An hour of climbing had passed, and sweat had long since soaked through the back of Chen Ping’s shirt.

Finally, the massive hall built into the mountainside came into view. Constructed from rough-hewn stone blocks, it loomed over the path.

It was not ornate. In fact, it was rugged, bordering on austere. Its wide doors stood open, exuding an air of stern indifference.

Chen Ping took a deep breath, steadying the rhythm of his lungs after the arduous ascent.

He straightened his miner’s uniform—the only relatively clean set he owned—and stepped inside.

The interior of the hall was cavernous. The floor was paved with polished mountain stone, smooth enough to catch the reflection of the light.

A faint scent lingered in the air. It was similar to sandalwood, but cooler, sharper—a refreshing aroma that invigorated the senses immediately upon entry.

At the far end of the hall, behind a large black wooden desk, sat a middle-aged man in a gray cloth robe.

His face was ordinary, carrying the specific trace of indifference born from a life of long-term comfort and privilege. He was looking down, idly flipping through a book with yellowed pages and tattered, curled edges.

He did not even glance up at Chen Ping’s arrival. It was as if the person entering was merely a stray breeze, insignificant and unworthy of attention.

Chen Ping was accustomed to this.

In the eyes of Immortals, Mortal miners like them probably didn’t even count as ants. They were merely expendables.

He stopped about five paces from the desk, hands hanging naturally at his sides. He gave a slight, respectful bow and spoke in a clear, moderate tone.

“Disciple Chen Ping, permanent laborer from the mine, here to apply for the Manager assessment.”

The finger turning the page paused.

The middle-aged man slowly lifted his eyelids. His eyes were calm and unrippled, like two ancient wells of unfathomable depth. He looked Chen Ping up and down.

“Permanent mine laborer?”

The Manager’s voice was flat, devoid of emotion.

“What is your Physical Strength?”

“Reporting to the Manager, this disciple’s Physical Strength is passable,” Chen Ping replied cautiously, avoiding a specific number.

Of course, strictly speaking, he didn’t actually know his exact limit down to the pound.

The Manager couldn’t be bothered to probe further. He didn’t care in the slightest about how many pounds of strength a permanent laborer possessed.

He casually placed the tattered book on the desk and gestured with his chin toward a corner on the left side of the hall.

Chen Ping followed his gaze.

A solitary object stood there.

It was humanoid in shape, roughly the height of an average man. Its entire body was a dull bluish-gray, made of a material that looked neither like metal nor wood. Its surface was perfectly smooth.

It had no facial features or folds in its “clothing.” It looked as if it had been roughly carved from a single massive piece of peculiarly textured rock.

It stood there silently, cold and hard.

“Go. Hit it with all your strength. Aim for the chest.”

The Manager pointed a lazy finger at the dummy.

Chen Ping obeyed and walked over.

He stood before the bluish-gray dummy, gauging its height. Its chest was at just the right level for a strike.

What material is this?

What will happen when I hit it?

A flicker of doubt crossed his mind, but he suppressed it instantly. A Manager’s order was absolute. He didn’t need to know the why; he only needed to execute the what.

He took a deep breath. Slowly, he began to gather the Physical Strength distributed throughout his body.

Over two thousand pounds of force surged within his muscles and bones—silent, yet immense.

In that instant, intrusive thoughts flashed uncontrollably through his mind.

The suffocating darkness of the mine shaft. Fatty Wang’s greasy, mocking smile. The bitter, astringent juice of the Purifying Grass. The fertile Black Earth within the Jade Pendant space…

And a vision. A vision of Fatty Wang’s fat face contorting in despair, of the man being sliced to pieces inch by inch.

A long-suppressed ferocity violently surged into his heart!

“Hah!”

A suppressed roar burst from deep within his throat. The muscles in Chen Ping’s right arm suddenly bulged, straining tautly against his worn sleeve.

He held nothing back. All his strength erupted from his feet, traveled up through his waist and hips, and finally coalesced into his right fist!

His fist tore through the air with a sharp whistle, smashing fiercely against the cold chest of the bluish-gray dummy.

Thud!

A dull, heavy sound exploded within the empty hall.

A tremendous recoil force traveled back through his fist and arm, numbing Chen Ping’s forearm bones. His blood and Qi churned violently.

He involuntarily took half a step back before steadying himself.

The bluish-gray dummy hadn’t moved an inch. It hadn’t even swayed. It was as if that punch—a blow capable of shaking a two-thousand-pound boulder—had never landed.

Chen Ping felt a chill in his heart. The hardness of this dummy far exceeded his imagination.

The Manager behind the desk finally moved.

He unhurriedly stood up and strolled over. Without looking at Chen Ping, he walked halfway around the dummy and stopped behind it.

Muttering something under his breath in low, indistinct tones, he extended his right hand. His index and middle fingers were pressed together, a faint layer of white light—almost imperceptible—glimmering at their tips.

Like twin swords, he lightly tapped them on an inconspicuous depression on the dummy’s back.

A low hum resonated through the air.

On the smooth chest area where Chen Ping’s fist had struck, ripples slowly spread across the bluish-gray surface like water disturbed by a stone.

Then, four clear numbers composed of soft white light floated up from the center of the ripples.

One Nine Nine Seven!

The Manager looked at those four numbers. The perpetual layer of indifference on his face finally loosened slightly.

He nodded. His tone remained flat, but it carried an extra hint of acknowledgment toward Chen Ping.

“One thousand nine hundred and ninety-seven pounds. Good. That far exceeds the thousand-pound threshold. You have passed.”

He walked back behind his desk, pulled open a drawer, and deftly retrieved two items, tossing them casually onto the surface.

One was a palm-sized wooden token with smooth edges. The front side bore the carved characters for “Manager,” while the back had three smaller characters: “Servant Peak.”

Its grain pattern was clear, the wood dense and hard.

The second item was a set of neatly folded clothing.

The fabric was fine, indigo-dyed cotton cloth, much thicker and more durable than his miner uniform. The stitches were precise, and narrow navy-blue trim edged the collar and cuffs.

Though it was still styled for servants, compared to Chen Ping’s current rags, it was a world apart.

“This is your Identity Token and the Manager disciple uniform.”

The Manager pointed at the items.

“From today onward, you are a Servant Peak Manager disciple. Your monthly stipend is two Low-grade Spirit Stones. Claim them on the fifth day of each month using this token at the peak treasury. Additionally…”

He paused, rummaging deeper within the drawer. He produced a small, wax-sealed brown wooden box and placed it on the table.

“This is an ‘Ox Strength Pill.’ The Sect issues one annually per Manager disciple. It can consolidate your foundation, nourish vitality, and enhance Physical Strength and blood Qi. Use it sparingly. Its efficacy is decent.”

Two Spirit Stones as a monthly stipend! Plus one Pill annually that explicitly increases Physical Strength!

Chen Ping’s heart gave a fierce leap.

This treatment surpassed being a mine drudge by more than a hundredfold.

Suppressing his excitement, he respectfully cupped the token, the clothing, and the small wooden box in both hands.

The token felt heavy and warm. The clothing was soft. The wooden box emitted a faint medicinal fragrance that refreshed his mind.

These were tangible benefits. They were the rewards brought by his strength, the stepping stones for climbing higher.

“My thanks, Manager!”

Chen Ping’s voice held a barely perceptible tremor.

The Manager waved his hand, indicating there was no need for formalities.

He picked up a thin, thread-bound booklet from the desk and handed it over. The cover was made of rough yellow paper, with ink characters scrawled crookedly across the front: Manager Duty Record.

“Take this. It lists the various posts currently lacking Manager disciples. Choose one yourself and report for duty.”

The Manager sat back down and picked up his tattered book again, his tone returning to its former indifference.

“Tell me once you’ve decided.”