Traditional martial arts weren't for show

That night, Qin Fen remained as carefree as ever. A born optimist could find enthusiasm for anything. As for the Heavenly Court, it had no jurisdiction over him, and the Buddhist School was even more helpless. He really hadn't done it on purpose.

When he woke up, the sky was still murky. Capital City's weather could make a man feel worse than a dog.

After washing up, he took Little Bean downstairs. The little rascal had already been pacing anxiously around the room. If the dog hadn't played dead, he wouldn't even have been allowed inside.

Qin Fen glanced at Shorty and knew the dog couldn't hold it any longer. Whether his kidneys were really that healthy was debatable. This was clearly frequent urination.

Carrying the motionless "dead dog," Chef Qin headed downstairs through the hotel. The lobby attendant stared in bewilderment, scratching his forehead. There really were all kinds of weirdos in the world. Today, he'd actually seen someone taking a toy for a walk.

Walking down the street, Qin Fen felt a little lost. Everywhere he looked seemed much the same. In this enormous Capital City, he didn't know a single person, let alone any familiar streets.

He set down the desperately impatient Little Bean and gave the dog a warning look: he couldn't go claiming territory wherever he pleased here. If one of those aunties with red armbands caught him, he was done for.

Music reached his ears, all too familiar: Phoenix Legend and "Little Apple." Those damned square dances.

Following the sound, Qin Fen arrived at the foot of a building, where the place was already packed. Quite a few stalls nearby sold breakfast, but after looking at the fried dough rings and other offerings, he wasn't sure whether they'd taste good. He decided to get