear-piercing noise. Wang Anfeng's eyes were open, but his vision was uncontrollably dimming. He lifted his hand, desperately reaching for the bucket.

"Not… enough. I must… return…"

"Ten thousand jin…"

The voice stopped abruptly, and vision turned to utter stillness. His right hand fell powerlessly, blood flowing from the knuckles, diluted by the water scattered on the ground.

The rustling of fluttering robes erupted as Ci Yuan appeared beside Wang Anfeng like the wind, checking his pulse with one hand, and only relaxed his tense expression afterwards, saying,

"He's just exhausted…"

As he raised his eyes to his friend, the latter already had a stern look on his face, moving his fingers rapidly to press several acupoints on Wang Anfeng. Wang Anfeng's lips parted slightly, and in the blink of an eye, a pill was flicked into his mouth. It melted upon entry, seeping into his body. Only then did Mr. Ying rise, flicking his sleeves, and said coldly,

"Fool, even more foolish than you!"

"Since he is so eager to return, let him return. He has already pushed past his limits several times. If he continues to train, even elixirs won't be able to sustain his body. Give him three times the amount of Qi-absorbing Pills and have him practice the Shaolin Changquan every day for three hours, while carrying these iron chains."

"He must sleep and bathe with the chains on, hmph. He spilled water all along the way today, and it took him ten hours to bring up less than thirty jin of water. At this rate, it would take him at least a year to complete this punishment!"

Ci Yuan, using his inner strength to soothe Wang Anfeng's muscular aches, frowned upon hearing this,

"If you don't increase the weight, it won't take a year."

The middle-aged scholar sneered and said,

"There's no need for concern. I have plans of my own. After all, he is your disciple, and I won't be too harsh."

Ci Yuan felt slightly relieved, only to then hear him say nonchalantly,

"This set of chains weighs no more than three thousand jin."