Proving God begins with the principle that no effort is wasted.

Chapter 42 Unveiling the List

By the time the second round ended, the sun was already setting in the west.

The gates of the training ground swung open, and the examinees filed out. Some stood tall and proud, some hung their heads in dejection, and a few were carried out, their legs and arms wrapped in bandages, blood seeping out and staining the white cloths dark red.

Jiang Lan walked out from the crowd, her face revealing neither joy nor sorrow.

Sun Gengsan was already waiting at the door. He stood on tiptoe, scanning the crowd several times before finally spotting Jiang Lan and letting out a sigh of relief.

"Are you alright?" he asked as he went to greet her.

"fine."

The two walked outside. The street was crowded with people; some were talking loudly about the competition, some were cursing their bad luck with the draw, and others were asking who had won and who had lost.

Jiang Lan didn't walk fast, but her ears were never idle.

"...I heard that Zhao Heng from Guangchang is still asleep."

"Zhou Liang from Cangsong Martial Arts School is ruthless. He crippled someone without even blinking an eye."

"Cangsong Martial Arts School has a long-standing grudge against Guangchang. Isn't this attack aimed at Guangchang?"

"Then the entire Guangchang batch is finished? Zhao Heng is useless, the rest..."

The person speaking lowered their voice, and Jiang Lan couldn't hear them clearly anymore.

The two walked to the intersection, where Huo Yuanlong stood under the locust tree waiting.

He didn't go to the drill ground today, but he looked even more tired than if he had. The tobacco in his pipe was half-burnt, but he didn't smoke it; it just burned there, and he didn't even brush off the ashes that fell onto his clothes.

"You're here?" He glanced at Jiang Lan.

"Um."

Huo Yuanlong put away his pipe and said to Sun Gengsan, "You go back first, I want to say a few words to him."

Sun Geng glanced at Jiang Lan, Jiang Lan nodded, and he left first.

Huo Yuanlong pulled Jiang Lan under the shade of a tree, glanced around, and lowered his voice: "You know about Zhao Heng's matter?"

"I heard about it on the way."

"He's still unconscious. The doctor said his arm bones are broken in three places, and even if they're set, he won't be able to practice martial arts anymore." Huo Yuanlong paused, "Guangchang suffered a huge loss this time."

Jiang Lan remained silent.

"There's one more thing," Huo Yuanlong said, lowering his voice even further. "Zhao Heng was arrogant, and Zhou Liang deposed him at the behest of Shi Wenshan, the master of Songfeng Pavilion. Your Master Liu has a past grudge against Shi Wenshan, and this time he's here specifically to take him down."

"So Zhao Heng's ostentatious behavior has made him a target?"

"You could say that," Huo Yuanlong said, looking at Jiang Lan, "that you are the only one in Guangchang's batch who wasn't injured."

Jiang Lan nodded.

"The results should be out the day after tomorrow." Huo Yuanlong patted him on the shoulder. "Go back and wait."

When Jiang Lan returned to Guangchang Martial Arts School, it was almost dark.

The martial arts school's main gate was wide open, and an oil lamp flickered in the gatehouse, its flame dancing in the wind. The courtyard was eerily quiet, with no one practicing.

Liu Changqing stood on the steps at the entrance of the main hall, holding a bowl of tea in his hand. He didn't drink it; he just held it there.

He raised his eyelids slightly when he saw Jiang Lan come in.

"You're back?"

"Um."

"You won?"

"We won," Jiang Lan said.

Liu Changqing didn't press the matter. He took a sip of tea, which had gone cold, frowned slightly, and placed the bowl on the stone stool beside him.

"You know about Zhao Heng's matter?"

"understood."

Liu Changqing was silent for a few seconds. His lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but in the end he only managed to squeeze out, "Rest well and wait for the results."

After saying that, he turned and went into the house. His back was more hunched than a few days ago, and his steps were slower.

Jiang Lan stood there, watching the door close in front of her.

As night deepened, the people in the martial arts school gradually went to sleep.

Jiang Lan didn't sleep. He sat on a stone stool in the corner of the courtyard. The moon peeked out from behind the clouds, illuminating the blue brick ground.

In the distance, insects chirped, one after another, unhurriedly.

The fact that Zhao Heng was crippled made him realize that this was not a matter of winning or losing on the stage, but that someone was playing chess.

Zhao Heng was a pawn, and Jiang Lan might be one too.

If it were him instead of Zhao Heng who drew Zhou Liang today, could he escape unscathed?

The answer is no.

He had mastered the Mountain-Crushing Fist, but his cultivation level was only at the fifth acupoint.

He needs higher cultivation levels and more trump cards. One pill isn't enough, nor is one fist technique.

He stood up, walked to the center of the courtyard, and practiced his boxing several times by the moonlight. He didn't practice with stakes, just practiced in the air, honing his strength. Sweat dripped down his cheeks and onto the ground, soaking a small patch of blue bricks.

He put down his fist, went back to his room, lay down, and pressed the pill under his pillow.

Wait for the results to be released, wait for the dust to settle, and then...

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Two days later.

Jiang Lan was practicing her boxing in the courtyard when Sun Shun ran in from the doorway, panting heavily, his face looking like he'd been burned.

"Junior Brother Jiang! Junior Brother Jiang!"

Jiang Lan withdrew her fist and turned to look at him.

Sun Gengsan, leaning against the doorframe, his chest heaving, cried out, "You got it! You got it!"

The disciples who were packing up their weapons in the courtyard stopped at the same time and all looked over.

"Martial Arts Scholar!" Sun Gengsan practically shouted, "The list is out—thirty-ninth! Junior Brother Jiang, you've passed the Martial Arts Scholar exam!"

Jiang Lan was taken aback.

He knew he could pass. His archery score in the first round wasn't bad, and in the second round of the arena, he won more than he lost, although he deliberately lost one match to Zhao Lingyun, but his overall performance was enough to get him on the list. But knowing something and actually hearing the news are two different things.

"Thirty-ninth place?" he asked to confirm.

"The thirty-ninth!" Sun Shun grinned, revealing his gums. "The officials have already gone to your house to deliver the good news! Junior Brother Jiang, from now on you are a person with official rank!"

The courtyard erupted in chaos.

Congratulations, Junior Brother Jiang!

Congratulations, Senior Brother Jiang!

Several disciples who were usually quiet gathered around, their faces beaming with smiles, their tone far more polite than before. Some offered water, others offered handkerchiefs, their actions so attentive it was as if they were completely different people.

Jiang Lan took the bowl of water, took a sip, and said nothing.

Sun Gengsan rushed in from outside, covered in sweat, clutching a copied list in his hand. He saw Jiang Lan and shoved the list into his hand: "Look at it yourself!"

Jiang Lan glanced down at the sign: Guangchang Martial Arts School, Jiang Lan, 39th place. The handwriting was messy, but clear.

He folded the list and put it in his pocket.

"Where is Zhao Heng?" he asked.

Sun Gengsan's smile faded: "He didn't make the list. He didn't finish the second round and was directly disqualified."

Jiang Lan nodded.

He recalled the way Zhao Heng was carried off the stage, his arms hanging limply at his sides, his face as white as paper.

"Does Master Liu know?" Jiang Lan asked.

"I understand," Sun Gengsan said. "He wants you to go to the main hall."

Jiang Lan wiped her face and walked towards the main hall.

The door to the main hall was open. Liu Changqing sat in a chair, the teacup in front of him already cold, but he didn't touch it. When he saw Jiang Lan enter, he raised his eyelids slightly, his gaze holding something indescribable—neither happiness nor displeasure, but more like a weight had finally been lifted from his shoulders.

"sit."

Jiang Lan sat down.

"Thirty-ninth place." Liu Changqing pushed a government gazette over. "Have you seen it?"

"I've seen it."

Liu Changqing remained silent for a moment, then tapped his fingers lightly twice on the table.

"The Guangchang Martial Arts School has been running for twelve years and has produced six martial arts scholars," he said. "You are the seventh."

Jiang Lan didn't respond.

"Zhao Heng should have been the eighth," Liu Changqing said in a lower voice, "but things have already come to this, there's no point in saying anything now."

He raised his head and looked into Jiang Lan's eyes: "Now that you have official rank and title, from now on, others will see you differently. You should be aware of that."

"I know."

Liu Changqing nodded and said nothing more. He picked up the bowl of cold tea, took a sip, frowned, and put it down again.

"Go ahead," he said. "Rest for a couple of days. We'll talk about the rest later."

Jiang Lan nodded and went out the door.

The sunlight was just right in the courtyard. Several disciples were still discussing his passing the exam; their voices weren't loud, but the envy and flattery in their tone were impossible to hide.

Jiang Lan walked past them without stopping.

As soon as he stepped out of the martial arts school, he saw someone running from the alley entrance.

Li Antian.

He was wearing a faded short-sleeved shirt, his trousers rolled up to his knees, and his feet covered in mud—clearly he had run all the way here without even changing his shoes.

"Jiang Lan!" Li Antian ran up to her, bent over and panting for a while before straightening up, his eyes already red. "Your mother... your mother sent me."

Jiang Lan's heart tightened: "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing!" Li Antian waved his hand hastily, his voice trembling slightly. "It's good news—the officials came to your house to deliver the good news! You passed the martial arts exam! Your mother cried on the spot when she heard the news and told me to come and tell you right away!"

Jiang Lan stood still, without saying a word.

Li Antian wiped his eyes and grinned: "You didn't see it, your mother was crying and laughing, holding the official's hand and saying 'thank you' over and over, until she wrinkled his sleeve. The aunties around her were all congratulating her, and she could barely stand in the crowd."

Jiang Lan's throat moved slightly.

"She told you not to worry about home and to make a name for yourself out there." Li Antian patted his shoulder, his hands rough and smelling of dirt. "She said—she said her life was worthwhile."

The wind blew across the lake, carrying the scent of water plants and reeds.

Jiang Lan lowered her head and didn't raise it for a long while.

"Is she alright?" he asked.

"I'm doing well," Li Antian said with a smile. "I've been thinking about you. When do you have time to go back and visit?"

Jiang Lan nodded.

Li Antian glanced at him again, hesitated for a moment, then took out a cloth bag from his pocket and stuffed it into his hand.

"Your mother asked me to bring this. She said it's the pickled fish you like, which she dried herself."

Jiang Lan squeezed the cloth bag; it was hard and bulging. Without even opening it, she knew it contained dried salted fish that Cheng Erniang would sun-dry every autumn. It was cut into small pieces, marinated with chili and salt, and stored in jars to last until winter.

"Thank her for me," Jiang Lan said.

"No need to thank me, thank me when you get back." Li Antian rubbed his hands together. "Alright, I'm leaving. I need to hurry back and tell your mother you're alright, tell her you..."

He couldn't continue, so he turned around and strode out of the alley.

After taking a few steps, he turned back and shouted at Jiang Lan, "You're really something! Our Reed Bay has produced a martial arts scholar!"

Then he ran away without looking back.

Jiang Lan stood there, watching his figure disappear into the alleyway. The cloth bag in her hand still carried his warmth.

He stood there for a long time before turning around and walking back.

He returned to his lodgings and closed the door. He placed the cloth bag on the table and opened it. The aroma of dried salted fish immediately filled the air, along with the spiciness of chili peppers and the roughness of salt grains—it was the taste of home.

He took the pill out from under his pillow and placed it in his palm.

Wu Xiucai, Wu Xiucai from Luweiwan.

He swallowed the pill, and the warm energy spread out again. This time, he didn't practice his boxing; he simply sat by the bed, holding a dried salted fish in his hand, listening to the wind outside the window.

it's getting dark.

Tomorrow, he will go back to Reed Bay.