C1 Training Partner

It was September, and the chill of autumn hung heavy in the air.

In the Lin family's drafty wooden house within Omynabel City of the Bidia Empire, Meng Yang awoke with a silly smile, as he did every morning. He was about to roll over and check his phone by the pillow when a sudden, sharp pain in his arm snapped his eyes open.

Lying in bed, he found his body immobilized, tightly swathed in layers of gauze. The floor reeked of blood and mildew, and he could even spot a pool of dried blood.

"Where am I? What kind of nightmare is this? I've got to get out of here!"

A flurry of questions raced through Meng Yang's mind as he turned his head, only to be met with another shock. The cramped room was also occupied by three strangers. One was deeply asleep, another was grinding their teeth and snoring, and a third figure was wrapped in blood-soaked bandages, secured to a cross-shaped bed frame, their bloodshot eyes fixed lifelessly on the ceiling.

"Are dreams really this vivid when you're under a lot of stress?" Meng Yang's heart pounded in his chest, his expression one of utter bewilderment.

As he attempted to shift his body, the closed door was suddenly kicked open with a loud "Bang!" The noise startled not only Meng Yang but also the other two awake individuals in the room. The bandaged figure, however, remained motionless.

"What do you want? Please, no..."

Meng Yang's eyes widened in terror, but before he could make sense of the situation, two armored figures burst in, pinning his head and legs down. A middle-aged man with a goatee, dressed in silk, followed them in. He approached Meng Yang's bedside, eyeing him curiously before extending a hand to poke at Meng Yang's tough, burn-scarred skin. The man grinned, revealing yellowed teeth, and nodded in approval.

"He's healing nicely. Let's see how well he's recovered."

Then, three elderly men dressed like servants entered the room. One of them, ignoring Meng Yang's protests, forcefully poured a bowl of porridge down his throat. The other two, armed with scissors, began to snip away at the bandages encasing Meng Yang's body.

The ordeal was both painful and irritating for Meng Yang.

"Get him sorted out, explain the Lin family rules to him, and then take him to the training ground," the middle-aged man with a goatee commanded before leaving the room.

Meng Yang looked at his chest, the skin rough as if scraped by a wire brush, and felt a turmoil of emotions within.

Just then, he heard the guard's cold snort.

"Training partners should speak little, ask less, and keep their eyes to themselves. Since you've willingly accepted this, your life is now the Lin family's. Understand?"

Understand my foot. I just took a nap, and now my life is the Lin family's? You must be joking.

And what on earth is a training partner, anyway?

Meng Yang sat on the bed, looking dazed and silent, fixated on his own body.

The towering guard's expression grew stern. Ignoring Meng Yang's struggles, he hauled him out as easily as one would carry a chicken.

Stepping out the door, Meng Yang's gaze was one of shock and disbelief as he staggered in pain.

Outside the tranquil stone courtyard, over forty individuals clad in training partner garb stood in line.

Their eyes were empty, their faces etched with despair. They stood silent, heads bowed, looking at their feet, their expressions reminiscent of soldiers headed to battle.

"Get in line!" the guard barked once more.

Meng Yang, with a complex look, gazed at the distant pavilions and silently joined the queue.

After six others were brought out from different rooms, the escorted group of dozens proceeded to the training ground.

Arriving there, Meng Yang was astonished to see the vast expanse of the square, seemingly endless at first glance.

The square was divided into numerous sections, each housing a hundred training platforms over five meters in radius.

Standing at the center of a platform, Meng Yang realized that the training partners were nothing more than human punching bags, bought by wealthy families.

They were expendable, at risk of being beaten to death at any moment.

Their sole worth before death was to use their bodies to aid the Lin family's core disciples in advancing their martial arts skills.

"Great, when other people get transported to another world, they become either the useless scions of noble families or princes."

"Me? I get to be the one who's beaten up, and not just once—I'm apparently scheduled for regular beatings. Talk about a streak of bad luck that spans eight generations."

Meng Yang managed a wry laugh as a sudden pain shot through his head.

It was as if a switch had been flipped, causing his vision to blur.

Memories flickered across his mind like scenes from a movie.

"The original owner's memories!" Meng Yang sighed in despair a moment later.

Once the memories had integrated, he realized that the body he now inhabited also belonged to someone named Meng Yang.

To treat his gravely ill sister, he had sold himself to the Lin family to serve as a training partner.

Eventually, after being insulted as a mongrel by a core disciple of the Lin family, he talked back in anger, which led to him being tied to a post and beaten to within an inch of his life.

He was dragged into a room and not long after, he died, which is when Meng Yang's soul transmigrated into his body.

"You're up."

At that moment, a delicate-looking youth, about fifteen years old and dressed in white, stepped onto the platform.

His piercing eyes, sharp as hidden blades, swept over Meng Yang, who was trying to make himself small.

With a flick of his finger, Meng Yang, already on edge, felt a chill run through his entire body, causing him to shiver uncontrollably.

"Come with me to sparring platform seven."

Meng Yang, teeth clenched, caught sight of the guard next to him wielding a large cleaver. Steeling himself, he followed.

Meng Yang didn't want to go, but he didn't want to die either. Having assimilated the memories, he was acutely aware of the world's harshness and the dire consequences of refusal.

"Don't worry. I've only just begun to learn the Mystic Moon Ghost Thunder battle technique, and I'm still practicing the finger movements at this early stage, so it's not very lethal."

"Your flesh puppet body should be more than capable of taking it."

Upon reaching sparring platform seven, the youth looked Meng Yang over and spoke with a chilling bluntness.

Meng Yang's face twisted into another grimace of a smile, inwardly scoffing at the youth's assurance.

Given his current state, even if the youth's finger technique was non-lethal, he doubted he'd make it through the sparring session intact.

The guard had informed them that each Lin family training session lasted a full three hours. Furthermore, from what he understood, this world was filled with bizarre and perilous dangers. Any ordinary person who underwent Blood to Spirit Transmutation could be considered a cultivator. With just a few skills under their belt, the mere presence of a cultivator, exuding the force of their surging blood, was more than any regular person could handle. If someone were to be killed during the session, the matter would only be addressed after the training was complete.

Was he expected to block an attack with a hammer? After limbering up, the young man's finger shot out like lightning towards Meng Yang's chest. Meng Yang looked down at the finger pressing against him, his face turning the color of ash.

"Forget it, if I'm to die, then so be it. Perhaps it's better to end this life sooner rather than later," he thought.

"In twenty years, I, Meng Yang, will still be a brave man."

With those words, Meng Yang closed his eyes, ready to face his demise. However, instead of pain, the young man's touch brought a mysterious comfort. It was like his chilled body was suddenly bathed in warm sunlight, the warmth coursing through his body, sweeping through his eight extra-channels, and invigorating every limb and bone.

Simultaneously, a series of numbers appeared in his right pupil, numbers so astonishing they left him utterly speechless.

Flesh Puppet Skill: Withstand one attack, proficiency increased by 1.

Current proficiency (1/10000).

Before Meng Yang could even process what had happened, the youth's second finger was already pressing against him. Then, the numbers in his vision leaped once more.

Flesh Puppet Skill: Withstand another attack, proficiency increased by 1.

Current proficiency (2/10000).