Chapter 4: Little One, This Martial Arts Manual~

As expected, Fatty Liu didn’t manage to invite out a single girl. Meanwhile, Zhang Ze’s skill proficiency had already reached ten percent. He’d only ever heard Fatty Liu boast about his abilities before, but now—it seemed the guy did have some talent. Meeting Zhang Ze’s gaze, Fatty Liu couldn’t help but look a bit embarrassed.

“All right, I admit defeat. Something’s off with me today,” he said, visibly crestfallen as he tossed aside his beloved iPhone.

Zhang Ze stifled a laugh, though inwardly he mused, “This guy really is something—such a talent for charm-based skills…”

Just then, the private room’s door swung open and the proprietor entered, carrying a plate of skewers and nudging a crate of beer with his foot.

Fatty Liu, seeking solace in food, ended up costing Zhang Ze five hundred bucks for the barbecue—this, even with the owner addressing him as “Brother Liu” at every turn.

“Zhang, you were really generous tonight,” Fatty Liu snickered, noticing Zhang Ze’s pained expression.

“Don’t worry, just wait for tomorrow. I’ll call three, maybe five girls for you… And I’ll take care of everything—you and the girls will all be satisfied,” Fatty Liu promised, patting his chest with a mischievous grin.

On the sidewalk outside, Zhang Ze’s gaze suddenly froze. A young man brushed past, dressed in casual pants and a gray jacket. In Zhang Ze’s past life, he would have been just a slightly good-looking pauper. But here, the logo on his jacket set him apart.

“Anqing Martial Bureau,” Zhang Ze murmured, eyes fixed on the young man’s retreating figure. The youth, sensing Zhang Ze’s probing stare, also glanced back.

Anqing Martial Bureau—it was, in fact, one of Zhang Ze’s earliest aspirations after he’d crossed over into this world of martial artists. Upon discovering he possessed a system, Zhang Ze had swaggered about for quite some time. In this world, people pursued physical perfection, continually strengthening themselves to become formidable martial artists. With his system, wealth could increase his cellular strength, even allow him to create the finest elixirs. Anyone in his position would have been overjoyed.

It was then that the Anqing Martial Bureau drifted into his field of vision. Unlike the elite institutions of his previous life, this world’s technology and culture were similar, but its focus was on cultivating supreme martial artists. In Dragon Country, each province had its own Martial Bureau, which recruited only once a year—from among the general population. Yet, out of millions of youths, only about a hundred made it into a bureau each year. Regardless of one’s family background or wealth, anyone could become a student—provided they had the talent to become a strong fighter. Entry meant access to high-level instructors and powerful techniques.

The only metric was whether one had the potential to become a powerhouse. But with tens of millions in a province, gaining admission to a Martial Bureau was as hard as reaching the heavens.

With the system at his back, Zhang Ze had once thought getting into the bureau would be a piece of cake. He envisioned himself one day entering such a place, becoming a formidable seventh-grade master, or even an eighth- or ninth-grade supreme. But when he realized he couldn’t break through first grade, and that even unlocking a second skill risked blowing himself up, that dream seemed to drift further away. Cursing his fate, there was little else he could do.

It wasn’t until he tossed Fatty Liu onto his bed that Zhang Ze finally calmed down. The “blissful” stench in Fatty’s room hastened his departure. Taking a deep breath, Zhang Ze felt, in that moment, like the most miserable transmigrator ever—after all, he was at risk of being asphyxiated!

At the same time, at the Mengyang County Criminal Investigation Bureau:

“Captain!” Several young officers greeted a middle-aged man who hurried into the office. He ignored them, gesturing to a clerk nearby.

“Captain Wang, the person you’re waiting for is already in your office,” the clerk reminded quietly. “I’ll go in first. Get the materials ready,” Captain Wang said, pushing into his office and fixing his gaze on the young man inside.

“Captain Wang,” the youth greeted him, not putting on airs even though the captain was only a first-grade martial artist. Wang Ting, well aware of his own status, stepped forward. “Thank you for waiting, Trainee Li. I didn’t expect you to arrive tonight.”

The youth was none other than Li Sanqing from the Anqing Martial Bureau, whom Zhang Ze had just seen. After exchanging a few pleasantries, the clerk entered with the file. Li Sanqing immediately opened it. With a wave, Wang Ting dismissed the clerk, then asked quietly, “Trainee Li, do you think you can handle this?”

“I’ve heard of Wang Chao—he’s got some skill,” Li Sanqing replied, causing Wang Ting to tense up.

“But don’t worry, I’ll take care of it,” Li Sanqing said, placing the file on the desk. “By the way, I ran into someone rather unusual on my way here.”

“Oh?” Wang Ting was curious, but Li Sanqing didn’t elaborate. When Wang Ting brought out another file, Li Sanqing’s eyes widened in surprise.

“According to our intel, Wang Chao’s last known contact was with this man,” Wang Ting said, noticing Li Sanqing’s reaction and recalling what he’d just said. “You know him?”

“Not exactly,” Li Sanqing replied smoothly, “I thought he was talented, but now…”

Before he could finish, Wang Ting interrupted excitedly, “This guy forced his way into the provincial investigation bureau and alarmed Director Lin. If that’s not talent, what is?” He scoffed at the end. Li Sanqing, who hadn’t known this, was no longer as indifferent—he looked genuinely shocked.

“Really?”

“Of course.”

“Hah… Well, then he truly is remarkable.”

Meanwhile, Zhang Ze remained blissfully unaware that he’d attracted attention. Awoken early by familiar moans, he could only groan in exasperation.

“Fatty, could you keep it down?” he yelled, then got up. His attention was drawn to a black satchel at the foot of the bed—he glanced at it, nudged it with his foot, then lost interest.

“Today, I’ll make my breakthrough!” After a night of consideration, he muttered this as soon as he got up.

His goal was the battered book under the nightstand.

“The Modern Martial Artist’s Outline. In my past life, this would have been some magical manual sold by an old man on the street,” Zhang Ze joked, leaping back onto the bed, the “manual” in his hands.

But in this world, The Modern Martial Artist’s Outline was no trinket to scam kids out of pocket money—it was an official, state-issued volume. Its purpose was simple: since so few could enter martial academies and train under masters, this book existed to familiarize the masses with the basics of martial arts.

“A martial artist must first strengthen the body,” the foreword declared with a certain gravitas.

Having attempted to break through several times, Zhang Ze was no stranger to its contents. He quickly flipped to the second chapter.

“First-grade martial artists must clear the meridians—this is the foundation and the key.”

Though he’d nearly memorized this passage, Zhang Ze still read on patiently.

“In modern martial arts, cellular strength is fundamental. Ordinary people have a cellular strength of only about 50S. Even those with excellent athletic talent rarely exceed 70 or 80. To break through to first grade, one must reach the human limit of 100S.”

Before he knew it, Zhang Ze’s eyes had found the crucial section.

“The breakthrough to first grade lies in connecting the body’s twelve main meridians. Succeed in linking these, raise cellular strength above 100S, and with blood and energy several times greater, you become a first-grade martial artist.”

After reading through it carefully once more, Zhang Ze began searching around the room.

“Now where did I put my Complete Guide to Meridian Pathways?” he muttered, jumping down from the bed.