The Slum District lay beneath a gray veil of morning mist.
Lin Fan warmed up the half-bowl of cold brown rice porridge and brought it to his younger sister. Lin Xiaoyu sipped it in small mouthfuls, a faint smile struggling onto her pale face. "Big brother, you eat too."
"I already ate." Lin Fan lied. The pot was empty, the rice jar was nearly bare, and he hadn't even saved himself any of last night's leftovers.
While his sister drank her porridge, Lin Fan began to take a thorough inventory of this "home."
In the broken wooden chest lay a few old clothes, washed until they'd faded white, with patches upon patches. At the bottom of the chest was a small cloth bundle. He opened it carefully. Inside were two faded photographs: a young couple holding him as a little boy and his sister as a baby, their smiles plain and warm. They were the only images their parents had left behind.
Beside the photographs lay a thin booklet. Its cover read Basic Fist Technique (Popular Edition). The paper was rough, its edges curled. Clearly, the Original Owner had read it countless times. Lin Fan picked up the booklet, and the memory surfaced: three years earlier, while their parents were still alive, they had gritted their teeth and spent 50 Credit Points on it at a secondhand bookstall, hoping their son could change his fate through martial arts.
Under the booklet were several paper Credit Vouchers.
Lin Fan counted them: one worth 100 points, one worth 50, three worth 10, and a few coin-sized metal pieces worth 1 point each.
198 Credit Points in all.
That was everything they owned.
He took a deep breath and carefully tucked the 198 points into his inner pocket. Then he went to the rice jar in the corner, lifted the lid again, and scraped the bottom with a wooden spoon. There really were fewer than two handfuls of brown rice left, mixed with broken grains.
"Xiaoyu, how long will your medicine last?" Lin Fan asked.
Lin Xiaoyu set down her bowl and said softly, "Yesterday... yesterday at noon, I took the last pill. Doctor Wang said I can't go without it for more than three days. Otherwise, the cold qi will rebound, and I'll... I'll be paralyzed."
Her voice grew fainter as she spoke, until it was almost inaudible.
Lin Fan's heart felt as if someone had seized it. Three days. He had only three days to get 5,000 Credit Points.
But what could 198 points do?
From his memories, laborers in the Slum District earned 30 points a day, and that was if they were strong. Cleaning sewers was more dangerous and paid 50 points a day, but there was always the risk of gas poisoning or getting bitten by a mutant rat. Even if he neither ate nor drank, he couldn't earn 150 points in three days.
"Big brother, why don't I... why don't I stop taking the medicine?" Lin Xiaoyu suddenly looked up. Tears welled in her big eyes, but she fought to keep them from falling. "You can focus on training and get into the academy. Then, in the future..."
"Don't talk nonsense." Lin Fan cut her off, his voice a little harsh. "I'll take care of the medicine. You just rest and don't let your mind run wild."
He helped his sister lie down and tucked the thin quilt around her. A hole in one corner exposed the blackened cotton inside. Lin Fan pressed it with his hand. It felt damp and cold. Spring in Jiangnan City was rainy, the shack leaked, and the quilt had been wet for ages.
He had to get money as soon as possible—not just for medicine, but for rice, bedding, and everything else they needed to survive.
Lin Fan walked out of the shack.
Morning had already set the Slum District bustling. Women crouched by the communal faucets, washing clothes. Barefoot children chased one another through the mud, while men shouldered their tools and hurried toward construction sites and warehouses in the Inner City. The air was a jumble of mildew, sweat, and the aroma of cheap food drifting from afar.
Following his memories, Lin Fan headed for the only pharmacy in the Slum District.
The pharmacy stood where the Slum District met the Outer City. It was a two-story concrete building, its façade drab, but already quite "grand" by the standards of this shantytown. The sign read "Wang's Pharmacy," its lettering mottled and worn.
He pushed open the door, and the heavy smell of Chinese herbs hit him.
Behind the counter stood a shop assistant in his early twenties, wearing a blue cotton shirt washed nearly white. He was looking down and fiddling with an old calculator. When he heard the door, he glanced up at Lin Fan, let his eyes sweep over Lin Fan's faded clothes, then lowered them again and asked lazily, "What do you want?"
"Excuse me, how much does a Lung Cleansing Pill cost?" Lin Fan walked up to the counter.
The assistant didn't even look up. "5,000."
"Could... could you make it cheaper? Or is there a cheaper medicine that can temporarily suppress the cold qi?" Lin Fan asked.
Only then did the assistant look up. He sized Lin Fan up, then curled his lip. "Cheaper? Lung Cleansing Pills are standard medicine made by the Alliance pharmaceutical factory. The price is fixed. Think it's too expensive? There's a pile of herbal packets over there, 50 points each. Boil one and drink it, and it'll keep you from coughing for half a day. But Doctor Wang said your sister's illness is congenital lung cold. Herbal packets treat the symptoms, not the root cause. Drink too many and you'll damage your stomach."
Lin Fan followed the assistant's gesture. In the corner lay bundles of dried herbs tied with straw rope.
"Is there... no chance of paying in installments or buying on credit?" Lin Fan's voice was dry. "My sister has run out of medicine. She has to take the pill within three days, or else..."
"Credit?" The assistant seemed to have heard a joke and gave a derisive snort. "Kid, do you know how many people ask for credit every day? If everyone bought on credit, this shop would've closed long ago. 5,000 points, not a point less. No money? Go to the Inner City and sell your blood or organs. Or take your chances beyond the city walls—kill a few 1st Tier Demonic Beasts and sell their cores."
He spoke casually, but his eyes held undisguised contempt.
Lin Fan clenched the 198 points in his pocket. His nails dug into his palm, the sting keeping him clearheaded.
"Then... if I get a Demonic Core, will you buy it?" he asked.
The assistant raised an eyebrow. "Sure. A First-order Demonic Core goes for 100 points at market price, a second-order one for 500, and a third-order one for 2,000. But you?" He looked Lin Fan's thin frame over again. "Kid, don't say I didn't warn you. The Demonic Beasts outside the city aren't cats and dogs you keep at home. Last month, seven hotheads from the Slum District went out. Only two came back, and both were missing limbs. You're so desperate for money you've lost your mind, huh?"
Lin Fan said nothing.
He turned and left the pharmacy. As the door closed behind him, he heard the assistant mutter, "A pauper dreaming of buying Lung Cleansing Pills..."
The sunlight was blinding.
Lin Fan stood outside the pharmacy, watching the bustling crowds on the street. Vegetable sellers, workers rushing to their jobs, elderly beggars, children chasing and playing... Everyone struggled to survive, each in their own way.
5,000 points.
It was a mountain pressing down on the shoulders of a sixteen-year-old boy.
He touched the 198 points in his inner pocket, then pictured his sister's pale little face and those trusting eyes.
He couldn't give up.
Even without a system, even with nothing but this malnourished body and 198 points, he had to find a way forward.
Lin Fan raised his head and looked into the distance. Beyond the Slum District's low shacks, he could see the towering walls of the Inner City, and farther still, the distinctive pointed belfry of Jiangnan Martial Arts Academy.
The entrance exam was a month away.
If he could get in, the academy would provide basic room and board. He'd also have the chance to take on missions, earn Academic Credits, and exchange them for resources. But first, he had to survive this month—and keep his sister alive for the next three days.
"Demonic Cores..." Lin Fan murmured.
In the Original Owner's memories, all he knew about Demonic Beasts was hearsay. A 1st Tier Demonic Beast was equivalent to a first-grade Martial Disciple, but Demonic Beasts were naturally built like tanks. When they were of the same tier, human Martial Artists often needed to work in groups to hunt them. The Wilderness outside the city was full of dangers. Besides Demonic Beasts, there were mutant plants, poisonous mists, and other hunters with ill intentions.
The risk was enormous.
But so was the reward: one First-order Demonic Core was worth 100 points. If he could hunt five beasts and sell their materials too, he might scrape together 5,000 points.
That was, if he could come back alive and successfully hunt them.
Lin Fan took a deep breath and turned toward home. His steps felt heavier than before, but a glimmer of resolve gradually gathered in his eyes.
Passing an alley, he saw a few teenage boys gathered around an open patch of ground, practicing their punches and kicks. Their movements were clumsy, but they trained earnestly. After finishing a set, one boy panted with exhaustion and said to his companions, "I'm beat... But if I train for another month, maybe I'll pass the academy's strength test."
"Give it a rest. You can't even hit 300 catties."
"What if I do? If I get in, I can eat and live there for free, and I might even become a Martial Artist..."
Lin Fan stopped and watched the boys.
He thought of the Basic Fist Technique booklet in the chest.
The Original Owner had trained for two years and only reached the entry level. But Lin Fan now had the mind of a man who had lived two lives. Maybe... he could train better?
More importantly, if the system text he'd glimpsed hadn't been an illusion...
Lin Fan quickened his pace, almost running back to the shack.
Lin Xiaoyu had fallen asleep, her brow slightly furrowed, as if she couldn't rest easy even in her dreams.
Lin Fan gently took the Basic Fist Technique booklet from the wooden chest and sat cross-legged on the straw mat, turning its pages one by one in the light coming through the broken window.
The booklet was thin, barely more than a dozen pages. The first part contained crude diagrams of the body's meridians and key points for generating force. The rest broke down twelve basic punches: Charge Punch, Swing Punch, Hook Punch, Burst Punch... Each move came with a rough illustration and a few lines of instruction.
In the Original Owner's memories, these moves were already familiar. But now Lin Fan looked at them again with a programmer's logic and saw plenty of details that could be optimized: the angle of force, the rhythm of breathing, the coordination of the muscles...
"If the system really exists," Lin Fan said, closing the booklet and shutting his eyes, "then it should respond to me."
He focused, imagining a panel appearing before him, like the attribute screen in a game.
One second, two seconds, three seconds.
Nothing.
Lin Fan opened his eyes and smiled bitterly. Maybe it really had been an illusion. Maybe the shock of crossing into another world hadn't fully worn off.
But just as he was about to give up—
A line of extremely faint, almost transparent text suddenly flashed before his eyes:
[Martial Arts Panel loading... Current progress: 1%...]
The text vanished in a flash, so quickly it might have been a trick of the eye.
Lin Fan sat bolt upright, his heart pounding.
It wasn't an illusion.
It really existed. It was just loading, or perhaps... waiting for some trigger?
Lin Fan looked at the fist technique booklet in his hand, then at his own hands, which belonged to a sixteen-year-old boy.
A thought crystallized in his mind: no matter when the system fully activated, he couldn't just sit around waiting. Every second of these three days was precious.
If the Original Owner had managed to train the Basic Fist Technique to the entry level through sheer practice, then Lin Fan—with an adult's willpower and the ability to analyze things logically—had no reason not to do better.
Even without the system, he would carve out a path to survival through his own efforts.
Lin Fan stood and went to the narrow patch of open ground outside the shack.
He settled into a Boxing Stance and slowly thrust out the first move in the booklet: "Charge Punch."
His movements were awkward, his punches weak.
But he didn't stop. He drew his fist back and thrust it out again.
Again and again.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his arm began to ache.
Gritting his teeth, Lin Fan counted silently: one, two, three... ten... twenty...
He didn't know how many times he'd need to practice before it paid off. He didn't know if this Basic Fist Technique could make him strong enough to hunt Demonic Beasts within three days. He didn't even know if he and his sister could make it through the month.
But he knew that if he stopped now, he'd truly have nothing left.
"One more time."
The boy's low voice was faint but firm against the noisy backdrop of the Slum District.
In the distance, the bell of Jiangnan Martial Arts Academy rang out again, long and solemn, as if heralding the dawn of a new era. But at that moment, no one knew what kind of upheaval the boy throwing punches in front of the dilapidated shack would unleash.
Before you continue