Cultivators? Martial artists?

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At one in the morning, the noise outside the rented apartment caught Fan Qiuming’s attention. The distant wail of sirens and the clamor of voices drew closer and closer.

He glanced at Fan Qiulin, who was sleeping soundly, tucked her in more securely, and then went out to the balcony to watch what was unfolding outside.

The sirens drew ever nearer, growing in number as if searching for something. The relentless noise set his nerves on edge.

Suddenly, a figure vaulted from the balcony of the building opposite, landing precisely where Fan Qiuming stood. Rain was still falling in the night; the figure wore a trench coat and a hat, his face obscured from view.

Yet instinctively, Fan Qiuming swept him with his spiritual sense. In that instant, the man recognized him.

“Damn it, you’re actually here.” With that, he lunged for Fan Qiuming’s collar.

Fan Qiuming tried to resist but realized the difference in strength was vast; the man before him was as immovable as a mountain, lifting him effortlessly—like picking up a chick.

Leaping from the opposite building and hoisting him in one motion—these feats were far from ordinary. But Fan Qiuming had no idea why he’d attracted this person’s attention.

The police cars, he realized, must have been searching for him.

“Tell me, where did you put my elixir?” The man’s voice was low, trying not to cause a commotion.

Now Fan Qiuming understood. He’d taken the man’s possession that morning; by nightfall, the owner had come to collect. Could his luck get any worse?

“I ate it,” Fan Qiuming admitted without pretense.

“What? Say that again?” The man glared, as if he might rip Fan Qiuming apart at any moment.

Fan Qiuming noticed a scar running down his face; piecing together the clues, he thought, “A cultivator? No, not quite.”

His spiritual sense had detected no spiritual energy within the man. He’d achieved this level of strength through sheer physical training.

“I’ll ask you one more time—where’s my elixir?”

His voice rose, patience wearing thin.

“No matter how many times you ask, the answer’s the same. I ate it.” Fan Qiuming remained calm, unflustered. He felt confident he could handle this man.

“You’ve got a death wish!” With that, the man hurled Fan Qiuming from the balcony.

In midair, Fan Qiuming adjusted his posture, flipped, and landed steadily—despite being thrown more than ten meters away.

“What strength! Who is he?” Fan Qiuming was intrigued by the man’s power.

The man was briefly stunned to see Fan Qiuming land on his feet. He’d expected Fan Qiuming to be incapacitated; an ordinary person thrown so far would barely be able to crawl.

Rain fell steadily as the two faced each other across a dozen meters. Fan Qiuming could deal with this opponent, though it would come at a cost. The man, startled by Fan Qiuming’s resilience, dared not act rashly.

In the blink of an eye, the man attacked, lightning-fast, hoping to strike first.

Fan Qiuming crossed his arms to block but was forced back several steps, his hands numb from the impact.

Seeing this reaction, the man thought Fan Qiuming wasn’t so formidable after all.

At that moment, Fan Qiuming wanted to curse. If only he had a few months to grow stronger, someone like this would be no match for him. Head-to-head, though, he couldn’t win.

He shook out his numbed hands and spotted a long wooden stick nearby, which he quickly seized.

The man laughed at the sight. “Have you lost your mind? You think any random stick will serve as a weapon?”

Fan Qiuming ignored him, channeling the last trace of spiritual energy in his body to envelop the stick, wielding it as if it were a sword. He held it before his chest and charged.

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The man punched the stick, but the spiritual energy repelled him.

“How is that possible?” he thought, stunned.

Fan Qiuming seized the opportunity and thrust forward. Victory or defeat would be decided in this moment. The man dodged, but not quite fast enough—a gash opened on his neck as the stick grazed him.

“Damn, so close…” Fan Qiuming cursed inwardly.

“That was close… just a hair away…” Cold sweat beaded on the man’s brow; it was the nearest he’d ever come to death.

The rain showed no sign of letting up as the two men faced off in the downpour. For experts, the outcome could be decided in an instant.

After their exchange, neither dared act rashly. Fan Qiuming had spent the last of his spiritual energy.

Meanwhile, the scarred man still hadn’t discerned Fan Qiuming’s true strength. Both were wary, each reading the other.

The sirens sounded again in the distance. The scarred man knew he couldn’t delay further. He resolved to quickly subdue Fan Qiuming, take him away, and then interrogate him about the elixir’s whereabouts. He didn’t believe for a moment that Fan Qiuming had really consumed it.

As the scarred man charged, Fan Qiuming had no choice but to evade. A single blow could easily break bones.

Fan Qiuming unleashed his spiritual sense, anticipating the man’s attacks and dodging punch after punch.

Suddenly, the man slowed, and Fan Qiuming seized the opening, swinging his leg in a side-kick that struck the man square in the chest.

But instead of anger, the scarred man laughed.

“Got you now—you’re slippery as an eel.” He snatched Fan Qiuming’s ankle in an instant.

“Not good,” Fan Qiuming thought, alarmed. He brought up his other foot, kicking toward the man’s temple.

Prepared for this, the man blocked and grabbed Fan Qiuming’s other leg, then slammed him violently to the ground.

Pain exploded through Fan Qiuming, his whole body aching as if his bones were breaking. Blood gushed from his mouth.

A flash of lightning illuminated his battered form, thunder rolling through the building.

If not for the elixir he had taken, which had strengthened his body, he would be half-dead by now.

He tried to get up, but a savage kick sent him crashing into the wall, leaving cracks in the concrete.

In the corner, Fan Qiuming spotted a shard of tile. He snatched it up, blood still pouring from his mouth.

Just then, Fan Qiulin’s voice rang out from the balcony. “Brother, what happened? Why is there so much blood?”

The thunder had woken her. Not finding her brother in the room, she’d wheeled herself out and heard the commotion on the balcony—arriving just in time to witness the scene.

The scarred man turned at the sound, spotting her instantly. Fan Qiuming, gritting his teeth against the pain, waved frantically.

“Qiulin, go back! Don’t come out!”

The man, seeing Fan Qiuming powerless, strode towards the balcony and Fan Qiulin.

“If you’re here, you can stay, too!”

Terrified, Fan Qiulin spun her wheelchair and tried to retreat, but the man followed close behind.

Fan Qiuming, seeing this, forced himself upright, limping after the man.

Inside, Qiulin tried to maneuver her wheelchair quickly, but the man kicked it over. Her head struck the table, and she lost consciousness.

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Seeing Qiulin faint, the scarred man turned back to deal with Fan Qiuming. But Fan Qiuming seized the moment, wrapping his arm around the man’s neck from behind and dragging him out of the apartment with sheer force.

The man was nearly six foot two, while Fan Qiuming was just over six feet, yet the man quickly reversed their positions.

But Fan Qiuming no longer cared. He pulled out the shard of ceramic tile he’d hidden and, without hesitation, stabbed at the man.

They grappled fiercely, the man pummeling Fan Qiuming with blow after blow, while Fan Qiuming stabbed at the man’s vital points, trading injury for injury.

After a while, both men collapsed in a pool of blood, crimson mixing with the rainwater. Fan Qiuming lay there, gasping for breath, the scarred man’s corpse beside him.

The man’s neck was a bloody ruin, mutilated by the sharp tile, flesh barely holding together.

Rain pounded down as Fan Qiuming’s head spun, his consciousness slipping away. The last thing he remembered before blacking out was a police car arriving at his side.

When he awoke, he was in a hospital room. Two police officers sat nearby, along with a man in a military uniform. There was no one else.

“Where am I…? The hospital? What about Qiulin? How is my sister?” Fan Qiuming asked at once, scanning the faces around him. He was terrified something had happened to her.

“Don’t worry! Your sister’s fine. She just fainted; she’s at home now, being guarded by our people. She’s safe,” one of the officers reassured him.

“You’re more seriously injured, yet the first thing you ask about is your sister’s well-being.”

“And the scarred man? Is he dead? Am I going to be held criminally responsible?”

Fan Qiuming was anxious—not for himself, but for fear that no one would be there to care for Qiulin.

“No need to worry. He was a fugitive, wanted for multiple murders and theft of state resources. He killed a park warden tonight, too. He was already guilty of countless crimes. This was self-defense.”

The officer smiled, while the man in the military uniform remained solemn.

“All right, we just came to check on you. This gentleman here has a few things to discuss with you. We’ll leave you two to talk.”

With that, the two officers left, leaving only Fan Qiuming and the uniformed man.

“Hello…” The man stood and extended his hand.

Fan Qiuming shook it politely.

“We’re very sorry for what happened tonight. It was our negligence that led to this incident.” The man apologized, but Fan Qiuming said nothing, sensing there was more to this than an apology.

“Just get to the point,” Fan Qiuming said, withdrawing his hand and masking his expression. “I prefer things to be straightforward.”

“I’m sure you realized that scarred man was no ordinary person. Are you familiar with martial artists?”

…