Chapter Two: The Martial Arts Campus

The woman’s expression twisted twice before she composed herself, speaking with a seductive tone, “If you, young sir, don’t want to put in the effort, can this sister do it instead?”

“That’s no fun at all. I’m not going to chat with you anymore. You have no money, and neither do I. Poor people shouldn’t make things hard for other poor people!” Zhao Rui waved his hand carelessly and turned to walk away.

A sharp gleam flashed in the woman’s eyes, her crimson nails stained as if with blood, glaring vividly.

“How dare you flirt with me! You’ll regret this!” she whispered.

Just as she was about to turn and chase after him, the boy who had just left suddenly rushed back.

“Two hundred it is, two hundred! Sister, you’re really beautiful!” The boy’s gaze swept over the woman with urgency, giving his once-handsome youthful face a somewhat sleazy look.

The woman was speechless.

“Be more proactive later, okay, sister?”

Before she could react, Zhao Rui reached out and grabbed her delicate hand, dragging her into the dim alley.

Her body stiffened slightly, eyes narrowing with growing disgust. Her right hand curled into claws, ready to strike, but suddenly she felt a powerful force on her hand, causing her to stumble forward involuntarily.

Quick to react, she twisted her body to release the force, her claw-like fingers slicing horizontally like blades toward the front.

Her crimson nails gleamed with a sinister chill.

“Netherworld Ghost Claw?” Zhao Rui remained calm, sidestepping with ease. His left hand moved like a cloud covering the sky, while his right struck swiftly toward her vital Baihui acupoint.

“Cloud Hand Plucks the Stars?”

Startled, the woman swung her clawed fingers repeatedly to parry, her body flowing like a swimming dragon, stepping on seven stars, evading skillfully.

“I’m not playing with you anymore, you little brat—no charm at all.”

With that, she leapt, pushing off the wall with her foot, flipping up onto the rooftop, disappearing into the night.

“Hey, sister, your white skirt is showing!” Zhao Rui called out.

Her body trembled, steps faltering, nearly falling from the wall. Regaining balance, she glanced back with a scowl, spitting out, “Young and undisciplined, may you fail in the face of desire!”

“Damn!” Zhao Rui fumed, but the woman had already vanished beyond the alley.

He paused, not chasing after her, instead staring at the information panel that had appeared before him.

“Name: Zhao Rui
Age: 18
Height: 182 cm
Copyable Martial Art: Netherworld Ghost Hand
(Copy? Copy Progress: 0/10
Available Advancement Points: 0) ...”

The copyable martial art listed was Netherworld Ghost Hand—the very technique the beautiful woman had just used.

Zhao Rui pondered deeply: Could this panel’s function be to copy others’ martial arts? The progress bar suggested it required time or repetitions.

He hesitated, opting not to select “Yes.” First, this martial art belonged to an evil faction and was useless to learn. Second, if he chose it, he might have to pick a current task, which could complicate things, requiring someone else to learn the art.

After a brief pause, Zhao Rui made no further moves and hurriedly left the alley. Much had happened today; it was unwise to linger.

About ten minutes later, Zhao Rui swiped his card and entered a brightly lit high-rise residential complex.

This was his home, a decent neighborhood. His parents, though without influence or power, held stable jobs and lived comfortably.

After greeting his parents and younger brother, Zhao Rui slipped directly into his room.

“What’s wrong with our son?” Zhao Jincheng, his father, asked his wife, Xue Wenhui, puzzled.

“Maybe he didn’t do well on the exam? There was a martial arts competition today at the academy,” Xue Wenhui replied uncertainly, glancing toward their son’s room.

Zhao Jincheng said nothing for a moment, then sighed softly. “Our son’s pride is too high. Martial arts require talent; it can’t be forced.”

“That’s because you’re useless. If you were capable, our son wouldn’t have to train so hard!”

“You don’t understand. Skills boosted by drugs are never as solid as those gained through hard training.”

“Well, others use them anyway. You just lack ability!”

As the couple argued, tension thickened in the room.

Zhao Rui’s younger brother, Zhao Ke, rolled his eyes at their bickering and went to his own room.

Zhao Rui could hear their quarrels outside. His parents, like ordinary people in his previous life, were trapped in the daily grind of life. The presence of martial arts in this world didn’t change their lives.

Perhaps the only difference was that they had a son with some martial arts talent, glimpsing a slightly different world.

Blocking out the noise, Zhao Rui immersed himself in studying the panel’s contents.

After hours of contemplation, no other options or interfaces appeared.

The functions were simple and limited.

“Everything happens as fate wills. We’ve all lived once before; keep a calm mind,” Zhao Rui murmured.

His mood had been a rollercoaster that day, leaving him weary. After a brief meditation, he fell asleep early.

The next morning, after a quick breakfast of egg-stuffed pancakes made by his mother, Zhao Rui headed to school with his brother.

Both attended Lin City No.1 High School. However, Zhao Ke had no martial arts talent and was just an ordinary student.

“Bro, I’m heading in first!” Near the school gate, Zhao Ke shifted a few steps away, greeted his brother, and quickly strode toward the campus.

Zhao Rui’s cheek twitched.

This little brother! Since entering high school, he avoided arriving on campus together, afraid others would find out he had a brother who was a professional martial artist.

Though his own talent was average, Zhao Rui was still a level-three practitioner—a respectable young expert. Being his brother was nothing to be ashamed of!

Zhao Rui ignored the childish mindset and followed him into school.

Seven or eight minutes later, he stepped into a classroom bustling like a marketplace.

Lin City No.1 High School, Martial Arts Class Three!

“Chief Zhao, how was the duel yesterday?” A tall, muscular boy sitting in the back row called out as Zhao Rui entered through the rear door.

“Same as usual, no chance,” Zhao Rui smiled, tossing his backpack precisely onto the storage rack at the back—his throwing skill quite refined.

“No way! The competition’s so intense now. I heard someone even mastered the Dragon Subduing Palm, lost for decades, now revived! That’s a sure prodigy for Tsinghua or Peking University!” The burly boy, Yang Fan, who practiced Iron Shirt Qigong, was Zhao Rui’s deskmate and close friend.

“Stay calm,” Zhao Rui smiled, taking his seat and pulling out a history book.

Like all martial arts students, he still had to study academic subjects, which were quite substantial. Aside from the basics, courses included classical studies, mental health education, and political and moral philosophy.

The imperial court’s nurturing of professional martial artists was thorough—no ruler wanted instability within.

“Xiaoxue, when I reach level three, I’ll treat you to dinner!” Yang Fan teased, tugging a girl’s braid in the front row and raising an eyebrow as she entered the classroom.

“I don’t need your treat. Go away!” The girl, called Xiaoxue, glared at him, effortlessly palm-striking his hand away before turning her head, ignoring him completely.