A crisp sound echoed through the air again, as if an axe had struck down in the darkness. 【兵形三式】—Axe Form.

With knees slightly bent and waist powering a sharp lift, his body sprang like a coil, arms swinging apart in tandem. Two sharp gusts of wind howled through the air. 【兵形三式】—Blade Form.

This was the basic combat technique taught at Nanying Academy—【兵形三式】, not even qualifying as the lowest first rank. William Clark had practiced this technique for three years, only barely reaching the level of basic proficiency.

He practiced 【兵形三式】 over and over, until sweat soaked through his clothes and his body could no longer hold out. Only then did William Clark collapse to the ground, gasping for breath. “Damn it, after three years I’m still stuck at ‘basic proficiency’? Am I really this untalented?”

The foundation for becoming a martial artist was first to temper the body—the body is the vessel for inner energy. Only after completing body tempering could one begin to sense and comprehend qi, and thus refine the body and gather energy to become a first-level martial artist.

In terms of aptitude, William Clark’s martial talent was average, but he shouldn’t have taken until age sixteen to finish body tempering. The key reason was that William Clark had always been easily distracted since childhood, never able to focus on anything for more than five minutes.

His best friend Henry Wood had given this problem a vivid name—Five-Minute Attention Span Syndrome.

To practice any martial technique, calming the mind and clearing distractions was fundamental. Without the ability to concentrate, progress in martial arts would be as slow as a snail’s crawl. At age eight, he first encountered an adult film, and to his surprise, watching such movies, in the surge of primal desire, allowed him to quickly enter a state of mental clarity. This discovery was what finally improved William Clark’s training.

But it was only a slight improvement; compared to the average person’s training speed, he merely went from a snail’s pace to a turtle’s crawl. After that, a string of notorious rumors about William Clark began to spread.

Watching adult films in martial arts class—for the sake of training, of course; peeking at women’s underwear—that was a negative side effect left over from eight years of “resistance”; as for sleeping with his eyes open, his attention was so easily scattered that he’d quickly drift off.

“I’m as pure as a blank sheet of paper.” This was William Clark’s usual self-proclamation.

After sitting dazed on the ground for a while, William Clark stood up and walked to the corner, slowly opening a small wooden box.

“…In April, Year 4313 of the Earth Calendar, flight J7432 to Paradise Star crashed. The specific cause is still under investigation. Of the 4,800 passengers on board, 4,788 have been confirmed dead, 12 are missing…”

“…The cause of the J7432 crash remains unknown. Relevant authorities are actively investigating…”

“…No bodies have been found for the 12 missing passengers. It has been 72 hours since the accident…”

There was nothing else in the small wooden box, only a thick stack of newspapers. Thirteen years ago, the J7324 interstellar flight crashed—his mother was on that flight.

He took a bottle of liquor from his backpack, pulled out the cork, and took a swig. The spicy taste burned down his throat, spreading instantly through his body. With each newspaper he turned, William Clark took another gulp of strong liquor. His eyes quickly reddened, misting over. From childhood to now, he had never seen what his mother looked like—not even a single photo.

His mother, Charles Howard, was one of the twelve missing passengers. Although the chances of survival for missing persons in interstellar crashes were extremely low—

But missing meant there was still hope. Maybe his mother was still alive somewhere. Maybe, one day in the future, she would suddenly appear before him.

Since he was six, William Clark had collected every newspaper about the accident, hoping to find some clue. These newspapers were his only connection to the mother he had never met.

William Clark carefully flipped through the newspapers one by one, muttering to himself, “It’s all that bastard dad’s fault—he got drunk and destroyed all your photos, mom…”

“Mom, don’t blame dad. He didn’t mean to. He works twelve hours of hard labor every day just to support the two of us. He’s had it tough too, so please don’t blame him…”

“These newspapers, too—can’t even print a photo of the missing people. So unprofessional…”

After going through the thick stack of newspapers from start to finish, William Clark slowly organized them. Since he was eight, he knew that to access information about interstellar flight accidents, only high-level martial artists or relevant authorities had such clearance. To further investigate his mother’s whereabouts, he would need to be an even higher-level martial artist.

As for how high, William Clark had no idea. That was a level far beyond his reach.

He silently closed the box. The alcohol hit him, his vision gradually blurred, and William Clark hugged the box tightly, tears sliding from the corners of his eyes.

Mom, do you know? I miss you so much. I really, really miss you.

Dad misses you too…

We—both miss you so much…

In the darkness, a flash of light caught William Clark’s attention.

“What’s that?”

With drunken, blurry eyes, he leaned toward the corner. The wooden wall, rotten with age, had broken open a small hole, and a faint light shone through.

William Clark reached into the hole, groped around, and touched something damp. He pulled it out.

“Huh!” Examining it under the dim light, William Clark exclaimed in surprise, “It’s a seal.”