Chapter 3: The Correct Way to Package Yourself!

“Me?”

Fang Can pointed at himself.

“Of course, if you’ve never trained in martial arts before.”

Li Fengtian regarded Fang Can as if he were an uncut jade.

He had watched most of Fang Can’s fight earlier—taking on five armed men alone, knocking them all down without weapons and without a scratch, he was a martial genius unmatched in a million.

“Martial arts? Does simple fitness count?” Fang Can raised his hand and squeezed his biceps.

To maintain his physique, he performed a set amount of anaerobic exercise daily to keep his body fat at a stable level.

But this gesture immediately drew Li Fengtian’s sneer.

Strength that can’t lift a cauldron, hands that can’t crush skulls—this level of physique couldn’t even match a lowly thug in his gang who’d trained for a year or two.

“What I mean is, your movements were perfectly timed—your power application, your rhythm—it doesn’t match your body at all,” Li Fengtian said.

He might as well have said, ‘This isn’t something a scrawny runt like you could pull off.’

“Techniques?” Fang Can said matter-of-factly. “Skills are simple—you see them once and you know them, just like birds are born to fly and apples fall when ripe.”

‘Hah, bold words,’ Li Fengtian chuckled, suddenly struck by a desire to nurture talent.

Suddenly, without warning, his right fist shot out like a cannonball, slamming toward Fang Can’s forehead.

He wanted to test him, to see if Fang Can was truly as talented as he claimed.

The air around them froze like stagnant water; Li Fengtian’s fist moved so fast it created thick resistance.

This punch carried enough speed and force to bury the entire fist into steel.

If it landed, Fang Can’s head would explode like a watermelon.

But in the next instant, his fist stopped dead inches from Fang Can’s forehead, the wind from the blow flinging Fang Can’s bangs backward.

Li Fengtian stared at the boy standing as still as a mountain, not even blinking, and asked: “Why didn’t you dodge?”

Fang Can replied calmly: “Because you won’t kill me.”

Li Fengtian didn’t understand this kid’s logic—he didn’t even try to dodge: “Where do you get the nerve? You really think I won’t kill you?”

“Because I’m a genius!”

Fang Can said matter-of-factly: “You clearly have an interest in nurturing talent—you wouldn’t just kill me so casually.”

After speaking, Fang Can ignored the other person entirely, turned around, and began rummaging through the belongings of the five thugs he had knocked down, while also changing into their clothes.

Watching the kid casually pick up gear as if he were at home, Li Fengtian couldn’t help but smile.

As a faint smile tugged at his lips, he decided this guy was definitely cut out for gang life.

He was just a bit too old—missed the optimal window for martial training.

Starting at eighteen or nineteen, by the time he was trained enough to be useful in a fight, he’d already be twenty-five or older.

Fang Can, beside him, didn’t have nearly as much confidence as Li Fengtian imagined—he’d merely deduced the man’s thoughts from his micro-expressions and behavior.

As for how a high school student learned micro-expression reading?

Of course from TV dramas—definitely not from Hawaii.

Fang Can was still under the buff’s effect—his mind operated like a computer, able to freely access all his past knowledge.

Though he lacked deep understanding of facial expression control, these techniques were perfectly suited for these local primitives.

This guy clearly wasn’t to be trifled with—just from that invisible punch, Fang Can judged him to be on par with a “county-level” superhuman from his past life.

Someone of this caliber wouldn’t bother hiding his thoughts from a scrawny nobody like Fang Can—he could easily read them.

And most importantly, his “From Bad to Good” ability hadn’t fully activated—clearly, this man had no murderous intent.

‘So when he says “martial arts,” does that mean in this world, repetitive physical training through specific methods can achieve the destructive power of a superhuman from my past life?’

As Fang Can rummaged through the items, his heartbeat quickened slightly—he felt a flicker of longing for that possibility.

After all, in his past life, awakening superpowers was pure luck—you had no control over what you’d get.

With his old power, he could’ve directly claimed a “city-level” position and gained considerable social status.

But since his ability was uncontrollable, he’d always suppressed it and pretended to be ordinary.

Now, a chance appeared—this world allowed one to reach superhuman levels through training—who wouldn’t be stunned?

Thinking this, Fang Can had already looted every valuable item from the five men.

Just a few coins resembling copper plates—after all, they were bottom-tier thugs, with little of real value.

Fang Can picked out the cleanest set of clothes from the five, put them on, hugged the discarded pajamas, and said to Li Fengtian: “Alright, let’s go.”

“Where to?” Li Fengtian blinked in surprise.

“To your Tiger Demon Gate, of course—where else?”

Watching Fang Can’s casual familiarity, Li Fengtian found himself oddly pleased, and burst out laughing:

“You kid—good, good, follow me. From now on, you’re a disciple of the Tiger Demon Gate.”

“Should we deal with these guys? To prevent them from reporting to the authorities?”

Fang Can pointed at the unconscious thugs and made a throat-slitting gesture.

He’d been considering eliminating them all, but since he wasn’t from Changsha, he’d hesitated.

He’d even thought about flipping a coin to decide—until he met Li Fengtian.

Li Fengtian boasted:

“You’re clearly an outsider. These scum don’t need handling—you’re already part of the Tiger Demon Gate. In Yanggu County, no official will dare enter our gate to demand these men.”

Without looking back, he strode out of the alley. Fang Can quickened his pace to follow.

Outside the cold alley, morning sunlight warmed their faces. Fang Can squinted slightly, savoring his first sunbath in this other world.

With the danger fully gone, his “From Bad to Good” effect vanished, leaving only the dull ache of overworked muscles.

“Kid, I still don’t know your name or where you’re from. The Tiger Demon Gate doesn’t feed idlers—what can you do?”

Outside the alley, Li Fengtian glanced at Fang Can’s short hair and asked.

He assumed he was some monk who’d left the monastery amid the chaos.

As for his out-of-place clothes—he didn’t care, and didn’t want to know.

Hearing that a manager-level figure from his former company was interviewing him face-to-face, Fang Can snapped back to reality and volunteered:

“My name is Fang Can. Since childhood, I loved learning—I studied hard for over a decade, guided by dozens of renowned masters, reading at least four hours daily, covering a wide range of texts.”

“Four hours of reading daily?”

Hearing this, Li Fengtian stopped walking, astonished—back then, anyone who could read came from a good family.

To study without laboring? If true, he must be from a prestigious family—so how did he end up like this?

Thinking this, Li Fengtian asked skeptically: “What books did you read? What kind of scholarship did you pursue?”

(End of Chapter)