The Beginning

Great Xia, Yangtze River Delta Region, East Lake City.

The sky was gray, the cold wind howled, and fine rain drifted down.

At the city gate on the west side of town.

A black metal gate divided the city from the wilderness. Soldiers in green uniforms checked the identification of everyone entering and leaving.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

A green off-road vehicle came from the distance, honking all the way. It barely slowed as it passed through the gate, and the soldiers on duty let it through without question.

An eagle with outstretched wings was painted on its side.

It was the emblem of the Zheng Family, one of East Lake City's seven great martial artist families. In this age of invasion by another world, such families were like the nobility of old: they controlled their own territories and enjoyed immense privileges.

Pedestrians hurried out of its way. Some were splashed with muddy water when they failed to move in time, but even after the vehicle disappeared from sight, no one dared complain.

In an urban village on the east side of town.

A courtyard stood much larger than the surrounding houses. Above its main entrance hung a sign reading "Praying Mantis Snake Sword Academy."

This was the academy's east-side branch. New students practiced here; only those the master chose as core disciples could train at headquarters in the city center.

The Praying Mantis Snake Sword Academy was renowned in East Lake City, one of thirteen martial arts schools with a martial artist at the helm.

Its master, Wan Rong, was formidable even among martial artists. With the sword in his hand, he had once defeated three opponents of his own rank in succession.

Now the sounds of forceful exhalation rose from the courtyard.

"Ha!"

"Ha!"

A group of youths in loose white training clothes followed a young man in black, practicing swordsmanship by imitating the murals on the surrounding walls.

They began with the standard opening stance of Mantis Snake Swordsmanship, settling their minds and finding the rhythm. Then they leaped up and slashed or thrust at wooden posts several meters away, shifting abruptly from stillness to swift, fierce motion.

On the steps by the courtyard gate.

Chen Yiming sat waiting quietly, holding several students' takeout orders.

The students paid him no mind. Under the young man's guidance, they practiced the standard opening stance of Mantis Snake Swordsmanship again and again.

After three rounds in a row.

Many students began to tire. Their breathing grew uneven and their movements sloppy. The young man in black announced a break without expression, sheathed his sword, and returned inside.

The students sat down where they stood and began chatting. A few who had ordered takeout came over and collected their meals, leaving Chen Yiming with no reason to stay.

He went out, got on his bicycle, and rode along the paved main road for about ten minutes. Then he turned into a narrow lane that had long since fallen into disrepair and soon reached his home in this world: a small restaurant.

The building had two floors. The family lived upstairs, while the restaurant occupied the ground floor and had a small courtyard.

The road outside was little more than a meter wide, and almost everyone passing through lived nearby. With little foot traffic and most neighbors cooking at home, the Chen family restaurant relied mainly on takeout orders.

"Mom, I'm back!"

He called out and parked his bicycle in a corner by the door.

At the counter in the dining room, his mother, Liang Xiumei, was recording orders. Without looking up, she said:

"Every time you deliver to the Praying Mantis Snake Sword Academy, you take over half an hour longer. Now the next customers will complain again. Have you made up your mind yet?"

Chen Yiming handed his mother the money he had collected, then explained:

"I have. I'm choosing the Praying Mantis Snake Sword Academy. I just wanted a few more days to observe. Tuition's expensive, and once I choose, I can't easily change my mind."

His mother took the money, put it in a drawer, and locked it. Only then did she look up and glare at him.

"So you do know it's expensive. You'd better study hard once you're there. Don't be as inconsistent as you were in school."

"I will! I promise I won't waste the family's money this time," Chen Yiming replied loudly, thumping his chest.

It had been more than two months since he was reborn in this world. He had gone from struggling to adjust to settling into his new life, and his memories of his previous life had gradually faded into the background.

He was now a high school student who had dropped out early because of poor grades and helped at the family restaurant. He lacked the skills to take over his father's cooking, so he handled the deliveries his mother used to make.

Fortunately, he was young and fit, and he rode much faster than she did. The restaurant's revenue had risen a little as a result.

Chen Yiming also had a younger sister, Chen Yingying, who had just started middle school. She got good grades, worked hard, and was well-behaved—nothing like the original Chen Yiming, who had always made trouble at school instead of studying.

Seeing him take something seriously for once, as though he had truly made up his mind, his mother tossed him the slip for a new order and waved him off.

"Don't make promises you can't keep. I still remember all the big talk from before. Your dad's finished cooking, so hurry into the kitchen, pack the food, and deliver it."

"Okay, I'm going now."

He was brimming with energy, walking with a spring in his step.

His decision to enroll at a martial arts school had not been impulsive. He had every reason to be confident.

But he could tell no one about the advantage he had brought with him to this world—not even his family. It had to remain his secret.

That advantage was the Martial Arts Talent System. Whenever he called to it in his mind, it appeared before his eyes, visible only to him.

After he arrived in this world, the system had automatically imprinted detailed instructions in his mind.

Its function was simple. Anyone who had ever played a game could understand it at a glance.

The entire system had only one function.

Practicing martial arts techniques earned skill points, which he could spend to improve his martial arts talent.

The rate at which he earned skill points depended on the level of the technique and how long he practiced it.

His martial arts talent was still blank, and he had only two skill points to spend.

He had earned those two points by spending nearly two months diligently practicing the basic sword moves taught at the original Chen Yiming's school.

At his current rate, he earned roughly one skill point a month. Level-one martial arts talent required three points, so he needed about another month to reach it.

Although East Lake City's commercial martial arts schools imposed no restrictions and readily accepted students, they did have one requirement: applicants had to fully master the basic moves of the type of technique taught by the school.

This prevented disputes when children who lacked even the basics paid tuition but could not keep up. Without mastery of the basic moves, it was like skipping middle school and going straight from elementary school to high school. Most people could not make that leap.

That was why Chen Yiming had not enrolled at a martial arts school as soon as he arrived.

His predecessor had little talent for martial arts. Even after years of practice, he had fumbled through the basic sword moves. Chen Yiming had inherited that talent, and his unfamiliarity with the body made his performance worse still.

He desperately needed level-one swordsmanship talent to master the basic sword moves quickly.