Fourth-Rank Martial Artist

When he returned to the East City Office, the people in the lobby caught a whiff of him and immediately cleared a path.

Couldn't blame them.

Mud, blood, and stagnant water from the reeds were smeared all over him. He stank wherever he went.

A guy waiting to pick up a job covered his nose and shuffled three steps aside, muttering, "Fuck."

Li Zhengyang walked to the front desk and dumped twelve tail stingers onto the counter with a clatter.

Liu Ting took half a step back.

"D017. Twelve of them. All cleared."

Liu Ting counted the stingers with the tip of her pen, entered them into the system, then looked up at him. Pinching her nose, she said, "Sixty thousand. Transfer it to your card?"

"Sure."

The money arrived.

After leaving the office, Li Zhengyang spotted a sporting goods store diagonally across the street. He went in and came out three minutes later carrying a bag of clothes.

A black quick-dry T-shirt, track pants, and running shoes. Three hundred and twenty yuan in total.

Then he hailed a cab and headed to the Dragon Spring Bath in the north of the city.

Dragon Spring Bath was the old-fashioned kind of bathhouse. Twenty yuan for the main hall, sixty for a private room.

Li Zhengyang paid sixty yuan for a private room and locked the door behind him.

The small cubicle had a showerhead, a plastic stool, and a foggy mirror on the wall.

He did not wash up right away.

First, he took out his phone and did the math.

The task reward was sixty thousand. The cash stripped off the four robbers added up to just over a hundred thousand.

Plus the little bit he had left over from before.

In total, he had roughly a hundred and seventy thousand yuan available.

After subtracting the clothes, bath, and transportation costs, he had a hundred and sixty-eight thousand left.

Li Zhengyang did not hesitate for even a second. He topped up all of it.

Save money? Save my ass.

The fist of a Fourth-Rank Martial Artist was the toughest rice bowl there was.

The System Interface lit up. Amount entered: 168000.

Confirm.

[Top-up successful!]

[Top-up amount: ￥168000]

[Blood-Qi Value gained: +1680]

[Current Blood-Qi Value: 4128]

[Blood-Qi Value has exceeded the threshold]

[Realm breakthrough: Rank-Two Martial Master → Fourth-Rank Martial Artist!]

He had jumped two ranks at once.

His spine exploded first.

This time was twice as brutal as last time.

Breaking from a Martial Warrior into a Martial Master had already been agonizing enough. This time, he was breaking through two ranks at once. Blood Qi rampaged through his meridians, his bones crackled in rapid succession, and his internal organs were repeatedly washed by Blood Qi.

Li Zhengyang sprang off the stool, biting down on his tongue as he endured the excruciating pain.

It lasted five minutes.

Then the impurities came. Black grease seeped from his pores, thick enough to stretch into strings, its stench rushing straight to his head.

Li Zhengyang climbed to his feet, turned on the shower, and rinsed himself from head to toe.

After washing for half an hour, he dried himself and put on his new clothes.

Fourth-Rank Martial Artist.

Three days ago, he had still been a Martial Disciple. His teacher had suggested that he become a massage therapist after graduation.

Three days later, he was a Fourth-Rank Martial Artist.

Even the strongest teacher in the entire Martial Arts Junior College was not much stronger than him.

Li Zhengyang twisted his wrists, and his joints cracked in a string of pops.

Carrying his spear, he left the bathhouse and headed home.

After breaking through two ranks, his body needed rest to stabilize his realm.

When he reached the bottom of his apartment complex, still more than twenty meters from his building entrance, he saw them.

Three men were squatting by the door.

Cigarette butts littered the ground, along with four or five empty water bottles.

One glance was enough to tell that all three had trained.

"Fuck, let me say it again. I got here at nine this morning. What time is it now?"

The fat man in the floral shirt slapped his thigh. "Ten hours. Ten damn hours squatting here waiting for a poor student. I didn't wait this long last year when collecting an eight-hundred-thousand debt."

The tall, skinny guy beside him had a cigarette hanging from his mouth. He weakly shot back, "Whose fault is it for not bringing a little stool?"

"I came to collect a debt, not to fish!"

The tall, skinny man flicked away his cigarette butt and shifted to squat on his other leg. "You think the kid really ran away? If a debtor skips town, how are we supposed to find him?"

The fat man bared his teeth. "He can't run. His household registration and school records are both here. If he doesn't show today, we'll block him at the school gate tomorrow."

"What if he did?"

"What if my ass? If he ran, we'll dock it from your pay."

The two were bickering when the man leaning against the wall spoke.

"Shut up."

He was in his thirties, wearing a dark jacket with his hands in his pockets. He had barely said a word from beginning to end.

The short, fat man and the tall, skinny man instantly fell silent.

Qian Long, a Third-Rank Martial Master.

At the company, he specialized in collection jobs.

No one knew what the company had been thinking when they sent him today and even told him to bring two more people.

A student who owed money, and they had dispatched a Third-Rank Martial Master.

Brother Qian himself thought it was absurd, but an order was an order. So he came.

"He's here."

Qian Long said only two words.

The fat man and the tall, skinny man turned their heads at the same time.

Under the streetlamp, a young man was walking toward them with a spear in hand.

Black T-shirt, track pants, running shoes, and a silver-white spear slung across his back. He looked nothing like the poor student in the file who wore a faded school uniform.

"Li Zhengyang?" The fat man stood up and called his name.

"That's me. What is it?"

"You haven't forgotten your Speedy Loan Treasure debt, have you? A ten-thousand-yuan loan, four days overdue. Principal and interest come to twelve thousand."

Li Zhengyang nodded, looking understanding, then patted down his pockets.

Left pocket.

Right pocket.

He checked both. Empty.

"See? I really don't have any money in my pockets."

The patience on the fat man's face was nearly gone. "Cut the crap. Bank card is fine. Transfer is fine."

"Then I have even less of that." Li Zhengyang spread his hands innocently.

The tall, skinny man stepped forward. "Brother, debts must be repaid. That's only natural. If you don't cough up the money today, don't even think about entering that door."

Qian Long said nothing. He just stood in the back and watched.

Li Zhengyang sighed and scratched the back of his head.

"Fine. Let's be straightforward."

"Go on."

"That money was from selling my photos. Why should I pay it back?"

The fat man said, "...What?"

"Put another way, I borrowed the money with my own ability. If you have the ability, come collect it."

Silence hung in the air for two seconds.

Brother Qian moved.

One punch, aimed straight at Li Zhengyang's temple.

As a Third-Rank Martial Master, his attack was both precise and fast.

If that punch landed solidly, a First-Grade Martial Master would pass out on the spot. Even a Rank-Two Martial Master would be down for half a minute.

Li Zhengyang tilted his head slightly.

The fist wind grazed past his ear.

Brother Qian's pupils contracted.

A Third-Rank Martial Master's full-force punch, and the other guy had only tilted his head?

The fat man did not think that far. He charged in and attacked.

A First-Grade Martial Master, his fist slammed into Li Zhengyang's chest.

The fist struck Li Zhengyang's Body-Protecting Astral Energy.

The fat man's wrist bone snapped.

Before he could even open his mouth to scream in pain, a slap smashed across his face.

Smack.

The fat man flew more than two meters, spitting out two bloody teeth.

The tall, skinny man had already pulled out a dagger.

It was useless.

A kick struck his wrist, sending the dagger flying.

Then an elbow smashed into the back of his neck. The tall, skinny man rolled his eyes and collapsed onto the ground.

Three seconds from start to finish.

Two First-Grade Martial Masters had been taken out.

Qian Long took two steps back.

He stared at Li Zhengyang for three seconds, his mind racing.

One slap had sent a First-Grade Martial Master flying, plus that dodging speed from before.

At least Fourth-Rank.

A Fourth-Rank Martial Artist.

Barely over twenty, a junior college student, and already a Fourth-Rank Martial Artist.

He had run into this while collecting a debt?

"Brother," Qian Long said with a very sincere smile, "it's a misunderstanding. Pure misunderstanding."

"No misunderstanding." Li Zhengyang planted his spear on the ground.

"This can be discussed..."

"No need to discuss it." Li Zhengyang looked at him. "I have a proposal. Hear me out."

Brother Qian forced himself to say, "Go ahead."

"Give me another loan."

Brother Qian's smile froze on his face.

The fat man pushed himself halfway up from beside the flower bed. His mouth full of blood, he was just about to speak.

Li Zhengyang glanced at him.

The fat man shut up.

"One hundred thousand." Li Zhengyang raised one finger. "Any terms are fine. Upfront interest, compound interest, whatever your nastiest terms are. I'll sign it all."

"Consider it a boost to your performance."

Qian Long had been doing collections for over ten years and had seen every kind of person. But someone who, after being beaten over a debt, turned around and asked for another loan? This was his first time seeing one.

"Brother, are you serious?"

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

Brother Qian fell silent for ten seconds.

Honestly, if they lent out one hundred thousand, this kid probably would not repay it.

But this kid was only in his early twenties and already a Fourth-Rank Martial Artist. He was someone Qian Long simply could not afford to provoke.

Besides, he was just an employee. The money being lent was the company's money anyway. Why risk his life over it?

"Wait here."

Brother Qian took out his phone, walked aside, dialed a number, and muttered into it for five minutes.

When he came back, his expression was rather strange.

"They agreed. One hundred thousand. You receive seventy thousand, with thirty thousand deducted as upfront interest. Daily interest is 2.5%, with compound interest for overdue payments. The loan will be issued today."

"Transfer it."

Two minutes later, his phone rang.

Seventy thousand had arrived.

The tall, skinny man helped the fat man out of the apartment complex. When they passed Li Zhengyang, they noticeably quickened their pace.

After walking twenty meters, the fat man turned back and asked, "Brother Qian, can we get this money back?"

Brother Qian didn't answer.

Li Zhengyang went upstairs, entered his room, and locked the door behind him.

Current Blood Qi: 4,128.

Bank card balance: 70,000.

He stared at the ceiling, the corner of his mouth curling upward.

Seventy thousand.

If he put it in, that would be seven hundred points—just one point short of becoming a Fifth-Rank Martial Artist.

Just then, a call came in.

Li Zhengyang saw it was from Director Wang and casually answered.

"Li Zhengyang, tomorrow is this week's test. Don't forget."