Qingjian City.
A soft drizzle in April tapped against the glass walls of skyscrapers like silkworms nibbling on mulberry leaves, turning the mirrored buildings into a hazy matte.
Puddles spread across the asphalt road, reflecting a cold, leaden sheen. The red and green of traffic lights bled into the slick street like color blocks melting into a swamp. Under their umbrellas, pedestrians hurried along the bustling street.
Fang Qingyu stood beneath a street sign that read “Jinggong Road.”
The brim of his black umbrella cast a shadow over his eyes as he scanned the heads of passersby, where floating white text hovered above each one—just killing time.
“Didi Driver, part-time bartender at Yelan Bar.”
“Legal consultant, part-time livestreamer.”
“Blockchain developer, part-time kidney broker.”
“Male escort.”
These days, if you weren’t juggling at least one side hustle, survival was a real challenge.
But what people did on the side—you’d never be able to guess.
Rumble—
Thunder echoed across the sky. Fang Qingyu looked up. The weather had been strange lately… Luckily, the person he was waiting for finally arrived.
“Qingzi! Sorry, I’m late!”
A boy with well-defined muscles under his tank top jogged over.
“No worries, I just got here,” Fang Qingyu said with a faint smile.
The boy’s name was Qi Hao.
They were high school classmates. The only thing they had in common after graduation was that neither had gone to college. But Qi Hao had become a full-time student at a martial arts hall, while Fang Qingyu drifted into society.
Fang Qingyu could have given many reasons for failing the college entrance exams—like his naturally poor memory, forgetting everything he memorized by the next day, or the sudden headaches that plagued him.
But as an orphan, none of that mattered. Not getting in was not getting in.
Recently, Qi Hao had learned that Qingyu wanted to start working out, so he arranged to take him to the martial hall where he trained.
“Come on, I’ll show you around first.”
Qi Hao gestured enthusiastically.
Fang Qingyu followed, looking up at the sign overhead.
Morning Breeze Martial Hall.
The name was engraved in bold, traditional characters on a massive plaque. It hung above the entrance with understated grandeur.
What stood out the most was the lack of flashy recruitment posters around. The place felt… clean.
“Cool, huh?” Qi Hao grinned.
The entrance resembled an old manor’s gate. The first thing anyone would see upon entering was a giant screen with a single character carved into it—
武 — Martial.
Fang Qingyu nodded in agreement. Martial halls in this world really were different from what he had imagined.
As they walked past the screen, the sound of rain outside was instantly cut off.
A vast training hall opened up before him—easily the size of two soccer fields. The arched ceiling, seven meters high, was lined with honeycomb-shaped LED lights, casting a moonlight-like glow across the floor.
Dozens of wooden dummies stood in rows, each with a student in black practice clothes in front of it.
Following the coach’s shouts, they struck the dummies in rhythm, their voices sharp and full of energy.
“This is the basics area. If you sign up, this is where you’ll start—foundation training.”
“Looks good, right?” Qi Hao asked, clearly proud.
New students showing this kind of spirit was definitely impressive. But Fang Qingyu said nothing. Instead, he looked at the floating white texts above everyone’s heads.
[Student], [Programmer], [Bank Teller]…
Just regular folks.
Even the coach had the simple title of [Basic Techniques Coach].
The hall looked great. But… it really just seemed like a regular martial arts school.
Fang Qingyu felt a tinge of disappointment.
After all, the enrollment fee was eighteen thousand yuan. That was all the money he had. If it was just an ordinary gym, he might as well work out at home.
“It’s okay. Let’s check out the rest.”
Qi Hao sensed his hesitation and quickly pulled him toward another area.
He was one of the few who truly knew about Fang Qingyu’s memory issues and bouts of illness. He had once tried teaching him some basic moves, and to his surprise, Qingyu had picked them up with astonishing speed.
Sure, sometimes he forgot the next day—but martial arts, once practiced enough, carved themselves into muscle memory. They didn’t need a perfect mind.
That’s why Qi Hao was so eager to bring him here.
“This is the weapons area. Once you’re done with the basics, you can choose between learning hand-to-hand combat or weapons. I chose hand-to-hand.”
Weapons of all kinds were arrayed on metal racks fanned out in a semicircle, gleaming coldly under the lights. All were unsharpened, made of steel.
A female coach was demonstrating the use of a nine-section whip, guiding her students with stern precision.
“How many times do I have to tell you? Three fingers tight, two fingers loose—that’s how you absorb impact!”
“She’s Coach Zheng from the advanced class,” Qi Hao said. “She’s incredible—teaches both weapons and fist techniques. I can’t beat her at all.”
Fang Qingyu glanced at their builds in surprise.
Unless Qi Hao was exaggerating, this coach really might be something.
But not extraordinary.
From the weapons area to the sparring floor, all the students and coaches looked average in terms of their labels.
Weapon Coach. Combat Instructor.
Probably decent fighters.
But not worth spending every last yuan of his savings.
“I’ll think about it,” he said.
The space was big, sure—but there weren’t many people. He could take it all in with a glance.
“Alright. Just… think about it, Qingzi. I really believe you’ve got talent,” Qi Hao said, clearly disappointed.
Fang Qingyu nodded seriously. “I will.”
Though in truth, he only would if his finances allowed in the future.
Qi Hao walked him to the entrance, where a mother and son were standing, seemingly also considering signing up.
“What do you think, son? Want to check it out? You love martial arts novels, right? This could be good for your health too.”
Fang Qingyu glanced at them, ready to say goodbye.
Just then, a middle-aged man walked through the door.
Qi Hao immediately straightened and bowed.
“Coach Lin!”
Coach Lin nodded faintly and walked past without stopping.
But just before he entered, he gave Fang Qingyu a glance.
In that instant, Qingyu’s skin broke into goosebumps.
It was like standing with his back to a cliff—and that man had the power to push him off with a single thought.
“Who… is he?” Qingyu asked slowly.
“That’s Coach Lin,” Qi Hao whispered. “Elite class instructor. Super strong! I saw him kick a 200-pound dummy seven or eight meters once…”
Qi Hao had nearly given up hope, but hearing Qingyu speak again made him perk up.
Coincidentally, nearby, the mother was still arguing with her child—
“Martial arts? Not even—”
“TRAIN!”
Suddenly, Fang Qingyu turned and pulled Qi Hao back inside.
“I want to learn. Sign me up.”
Qi Hao blinked.
He had no idea what changed, but Qingyu had made up his mind.
“You won’t regret this.”
He led him to the front desk.
Eighteen thousand yuan.
Almost everything Fang Qingyu had.
Only left in his account.
But no—he wouldn’t regret it.