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

"Ah Lan, how's it going at the martial arts gym today?"

Cheng's shuttle kept moving as she wove a fishing net using the last bit of daylight filtering through the window. Her fingertips were covered in calluses from the netting, and her voice was slightly tense when she asked questions.

Jiang Lan had just entered from outside, still carrying the cold wind from the riverbank and the dust from the training ground, her muscles aching all over.

He turned back to his mother, smiled and nodded, his voice brimming with barely concealed elation: "Mom, it's done. The martial arts master has accepted me."

"Oh!"

The shuttle in Cheng's hand clattered into the bamboo basket. She jumped up, her wrinkles smoothing out, and exclaimed with delight, "I knew my A-Lan was capable! Practicing martial arts is the most physically demanding and requires the most food! Tomorrow I'll take the fishing nets I've woven these past few days to the market and I'll definitely trade them for a chicken or duck to replenish your resources!"

Her joy had barely subsided when she immediately frowned, her eyes filled with worry as she grabbed Jiang Lan's arm: "Lan, what's that master like? Is he fierce? How much tuition does he charge a month? Our family..."

"My master is very strict. He teaches all his disciples the same way, without any bias." Jiang Lan sat down next to her mother, took the shuttle from her hand, and skillfully followed her movements to weave the net. Her tone was steady. "Don't worry about the monthly allowance. It's enough for now."

Cheng breathed a sigh of relief, but she couldn't help but think about the expenses of practicing martial arts in the future. Buying rice and meat, bribing the master, and purchasing equipment—all of these cost money. Her movements unconsciously slowed down.

Jiang Lan saw this and silently handed over a dusty little cloth bag. The bag was placed on the table with a heavy clattering sound.

"The money for tomorrow's lights, and the money for your shopping, will all come from here."

Without even glancing at it, Madam Cheng pushed the bag back. Moonlight fell on her face, and her eyes were more resolute than ever before: "I still have money on hand. This is the hard-earned money you've worked so hard for. Keep it for yourself. Use it to bribe the cook or buy something nice to eat. Don't waste a single penny."

Jiang Lan paused for a moment, holding the money bag, but ultimately didn't refuse again, and put the cloth bag back into his arms. The money bag, which had been chilled by the cold wind all the way, was pressed against his chest, but it wasn't cold at all; on the contrary, it felt so hot that his heart tightened.

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.

The next day, before dawn, the morning mist, carrying a biting chill, permeated the training ground, and Jiang Lan was already standing on the wooden stake.

He stood with his feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, in the stance of the "Crushing Mountain Strength" stance, which was not standard but every muscle was extremely taut.

Aching, numbness... the familiar pain climbed up his heels like countless fine needles piercing his limbs and bones.

Jiang Lan gritted her teeth, straightened her back, and tensed every meridian in her body. In less than ten breaths, a faint white steam rose from under her coarse cloth clothes, which was particularly conspicuous in the cold mist.

Heaven rewards diligence; no effort is ever wasted.

【Crushing Mountain Stance Exercise: 5/300】

The moment the word "gold" appeared in her mind, a warm current spread from her chest, and Jiang Lan's trembling legs steadied.

The martial arts school disciples arrived one after another, and when they saw the figure who had been standing on the wooden stake for a long time, they couldn't help but whisper among themselves.

"Who's this? New here? Arriving so early?"

"Hey, who else could it be? A disciple who was just accepted yesterday. He must not have the talent, so he has to start early, right?"

"What's the use of flying again? Martial arts training is about innate talent, not who arrives first."

Some people were dismissive, while others scoffed and mocked. The gossip drifted on the morning breeze to the wooden stake, but Jiang Lan seemed not to hear it. He kept his eyes down, focusing all his attention on the stance of the stance training.

Before long, the discussions subsided, realizing they were getting bored.

At midday, the sun was high in the sky, but it did little to dispel the chill.

The disciples in the training ground took a break in twos and threes, each taking out the food from their bags. The low temperature quickly cooled the hot food.

Jiang Lan jumped off the wooden stake, her legs feeling extremely unsteady, each step feeling like walking on cotton.

My master's words from this morning still echoed in my ears: "For martial arts practitioners, four parts training and six parts diet are essential. Without sufficient meat to nourish the body, no matter how hard you train, it's like water without a source or a tree without roots."

He glanced around the courtyard and saw that his disciples, who were also from poor families, were huddled in a sheltered corner, eating cold, hard steamed buns with pickled vegetables. Those from wealthier families, like Jiang Hao and his group, had already gone to a nearby restaurant and were now returning with the aroma of wine and meat on their bodies.

Jiang Lan withdrew her gaze, walked to a secluded, windless spot, took out the white steamed buns that the martial arts school had given to the new disciples before morning practice, and slowly nibbled on them, along with the pickled vegetables she had in her pocket.

The coldness of the steamed bun slid down his throat into his stomach, and he couldn't help but recall what his mother had said before he left this morning. She had said that when he came back tonight, he would definitely be able to eat hot chicken.

He could almost immediately picture how his mother endured the ordeal at the market.

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.

As soon as it was light, Cheng carried the several fishing nets she had woven to the market. She stood in the cold wind for almost an hour before a fisherman with a dark complexion came to ask about the price.

The man examined the fishing net over and over, pursing his lips as he tried to negotiate a lower price: "The craftsmanship is alright, but the line is terrible. Thirty coins at most."

Mrs. Cheng quickly shook her head: "I spent five whole days weaving this net, and I spent twenty coins just on the thread. Thirty coins really won't do."

"Take it or leave it." The fisherman turned to leave, "There are two other places over there selling fishing nets, much cheaper than yours."

"Hey! Wait a minute!" Cheng gritted her teeth and grabbed his arm, her voice pleading. "Thirty-five coins, really, that's the lowest I can go. Any lower and I'll lose everything."

The fishing net was eventually sold for thirty-five coins. Madam Cheng tucked the heavy copper coins into her bosom, clutching them tightly, and turned to run towards the poultry stall at the other end of the market. But when she asked the price, she was stunned—the cheapest chicken cost forty coins.

"Boss, these chickens were thirty coins a day ago, weren't they? How come the price has gone up so much?"

The stall owner lowered his voice and waved his hand at her: "Cheng Erniang, are you really unaware or pretending not to know? The Black Tiger Gang raised the stall fee again yesterday! From seventy coins to one hundred coins! If I don't raise the price, this stall will go out of business! Everyone's having a hard time, let's be understanding."

Standing there, Cheng felt a lump in her throat. But thinking of her son needing to nourish his body for martial arts practice, she gritted her teeth, picked out the fattest-looking chicken, and spent a full forty-five coins.

Who knew that when I took the chicken home and washed it with hot water, its originally fluffy feathers collapsed, and the exposed chicken body was a whole size smaller than a normal chicken. It was obvious that someone had used powder to prop up the feathers and injected water.

"That damned, unscrupulous merchant!" Cheng's eyes reddened with anger, but despite her curses, she still suppressed her rage and plucked the chicken feathers to blanch it. No matter what, when A-Lan came home that evening, she would have to have a hot bowl of chicken to eat.

……

The training ground was unusually quiet in the afternoon.

Instructor Liu moved a grand chair to the center of the room, intending to examine the bones of all the newly initiated disciples—this was the most direct and fair method in the martial arts school to assess their talent for martial arts.

Jiang Lan had already inquired with his senior brothers that Jiang Hao, who had entered the sect at the same time as him, had excellent physical talent and was a rare talent for martial arts in the surrounding area.

In this martial arts school, talent is always linked to resources. Jiang Hao never needs to practice on the public wooden stakes; he has his own private training room. Jiang Lan had only seen the equipment there once, and it was all rare and valuable stuff that he couldn't name.

Just then, Coach Liu walked up to him.

The instructor reached out and pinched Jiang Lan's shoulder blade. His palm was as rough as iron filings, and even through the coarse cloth, it hurt Jiang Lan's bones. Before he could react, the instructor suddenly exerted force, and Jiang Lan's forehead instantly broke out in cold sweat from the pain. His teeth clenched so tightly that he couldn't utter a single whimper.

"How old are you?" Coach Liu withdrew his hand, his tone revealing neither joy nor anger.

"Master, I will be nineteen in five months."

Upon hearing this, Coach Liu nodded slightly, his tone calm: "His physical constitution is below average, but fortunately he's not too old, his bones haven't fully developed yet, and he still has room to grow."

Jiang Lan's face remained expressionless as she lowered her eyes and replied with a simple "Yes."

Coach Liu patted him on the shoulder as a matter of routine and gave him a few pointers: "Standing exercises are the foundation of boxing, and the most basic and effective way to cultivate your qi and blood. Once you've mastered these introductory standing exercises, you can join the morning lessons and formally learn the Bengshan Jin boxing style."

After saying this, Instructor Liu turned and walked towards the next disciple. In the entire martial arts school, only disciples with exceptional talent and the potential to inherit his mantle could receive his meticulous guidance. This introductory stance training was the first test the martial arts school gave to its new disciples.

Jiang Lan, however, was never the most outstanding one in this test.

"Yes, disciple will follow Master's teachings." Jiang Lan clasped his hands together, bowed deeply, and when he straightened up, there was not a trace of discouragement in his eyes.

He rolled up his sleeves, jumped back onto the cold wooden stake, and once again assumed the stance of the Mountain-Crushing Force.

Heaven rewards diligence; no effort is ever wasted.

【Crushing Mountain Stance Exercise: 12/300】

……

Jiang Lan was still the last one to leave the martial arts school.

Dragging his aching body, he had just stepped out of the martial arts gym when he bumped into Jiang Hao, who had turned back to retrieve something. Jiang Hao immediately noticed his exhaustion and the lingering smell of meat and wine from the restaurant. As he passed by, Jiang Hao casually tossed out a remark: "Your physical constitution is already fixed. Is it really necessary to train like this, risking your life?"

Jiang Lan abruptly stopped in her tracks.

When he looked up, Jiang Hao had already walked away without turning back.

It felt like something had stabbed his heart, leaving him with a bitter and suffocating feeling, yet he was helpless. People like Jiang Hao, who were born with superior talent, would never understand that ordinary people like them had no choice but to risk their lives.

Jiang Lan dragged her leaden legs home. Before she even reached the bow of the boat, she smelled the aroma of stewed chicken. The fragrance, mixed with the smoky scent of firewood, drifted over on the cold wind, making her stomach clench and her mouth water instantly.

"You're back?" Madam Cheng was standing by the stove. When she saw him enter, she immediately greeted him with a smile. "Go wash your hands quickly. The chicken is freshly stewed and still warm."

Jiang Lan walked to the stove and glanced into the pot. A few slices of ginger and scallions floated on the milky white soup. The chicken was stewed until tender, but even though it had swelled up, it was still noticeable that the chicken was much smaller than a normal chicken.

"Mom, this chicken..."

"Don't mention it." Madam Cheng sighed, serving him soup while recounting how she had been ripped off at the market that morning, her voice full of heartache. "Forty-five coins! And this little thing we bought isn't even enough to nourish you."

Jiang Lan didn't say anything, took the bowl, picked up a piece of chicken and put it in her mouth.

The meat was stewed until very tender, but it was also very tough and dry, with little oil; it felt like chewing wood. Yet he ate it very quickly, bowl after bowl, drinking the soup and meat clean, even chewing and swallowing the bones.

Cheng sat beside him watching him eat, her eyes filled with half relief and half unconcealed sorrow. She kept handing him tissues, saying, "Eat slowly, there's still some left in the pot, don't choke."

"Mmm," Jiang Lan responded in a muffled voice, finishing the last bowl of soup.

My stomach felt warm, but that warmth didn't last long. The chicken, injected with water, had very little oil and fat to begin with, and it couldn't withstand the enormous energy expenditure of martial arts training.

The master's words echoed in my ears again: "Four parts practice, six parts diet."

He looked down at his reflection in the bowl. Thin, dark-skinned, with high cheekbones, he looked like someone who had been starving and suffering from anemia.

If you can't get good food and your physical constitution isn't good, can you really improve just by practicing day and night?

he does not know.

But he knew better than anyone that if he didn't train, he would have nothing. If he didn't train, he and his mother would forever be trampled underfoot by the Black Tiger Gang, forever living a life of being at the mercy of others.

Jiang Lan took a deep breath and clenched her fist tightly, her knuckles turning white.

Just then, the familiar pale gold lettering in my mind slowly reappeared, clearer than before, with a subtle change:

Heaven rewards diligence; no effort is ever wasted.

【Crushing Mountain Stance Exercise: 15/300】

[Continuing to push physical limits, muscles and bones gradually strengthen, and basic physical abilities slightly improve; below average → average]

Jiang Lan's eyes widened suddenly, her heart pounded uncontrollably, and the blood in her body seemed to boil at that moment.

It turns out that all his hard work had paid off.

When I see Jiang Hao again the next day, I'm sure he'll look at me in a completely different light!