Chen Ping'an calmly waited for things in Stork Inn. After leaving the Sword Qi Great Wall where no Dao existed, practicing his fist techniques became much easier in comparison. Before he knew it, he finished throwing the final 8000 punches.3

On this day, Chen Ping'an finished performing walking meditation and quietly sat beside the table. He retrieved an adorable little bamboo slip that was emerald green and quite different from the other bamboo slips. There weren't any beautiful lines of poetry inscribed on the bamboo slip; instead, it was used by Chen Ping'an to record his progress. When he reached 100,000 punches, 200,000 punches, 500,000 punches, and so on — everything was roughly recorded on the bamboo slip.3

Chen Ping'an extended a finger and lightly ran it over all of the inscriptions on the bamboo slip. Occasionally, he would come across inscriptions that recorded several hundred or a thousand punches. These often corresponded to the periods when Chen Ping'an was feeling the most upset or frustrated. 0

For example, when he had parted with Mr. Qi outside the old and rundown temple, the period after experiencing the great calamity on Osmanthus Island, and so on. There were many moments that were unknown to other people as well. To put things simply, Chen Ping'an wouldn't count his punches toward his goal of one million during these times of unease, no matter how many times he completed walking meditation.2

Just like that, he reached one million punches.1

Nothing special happened. He was still at the fourth tier, and he was still Chen Ping'an.3

Chen Ping'an put the bamboo slip away, allowing this old soldier to shed its armor and go into retirement. He then selected a brand new slip made from bamboo from the Azure Divine Mountain. He planned to record his next million punches on this one.7

Rays of sunshine slipped into his room like a bunch of little children who didn't like to speak. After getting tired, they would lazily lie down on his table, the floor, and even his shoulder.1

Chen Ping'an quietly sat there and didn't think about anything. Or perhaps he was thinking about things that he didn't need to remember. This was also quite good.0

There was the familiar sound of knocking, waking Chen Ping'an up from his daydream. He didn't ask who it was this time. Chen Ping'an clearly remembered everything about the sword immortal guarding the gate in Stalactite Mountain, from his tone, expressions, sword intent, and so on. 0

In fact, Chen Ping'an even remembered seemingly unimportant details like the strength and pattern of the middle-aged man's knocking. When traveling outside, caution was the key to staying alive. The importance of caution was no lesser than the importance of practicing fist techniques.1

Chen Ping'an directly stood up and walked over to open the door. Sure enough, it was that middle-aged sword immortal who liked to nod off during the day. 0

He entered the room and placed a thin and flexible golden rope on the table before smiling and saying, "This is a demon-binding chain forged from the golden whiskers of the old flood dragon. It's a genuine immortal treasure. I asked a powerful cultivator from the Daoist Sect's...0