Wang Fugui's life in Qingshi Town was more difficult than he imagined. The meanness of the drug store owner and the bullying of the children in the town made him learn tolerance early on - but no one knew that he would secretly remove the bandage from the old wound on his chest every night. There was a black scale as big as a palm embedded there, which was the only "relic" left to him by his parents. The scales always burned when he was injured, but never showed any fluctuations in spiritual power. Even the most knowledgeable old hunter in the town just regarded it as an ordinary animal scale.
Before she died, Aunt Zhang gave him a rusty iron box and said, "Open it only when you can break the bluestone with one punch." Fifteen-year-old Wang Fugui couldn't do it yet, but he would go to the back mountain every morning to practice the "crop handle" taught by Aunt Zhang. His fist would hit the stone, and the blood blisters would burst and swell until the scales were so hot that they could burn through his clothes. Then he would collapse to the ground and gasp for breath while looking at the mist-shrouded Black Wind Mountain.
Intention: Just be happy