Chapter 001: Iron Sand Palm

　　In the south, even in September and October, the weather is still oppressively hot. Especially in the city, the blazing white sun makes the concrete roads shine so brightly they look as if covered with a layer of white salt. The glare is so intense that people can hardly open their eyes. Under this scorching sun, no one dares to go outside.

　　Finally, night falls and the sun sets in the west. Yet the temperature still refuses to drop. The concrete ground, having absorbed heat all day, now releases it, turning the whole city into a giant steamer—hot and stifling, making people feel restless. Not until two or three in the morning does the heat gradually subside, bringing a hint of coolness. But then, it's almost dawn again. All day long, there isn't a single moment of real coolness!

　　It was at this time that James Carter got up. He washed up a bit and checked the fire in the coal stove. Seeing it was still burning, he felt a little relieved.

　　On the stove, a pot was simmering. Lifting the lid, a faint aroma of angelica mixed with the fragrance of chicken soup wafted into his nose. It turned out to be chicken stewed with angelica, plus cordyceps, ginseng slices, and other medicinal herbs to nourish the body. He had set it to cook before going to bed. The fat had already been skimmed off, and after boiling on high heat, even more oil was removed. Now the soup was clear and bright.

　　James Carter tasted a spoonful; the flavor was just right. He served himself a bowl and drank it. Smacking his lips, he felt his stomach settle. He tidied up a bit, changed into his training clothes, and strapped lead weights—over ten jin each—to his arms and legs. Then he picked up a large sack of iron sand, grabbed a bottle of medicinal wine, and a thread-bound book that looked handwritten. Finally, he turned on the air conditioner in the room, feeling the cool air lower the temperature, and only then did he leave the house.

　　At home, James Carter never used the air conditioner while sleeping. He didn't feel hot anyway.

　　At this hour, the stairwell was still pitch dark, but the streetlights outside stayed on all night. A gentle night breeze brushed past, and James Carter exhaled a long breath of turbid air, feeling refreshed. With a burst of energy, he swung the sack of iron sand and walked more than two li.

　　There were still cars coming and going on the road. James Carter dodged them all, took a shortcut between apartment buildings, and headed up the small hill behind.

　　The sack was the kind farmers use to carry grain, and the iron sand was homemade shot for rural hunting rifles. Load it with gunpowder, fill it with iron sand, and when fired, it would scatter everywhere—no need for accurate aim. Ordinary birds and rabbits hit by it would end up riddled like a sieve. Even if only grazed, the iron sand would pierce them, and once chased by hunting dogs, there was no escape.

　　A sack of grain usually weighed fifty or sixty jin, but filled with iron sand, it was several times heavier—about two hundred jin. James Carter carried it in one hand at a brisk pace, not showing the slightest strain.

　　Halfway up the hill, he could faintly see a great river in the distance, dividing the city into two parts: east and west of the river. The east side was the old city, which had existed since before liberation.

　　Now, with peace and prosperity, the country was thriving. High-rise buildings sprang up like bamboo shoots after rain. The city was ablaze with lights, neon signs, and nightlife, dazzling and disorienting. But James Carter had seen even bigger cities and wasn't impressed.

　　This was the west side, newly developed. It used to be a mountain, but now a university town, commercial district, and residential buildings stretched for dozens of li around it. Nestled by the mountains and water, the environment was better than the east side, and land prices had gradually soared. But James Carter paid no attention to such things; he was just an ordinary college student now.

　　If there was anything unusual about him, it was that he had practiced Iron Sand Palm for over ten years.

　　With a clatter, he set the sack down between two large rocks and opened it, revealing coarse black iron sand with a faint herbal scent.

　　First, James Carter took the bottle of medicinal wine and rubbed it on his palms. His hands were covered in thick calluses, the nails worn flat and bare, with calluses even on his fingertips—like an old farmer who had worked the fields all his life. These hands were completely at odds with James Carter's appearance and age.

　　After soaking his hands in the medicinal wine, James Carter rubbed them together vigorously, then began to massage them forcefully. This was a necessary warm-up for practicing Iron Sand Palm. The medicinal wine was a secret recipe, with tiger bone as the key ingredient—excellent for promoting blood circulation, healing injuries, and regenerating skin and muscle.

　　But this ingredient was not only rare, but also expensive. Still, as the saying goes, "the literati are poor, the martial artists are rich"—if you aren't wealthy, why practice martial arts at all?