The thin man was dead.

Dead as a doornail.

His eyes still bulged wide, pupils clouded with the pale, lifeless hue of a gutted fish.

In his final moments, a bellyful of resentment twisted his face into a grotesque, frozen grimace.

Until his last breath, he couldn’t fathom how he’d fallen to an unremarkable little rickshaw puller.

Even less could he comprehend why this puller’s strength was so formidable.

After all, the thin man had never imagined that someone in this world could cultivate a “Pillar of Vitality” in just a month.

Alas, he’d never have the chance to ponder such mysteries again.

The first fight—or rather, ambush—was hasty, almost sloppy.

Yet Xiangzi was quite satisfied. With the system’s enhancement, his movements, while not masterful, could be called precise.

Especially noteworthy was that, though his current profession on the system panel was merely rickshaw puller, his strength after achieving the Pillar of Vitality rivaled that of a martial artist who’d broken through the Vitality Barrier.

This made Xiangzi harbor a tangible yearning for what he might become as a true martial artist.

What thrilled him even more was a small line of text that popped up on the panel:

[Wind-Chasing Kick Progress +9]

[Progress: 81/100 (Minor Mastery)]

As the old folks said, “A thousand days of saber practice pale before a single day of bloodshed.”

Compared to the meticulous drills at the martial hall, this life-and-death struggle proved astonishingly effective.

Just a few moves had earned Xiangzi 9 points of proficiency.

But when he glanced at the knife wound on his chest, his grin faded—9 points of proficiency? Hardly worth the twenty silver dollars’ worth of vitality tonic!

Xiangzi pursed his lips and stepped over to the thin man. First, he closed those unyielding, eerie eyes—their stare was downright unsettling.

Truth be told, the thin man’s fate was pitiful. Caught off guard by a handful of wall dust in his eyes, he’d lost his life in an instant.

Otherwise, with his years of martial training, he wouldn’t have ended up so pathetic.

It all boiled down to that old saying: Pride goeth before a fall.

This thought made Xiangzi silently caution himself: Even a lion uses full strength to hunt a rabbit.

Perhaps it was the sting of losing that vitality tonic, or maybe the days spent passing by the corpses of vagrants in South City’s streets had numbed him, but Xiangzi felt oddly calm after his first kill.

He rummaged through the thin man’s clothes.

Aside from three silver dollars, there was only a small cloth-wrapped bone.

The bone, about the size of a palm, was shaped like a round disc. It wasn’t heavy, its surface polished to a jade-like sheen from years of handling.

Xiangzi frowned at the strange bone disc. What in the world is this? But if a martial artist who’d broken the Vitality Barrier treasured it so carefully, it must have some value.

After a moment’s thought, Xiangzi tucked the disc into his pocket, though his heart sank—twenty silver dollars’ worth of vitality tonic, traded for this thing?

Shaking his head with a sigh, Xiangzi vanished into the twilight.

Some time later, a plump figure crept cautiously into the alley.

When he saw the body on the ground, the fat man’s face froze.

“Third Brother… Third Brother!” His voice trembled with a sob.

It took him a long while to accept that Third Brother was truly gone.

His chubby face quivered as he glanced around in panic—aside from a few stray cats, there wasn’t a soul in sight.

Third Brother was a martial artist who’d broken the Vitality Barrier! Who could’ve killed him?

The fat man couldn’t imagine the real culprit was that unassuming rickshaw puller. He assumed Third Brother had crossed paths with some ruthless foe.

With that thought, he prepared to flee—a guard from the rickshaw yard is dead; this is huge! I need to tell Boss Fat right away.

But after a few steps, he doubled back.

Staring at the thin man’s ghastly, pale face, the fat man hesitantly reached out, groping through his clothes. Third Brother, don’t think I’m disloyal. You’re gone now, so if that thing falls into my hands, it’s like keeping a memento.

He searched the body thoroughly but found not a sliver of bone.

His heart sank with a thud. Ignoring the filth, he scoured the alley inside and out—still nothing.

Damn it, where’s that bone Third Brother always kept close? Did some bold passerby steal it?

His beady eyes darted as a grim thought struck him: Did someone target Third Brother because he always showed off that thing?

Night had fully fallen.

Xiangzi, bloodstained, took a detour through two streets and bought a blue cloth jacket from a roadside stall to cover the stains.

As he reached the entrance of Harmony Rickshaw Yard, he paused.

A lanky figure was peering around—Wen San!

Xiangzi’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he plastered on a smile and strolled over casually.

Wen San, anxiously scanning the street, hurried to meet him. “Xiangzi, no trouble this afternoon, right?”

Xiangzi kept his grin. “Third Brother, what trouble could there be? What’s up?”

“Phew, good,” Wen San said, patting his chest and lowering his voice. “After you left at noon, that skinny monkey came sniffing around, trying to pry information out of me!”

Xiangzi’s heart sank, but he asked nonchalantly, “Pry what?”

“That monkey asked where you went,” Wen San smirked, smug. “Think I’d sell you out? I told that fool you went to West City Pier, not East City!”

Xiangzi’s face stiffened, torn between laughter and tears—talk about shooting myself in the foot! He’d been cagey with Wen San at noon, withholding the truth, only for Wen San’s lie to accidentally hit the mark.

As the old folks said, “Lies come easy, but retribution’s hard to escape.” He’d barely spun a fib, and here came the consequences.

From Wen San’s words, it seemed the ambush was likely tipped off by Skinny Monkey to the Ma Liu Yard.

No wonder they were waiting for him at West Gate.

A cold smirk flickered across Xiangzi’s lips.

And behind Skinny Monkey stood Jin Fugui.

Carrying a trace of gloom, Xiangzi returned to the east building, his heart settling a bit.

Since Skinny Monkey and Jin Fugui had shown their hand, Harmony Rickshaw Yard was no longer safe.

Xiangzi let out a long breath, suppressing his tangled emotions, and headed straight for the martial hall.

Uncle Jie was still there, training.

Seeing Xiangzi, he set down the stone grinder, grabbed a towel, and walked over with a smile. “Xiangzi, did you get the vitality tonic?”

Xiangzi shook his head, feigning frustration. “Ugh, don’t ask. Today was just bad luck.”

Uncle Jie paused. “What happened?”

Out of caution, Xiangzi didn’t mention the ambush by Ma Liu Yard—not because I distrust Uncle Jie, but to avoid complications.

After all, no one would believe he could defeat a martial artist who’d broken the Vitality Barrier.

He’d already concocted a story on the way back: he’d taken pity on a beggar grandfather and grandson, only to be targeted by a pickpocket who sliced open his tonic.

Hearing the tale of the pitiful duo, Uncle Jie sighed. Noticing the knife wound on Xiangzi’s chest, he added, “If that cut was half an inch deeper, you’d be in trouble. Oh well, as long as you’re safe.”

South City was a chaotic place, so Uncle Jie had no suspicions.

Xiangzi touched the bone in his pocket but held back his questions.

Uncle Jie was a good man, true, but in this chaotic world, caution was paramount.