Chapter 24: Rewards and Interrogations (Double-Length Chapter)

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[System detected that the player has completed their first act of home invasion, homicide, corpse looting, and coercion of others into criminal activity—actions highly consistent with the player's identity.]

"???"

Feng Mu’s face was covered in dark lines. "What the hell? My nature is pure and kind; everything I’ve done was forced self-defense. Don't go around mislabeling things, System. This is slander, pure slander."

[Current reward has been issued. Delivery confirmed!]

"..."

Feng Mu’s expression shifted from cloudy to sunny. "Fine, since you’ve acknowledged your mistake and provided compensation—and it arrived in real-time, no less—I’ll be magnanimous and forgive you."

The moral bottom line of a transmigrator is remarkably flexible. This isn't Feng Mu's fault; it's just the sinful baggage inherited from being corrupted by capitalism in his past life.

Feng Mu opened the reward. On his 3D character profile, a silver exclamation mark burst open, transforming into: [General Skill Proficiency: 10,000 points.]

"As expected, rewards that directly affect my own body are delivered in real-time," Feng Mu thought.

This reward indirectly proved that the previous one had been a physical item, and the delivery courier probably really did crash on the road. It felt like waiting for a package in his past life; when the logistics stayed stuck for days, he would become suspicious—had the truck flipped? Did the courier die? Was the cargo lost? Would it ever arrive, and was there insurance?

After letting his thoughts drift for five seconds, Feng Mu began to study how to use [General Skill Proficiency].

"It's points, so I assume I can just 'add' them, right?"

"10,000 points... I have no concept of whether that's a lot or a little."

Feng Mu focused his gaze, pulling down the 3D character profile to reveal a pathetic list of skills.

General Skill List:
Basic Fist Technique (Novice) [66/100]
Basic Leg Technique (Novice) [14/100]
Body-Forging Gymnastics (Not Mastered)

The moment Feng Mu’s gaze shifted, a "+" sign appeared next to both the Basic Fist and Leg Techniques, while the space next to Body-Forging Gymnastics remained blank.

Feng Mu: "..."

"So, all that intense sweating I do every day practicing these gymnastics is just winking at a blind man? Does Body-Forging Gymnastics have no self-respect?"

Feng Mu felt a chill of indignation. "Because my posture isn't standard, it’s like I’ve been rubbing at the entrance without ever actually going in, so you won't grant me the certification, right?"

But then, a thought occurred to him: "Is it possible that the reason I’m always so exhausted and drenched in sweat, and why my metabolic rate is so high, is precisely because I haven't mastered the correct form?"

Because his constitution is garbage, he hasn't mastered the gymnastics; because he hasn't mastered them, one unit of effort requires ten times the sweat; because of that, his consumption is high, he gets hungry quickly, and his digestion rate skyrockets!

The logic seemed to form a perfect loop. The conclusion:—a blessing in disguise because of his own incompetence!!!

"I absolutely must not add points to Body-Forging Gymnastics. I have to keep practicing it in this 'trash' way." Feng Mu felt a strange sense of pride. Who would have guessed? My innate uselessness has its uses.

Since he couldn't (and wouldn't) add points to the gymnastics, he had to pour his love into the fist and leg techniques.

Feng Mu whispered, "Destiny, add points."

The icons blurred for a moment.

Basic Fist Technique (Intermediate) [1/500]
Basic Leg Technique (Intermediate) [1/500]
[Remaining General Skill Proficiency: 9,880]

Memories flooded his mind, appearing out of thin air: memories of punching and kicking with perfect, rigid, and fluid form. Every strike felt as if he were exerting his entire body's strength. A strange heat surged through his limbs, circling his joints like a massage that lasted for half a minute.

Feng Mu subconsciously shifted into a fighting stance and threw a punch. He immediately felt the difference; the movements that were once stiff and slow had become incredibly smooth and coherent. It felt as if it had been etched into his muscle memory through thousands of repetitions.

Following his instincts, he practiced the Basic Fist Technique. It was simple, and he finished in less than five minutes.

"The striking motions are more standardized, and the transitions between moves are fluid. So, there are actually a lot of details to refine even in basic fist techniques."

Feng Mu compared this to how he used to perform the moves in his mind, and it was like comparing gold to trash. Then, he glanced at the skill panel and froze.

Basic Fist Technique (Intermediate) [1/500]. The number hadn't gone up?

"I clearly practiced the technique seriously, but the proficiency didn't increase. Is the system counting wrong?"

Feng Mu pondered for a moment. He searched the new memories of his training and compared them, his jaw dropping further and further.

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In the added memories, he hadn't just practiced the fist technique 34 times and the leg technique 86 times—he had practiced them a staggering 471 and 1,477 times respectively.

Feng Mu did some rough mental math. The fist technique had been multiplied by 13, and the leg technique by 17.

He arrived at two possible explanations:

"First: There is a coefficient bonus between proficiency and actual practice count. The coefficient for the Basic Fist Technique is 13, meaning I have to practice 13 times to gain 1 point of proficiency. The coefficient for the leg technique is higher—17 times."

"Second: It's not that 13 reps equal 1 point of proficiency. Rather, in the memory, I only happened to perform one perfectly standard repetition for every 13 attempts. That is to say, out of 13 attempts, 12 were failures and only one was successful. The leg technique is even worse—only one success every 17 attempts."

Feng Mu leaned toward the first possibility, because the second was too terrifying. If the failure rate in the system-injected memories was that horrific, his own real-world performance would be beyond disastrous.

"It must be the first one. But how is this coefficient calculated?"

Feng Mu muttered to himself, "The Basic Fist Technique has almost no difficulty, so it must be down to my constitution. My 49-point constitution means I need 13 reps to gain 1 point of proficiency."

"The higher the constitution, the lower the coefficient, and the fewer repetitions required for 1 point of proficiency."

"No wonder those top students with excellent constitutions make such rapid progress in martial arts, leveling up like drinking water, while 'academic losers' with poor constitutions stay stuck in place no matter how diligent they are, their progress as slow as constipation."

"There might be a gap of ten or even dozens of times in their coefficients. You don't even need years to see the difference; just six months or a year creates an unbridgeable chasm, and the gap only widens, eventually becoming a biological barrier."

Once Feng Mu understood the mechanics, he looked at the [Remaining General Skill Proficiency: 9,880] with eyes burning bright green, like a gluttonous beast. He was absolutely salivating.

"The coefficient for General Skill Proficiency is 1, and it likely ignores the difficulty of the martial art—a constant coefficient of 1."

"That is to say, without using these points, I’m a loser with 49 constitution, but if I want to, I can become a terrifying monster in a heartbeat."

"After all, a coefficient of 1 is theoretically the lowest possible. Even a peerless genius with 100 constitution might not reach a coefficient of 1."

"Still 9,880 left. What a waste. I shouldn't have used them on the basic fist and leg techniques."

Feng Mu realized the true value of [General Skill Proficiency]. These points, which treated all goods equally, should have been spent on the most expensive items.

And currently, the most expensive item Feng Mu possessed was—[Crane Claw Technique]!

Spending these points on the [Crane Claw Technique] was still quite wasteful, but when he opened the blood-stained book cover, a line of printed text was clearly marked on the title page:

Martial Arts Grade: Level 1
Training Body Part: Claw Technique
Minimum Requirements: Fist Force 2.0, Speed 1.5, Technique 1.0
Recommended Constitution: 65
Warning: Failure to meet minimum requirements will increase the risk of injury and cause side effects including, but not limited to, muscle damage, severed hand tendons, and shattered finger bones.

At the bottom was the red official seal of the Martial Arts General Administration.

The General Administration had many functions, but besides managing the annual martial arts exams, its most important role was grading martial arts and providing training recommendations. According to the latest rules, most martial arts fell into a nine-grade system, with Grade 1 being the lowest and Grade 9 the highest.

Basic fist and leg techniques, along with the gymnastics, were not in this category; they were "basic materials," jokingly referred to as "gradeless."

In his three years of high school, Feng Mu hadn't managed to get his hands on a single "graded" martial art. Aside from poverty, the main reason was that even the lowest Grade 1 art required a starting constitution of 60.

Without his cheat, he had neither the money nor the guts to practice.

Now, however, those terrifying side effects wouldn't scare him off.

"Muscle damage, severed tendons, shattered bones... is that it?" Feng Mu sneered, feeling not a hint of fear.

He flipped through the *Crane Claw Technique*. It didn't seem difficult to start; he just needed a basin of iron beads and lubricating oil.

Feng Mu paused, reached into his pocket, grabbed a handful of iron beads, shoved them into his mouth, and swallowed them with a peculiar expression.

"On my way to work later, I can take a detour to the bookstore to see if there are better secret manuals before I make a decision."

Hearing slight movements in the living room, Feng Mu got up and pulled back the curtains. The lights of the Upper City illuminated the world. A new day had begun.

At the bookstore, the second-floor martial arts section contained mostly low-grade manuals, mostly Grade 1 and 2, with Grade 3 being rare.

Feng Mu felt a bit disappointed not to see higher-grade manuals, but he wasn't surprised. In fact, it was impressive that the store sold low-grade manuals at all.

The more rigid the class system, the more monopolized the knowledge. Ordinary knowledge might be allowed to circulate, but profound knowledge was strictly controlled by the upper classes—it was a true seller's market.

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It required something more valuable than money to acquire.

There were three Grade 3 manuals in the store: *Ox Demon Strength*, *Stele-Cracking Palm*, and *Long-Armed Snake Fist*, priced at 210,000, 140,000, and 150,000 respectively.

Feng Mu clicked his tongue. "Expensive."

He picked one up and flipped through it, only to find that these books only had covers and a table of contents; the pages inside were blank—like display models in a phone store. They only showed the requirements and grade; the rest was just filler.

"Makes sense. This prevents people with good memories from just memorizing the manuals," Feng Mu thought with regret.

*Ox Demon Strength*, Grade 3. Training focuses on internal energy and blood-pumping stances, accompanied by sixteen fist techniques.
Minimum Requirements: Fist Force 3.6, Speed 1.5, Technique 1.2
Recommended Constitution: 70
Additional Requirement: Abundant blood and energy.
Note: Failure to meet minimum requirements or insufficient blood/energy can lead to the rupture of all fascia and death from heart failure.

Feng Mu couldn't afford it, but he was curious. He felt a jump in his eyelids and silently put the book back. The other two Grade 3 manuals were slightly better—the side effects wouldn't kill him, but they would leave him crippled.

"[Iron Eater] should be able to resist bone damage, and [Feast] can heal wounds, but for techniques that could kill me instantly, even I need to be cautious." He couldn't afford them, but that didn't stop him from planning for the future.

He couldn't afford Grade 3, but the price range for Grade 2 was quite broad, from 10,000 to 90,000. *Crane Claw Technique* was among them, priced at 47,000.

There was no point in comparing the others. Feng Mu turned and left the bookstore. His shopping philosophy had remained simple for two lifetimes: the more expensive one is always the better one. He only had 12,400 in his wallet; nothing he could afford would compare to the *Crane Claw Technique*.

As he left, the saleswoman, smelling of perfume, gave him a faint glance and wiped the fingerprints off the hardcover of the manual with a dry cloth.

Books were expensive and shouldn't be tainted by the poor, even if it was just a display copy! The saleswoman held to this noble philosophy, complaining to her boss while wiping. "The District 9 government should pass a law banning the poor from stepping into bookstores."

The pot-bellied boss agreed with her, earnestly reminding her, "Wipe it clean, and be careful not to leave your own fingerprints on it."

The saleswoman thought her boss was a bit stupid, smugly saying, "Don't worry, boss, I'm wearing gloves."

Outside, Feng Mu had no idea he'd been looked down upon. He hopped on his bike and headed toward the incinerator plant.

On the way, the number of gang members had noticeably increased. Besides stopping students for questioning, they were interrogating drunks and street-side breakfast vendors. They looked stern and acted vicious, searching for a limping man in a mask.

Feng Mu was stopped, too. He kept one foot on the pedal and the other on the ground, saying gloomily, "I haven't seen any limping man. I just left home to go to work."

The thug stared at Feng Mu for two seconds, then took out a roster, scanned it, and asked, "You're Feng Mu, a student at 47th High, right?"

Feng Mu gave a bitter smile. "I was. Now, I've dropped out and am just an incinerator worker."

"On March 15th, after school, where did you go?" The thug used the script he'd been taught, his eyes like torches, carefully observing Feng Mu's expression.

Feng Mu showed a look of confusion. Thanks to the interrogation scenes in the crime dramas of his past life, he didn't blurt out a rehearsed answer. He recalled for a moment and shook his head. "I can't remember. I probably just went home."

The thug’s intense gaze relaxed slightly. According to 'Brother Bin's' instructions, someone who couldn't remember was normal; those who rattled off a clear timeline were more likely lying. A normal person couldn't even remember what they had for dinner last night, let alone what they did ten days ago.

"On the 15th, many students in your class dropped out. You didn't. You dropped out on the 18th. Think carefully—what did you do after school that day? Why didn't you drop out with them?" the thug asked, checking his notes.

Feng Mu suddenly realized. "Oh, that day... because of the dropout situation, I was depressed and just wandered around outside after school. Then, when it got dark, I went home to sleep."

"Any witnesses?"

Feng Mu shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe someone saw me on the road, but I didn't pay much attention. And at night, where else would I be if not sleeping at home?"

Feng Mu's answers were vague, and he ended with a counter-question, appearing a bit confused but open. He didn't look like a cunning killer.

The thug was mostly convinced, but asked one last question: "Why didn't you drop out with them?"

Feng Mu sighed. "Wishful thinking, I suppose. Plus, my old man is a precinct captain, quite authoritarian. A big decision like dropping out required his approval."

Hearing the words "precinct captain," the thug clearly showed disgust and impatiently waved Feng Mu away.

Feng Mu retracted his foot and pedaled his bike away, one side heavier than the other...

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