Chapter 3: Mutation

Raindrops drummed against the shipping container, the persistent patter never ceasing.

On Shanli Island, rain was a common occurrence. Being near the sea, it could rain several times a day. But it had to choose to pour on Zhang Ji’s one day off. Yes, he actually had one day of rest per month, and it was even paid. He found it somewhat ironic, considering he had never encountered such a job before he transmigrated—at least, not in that "civilized" society he once knew.

Suddenly, a knock sounded at his door. Zhang Ji frowned slightly, wondering if it was someone with ill intent or retaliation from that guy, Kun, whom he had offended earlier. Grabbing a crowbar, he walked cautiously to the door.

"Zhang Ji? Are you in?" It was Gu Ming’s voice.

Zhang Ji remained on guard. Peering through a crack in the door, he didn't see anyone else, though he did spot a young boy of about seven or eight standing beside Gu Ming. Opening the door carefully, Zhang Ji asked, "Brother Gu, what is it?"

"It’s like this," Gu Ming said, looking at the boy beside him. "He’s almost eight, but spending all day running wild with the other kids isn't right. I’ve noticed you seem to be literate. Could I trouble you to spare some time each month to teach him? This is the tuition for this month; I hope you don't think it's too little..."

As he spoke, Gu Ming produced a small box containing exactly one hundred batteries.

Twenty roast duck meals. Five days' wages. And considering Gu Ming had to endure the exploitation of Yin Kun, it would theoretically take him six or even seven days to earn that much. Even so, he chose to pay this much just to have his son taught how to read?

Wait. What was the literacy rate here? Zhang Ji suddenly realized something: there were no teachers here—at least, not in the Kui City District. So, was this the reason Gu Ming had been so helpful to him from the start, even going so far as to risk offending Yin Kun to mediate their dispute? Gu Ming had probably been calculating this ever since he caught Zhang Ji staring blankly at the text on the cargo crates.

Indeed, there was never love or hate without a reason. Zhang Ji, who had been puzzled before, now understood.

"Four roast duck meals are enough," Zhang Ji said, taking twenty batteries from the box.

"Take them all. What if you need to buy writing materials? You shouldn't have to pay for that yourself!" Gu Ming insisted.

Only then did Zhang Ji understand Gu Ming’s reasoning. Stationery cost money, and it was a bit expensive. But here, there were other ways. There was an endless supply of cardboard; the entire floor under his bed was covered in it. He could just write on that. There was no need to waste hard-earned money on such things when the boy was just starting.

"Add the cost of a pen," Zhang Ji said, taking three more batteries. Then, with a tone that brooked no argument, he added, "Take the rest back. Let's start with a trial. If you feel it's not working out, you don't have to ask me again next time."

This was a polite way of putting it; in truth, Zhang Ji was worried he wouldn't be able to handle the kid. Children in the Kui City District weren't exactly timid, given their unique and harsh environment. They had seen a lot.

"How could it not go well?" Gu Ming smiled, though he didn't insist on forcing the extra money on Zhang Ji. Having noticed the detail of Zhang Ji's literacy early on, a man who planned so far ahead was likely no stranger to social nuances. "Stay here for today, listen to your teacher, and I'll come pick you up at noon," he told the boy.

"Okay," the little boy nodded.

After Gu Ming left, Zhang Ji tucked away the cardboard sheets he had filled with writing under his bed and pulled out a fresh one. For the twenty-plus days he had been here, he had been pondering martial arts. The scribbles on the cardboard were all related information he had seen on the television at the roast duck shop, along with details about this world that he could still recall.

Of course, he wasn't stupid; he blurred over anything truly important to avoid suspicion should he be discovered. He desperately wanted to become a martial artist, but unfortunately, he seemed to have no path to reach that world. Only Old Kui would likely understand it, but obviously, he wouldn't have much interaction with a small fry like himself.

"What's your name?" Zhang Ji asked the boy, holding a pen.

"Gu Jie!" the boy replied.

"Do you know how to write it?" Zhang Ji asked.

"Yes," Gu Jie said. If nothing else, he had committed those two characters to heart. His father had even spent a day's wages specifically to have Uncle Cheng name him.

"Write it," Zhang Ji said, handing him the pen.

Gu Jie gripped the pen and began to write on the cardboard. He had clearly practiced; his grip was mostly correct, and he moved with familiarity. Soon, he finished the two characters. Unexpectedly, it wasn't bad. If Zhang Ji’s body hadn't undergone a rejuvenation after his transmigration that improved his motor control, he might not have been able to write better than the boy.

"Have you practiced before?" Zhang Ji asked.

"Dad made me use a stick to trace the letters on the signs," Gu Jie explained.

Zhang Ji nodded. Proactive initiative was good; it saved him effort. "Let's start with the basic phonetics," he said. The story of *Supreme Martial Arts* was constructed with a background modeled after reality, so many things were identical to the world Zhang Ji knew before, including the language and the somewhat similar cultural context.

...

Time flew by, and Zhang Ji had been in the Kui City District for nearly two months. He had become a skilled, veteran worker. Here, he was the only one who consistently earned full wages. However, his work was also the most grueling. He had to unload a truck entirely by himself; with Yin Kun’s intimidation, no one dared to help. Gu Ming was assigned to unload elsewhere, and though he wanted to help Zhang Ji, Zhang Ji had refused.

His new body was quite capable, and he had fought hard for this pride. Even unloading a truck alone, he had quickly adapted, working faster than two men combined. In his spare time, he would teach Gu Jie to read. He would prepare a cardboard sheet with phonetics for the boy to practice at home, and by their next meeting, Gu Jie would have memorized and written them out. Only then would Zhang Ji explain the meaning and the principles behind the words.

The progress was fast. Gu Jie was quite proud that he could recite two classical poems among his peers, so even without his father’s pressure, he studied hard just for the sake of showing off. Among the other workers, there were those with children who now seemed interested in having Zhang Ji teach them, though they only hinted at it, likely testing his interest and scouting the tuition fees. Zhang Ji truly hadn't expected that even after returning most of his knowledge to his old teachers, he could still shine and be useful here with his mediocre skills.

It was also worth mentioning that every other day, Zhang Ji would eat a roast duck meal and watch TV to learn about the martial arts world. Well, it wasn't really the "martial arts world"—it was more of a performance program where people just sparred for entertainment. Occasionally, the people on screen would reveal some random training routines, which Zhang Ji would record and practice blindly.

But it was useless. True martial arts required specific physical movements, breathing techniques, medicinal applications, and even auxiliary conditioning. Every single aspect was a top-secret. Even in this society that seemed technologically advanced, they weren't willing to teach ordinary people anything for free.

He had thought about whether he could access such things outside the Kui City District, but it didn't seem easy. Only the delivery drivers had the ability to travel, and according to them, there were no martial arts schools outside either. On Shanli Island, there were mostly just sweatshops that treated people like slaves.

The Kui City District was, in fact, considered a relatively decent area on the whole island. At least Old Kui was trying to manage it properly, keeping it from descending into complete chaos. In other places, guns and addictive drugs were rampant, and one had to risk their life just to earn a meal. Among the various slave owners, Old Kui was considered to have a relatively long-term vision. However, it was said that Old Kui had been here for less than twenty years and was not a local. Before him, this place wasn't called the Kui City District; it had been just as chaotic and lawless as everywhere else.

Night fell. Zhang Ji finished his day of hard labor and prepared to head home, feeling slightly exhausted. As he pressed his key into the lock, he suddenly felt something was wrong. It felt too light!

*Click!*

The lock opened instantly. "Worn out from long use? Need to find Uncle Cheng to replace it," Zhang Ji muttered to himself, preparing to walk inside.

However, the door suddenly swung open, and a hand darted out, grabbing his head. He tried to block it, but with a gentle flick, the person swatted his arm aside, and a palm clamped firmly onto his skull.

"Don't make a sound, or you're dead!" a somewhat weathered voice commanded.

The fingers were incredibly strong, making Zhang Ji’s head throb with pain. He had no doubt that if the person added a bit more pressure, his head would burst like a watermelon. The voice sounded strangely familiar.

"Old Kui?" Zhang Ji whispered.

"Get in."

Old Kui grabbed Zhang Ji, hauled him inside, and locked the door behind them. Zhang Ji was tossed aside, and Old Kui staggered over to sit on the bed made of cardboard and wooden crates.

"Old Kui, what happened?" Zhang Ji turned on the light and noticed traces of blood on Old Kui’s abdomen. What was going on?

"What is your name?" Old Kui asked instead of answering.

"Zhang Ji," he replied.

Old Kui stared at him for a moment, as if trying to place him. "Zhang Ji? I didn't expect it to be you." He remembered now; this was the youth who had fought a dog for food.

"Old Kui?" Zhang Ji said. "You seem to be injured. I can go to the pharmacy and buy you some medicine..." The manual laborers often suffered from bruises and cuts, and there was a pharmacy nearby that couldn't treat serious illnesses but could stitch up small wounds easily.

Old Kui watched him for a while before saying, "Go. But don't tell anyone I'm here."

Zhang Ji nodded and walked out, closing the door. Standing outside, his expression suddenly shifted. Was the Kui City District about to change? The simple structure of order maintained by Old Kui's absolute martial strength was already quite fragile. Now, it seemed something had happened at the top of the hierarchy.

If he reported that Old Kui was here, he might be able to trade that information for some benefit. Of course, it was also possible he would get nothing and end up being silenced.

But if he kept Old Kui here... Old Kui was a legitimate martial artist. He might be able to learn professional martial arts. With that, he would also have to shoulder more risk.

Yet, Zhang Ji didn't care about the risk. Ever since he had fought for that bowl of dog food, he had understood one thing: in this place, every opportunity had to be fought for, snatched, and risked for!