After Jack Young finally managed to slip away—dodging all the press conferences and banquets they threw at him—he found himself face-to-face with an old-timer who looked dead serious. Now, this guy’s face wasn’t that ancient, and Jack could tell he was still full of pep, probably around thirty if you squinted. But his hair was pure white, like he’d dunked his head in bleach, so calling him ‘old man’ felt about right.
The old man rolled up in a car that screamed luxury—like, the kind you only see in movies or on rich kid TikTok. And when he opened his mouth, out came a stream of English, all fancy and proper.
“Hold up!” Jack called out, putting a stop to the guy’s act. “I don’t care who you are, where you’re from, or what you want. But if you’re here to talk business, you gotta speak normal, everyday language! I mean, you look like you’re from around here, so are you just showing off with the English, or do you really not know Chinese? I’ve got nothing against foreign languages, but, buddy, I don’t—under—stand! Capisce, egghead?”
The old man was speechless for a second, then switched gears and spoke perfect Beijing dialect: “Our boss wants to hire you as a bodyguard. The pay? One hundred grand a month, full benefits, fat bonuses, top-notch perks—all yours.”
Jack couldn’t help but snort with laughter. See, I knew this guy could speak plain old Mandarin.
“Here’s our boss’s business card, plus the official job offer. Please take your time and think it over, Mr. Young.”
“A hundred grand a month?” Jack flipped through the offer—yep, all in fancy English. “No clue what this says. But that number? That’s tempting, not gonna lie.”
Seeing Jack’s laid-back attitude, the old man rushed to convince him: “Absolutely! Our boss is serious about hiring you, Mr. Young. We know you could use the cash, so we’re offering a super generous deal—no other bodyguard gets perks like these.”
Jack handed the offer back. “Can I get one in Chinese? Also, when’s the deadline for my answer?”
The old man replied sternly, “Time’s tight, Mr. Young. The sooner you reply, the better.”
"No way." Jack Young spun on his heel. "I can't give you an answer right now."
"Mr. Young, I'll wait until noon tomorrow at the latest!" The old man shouted after him. "I'll be downstairs all morning, waiting for your answer. Our boss is a famous billionaire from Dingson Trading Corporation—opportunities like this don’t come twice! Today’s your shot at riding the gravy train, Mr. Young. Think it over!"
Jack muttered to himself, "Yeah, I'll think it over—sure, and pigs might fly."
Seriously, some random old dude pops up out of nowhere, acting all high and mighty, babbling in foreign languages, and giving me the stink eye like I owe him money. If his boss was really serious, they'd send someone normal to talk. If not, this gig’s probably a trap.
I’ve already made up my mind to ditch the corporate hamster wheel. Even running my own gym sounds way better than jumping back into the grind. Who wants to sign up for more misery? Not me!
Just then, Jack's ears perked up—he heard the old man back in the car, making a call: "Phase one contact complete. Target seems unwilling to cooperate. Prepare for next steps: gather info on his relatives and friends, get ready to apply pressure, lure him in. Boss has high hopes for this fighter—whatever it takes, we get him."
Jack glanced back and caught the old man shooting him a frosty look. No way the guy guessed Jack could hear every word from across the parking lot. The old man curled his lips into a creepy grin, then kept talking on the phone: "Use any means necessary."
Jack gave the old man a long, hard look, then turned and walked away.
Back at the hotel, Jack tossed the business card onto the nightstand.
He’d already looked up the company online—Dingson Trading Corporation. Not a small operation, either. They’re into all sorts of trades, headquartered in Hong Kong, mostly overseas shipping and logistics. (Totally made up, any resemblance is pure coincidence!)
The company actually exists—Jack even found a bunch of job listings for Dingson Trading Corporation online. So it’s not some made-up scam. But after what that old man said today, Jack was pretty sure this ‘bodyguard’ gig wasn’t exactly what it sounded like.
Thing is, everyone knows Jack Young as a martial artist, not a hired muscle. A bodyguard’s job is to protect, a martial artist’s job is to take down bad guys—totally different skill sets. Real bodyguards need actual training; you can’t just slap on the title and call it a day.
And let’s be real—no billionaire goes full James Bond just to hire a bodyguard. If they’re willing to ‘do whatever it takes,’ there’s gotta be something fishy going on.
"Gotta figure out a way to break this deadlock," Jack muttered, staring out the window. No matter how intense that old man’s ‘by any means necessary’ threat was, once they started mentioning Jack’s family and friends, he couldn’t just ignore it.
Just as Jack was deep in thought, a golden light flashed from his left palm—and his alter ego popped out of nowhere.
Jack was so startled, he yanked the curtains shut. Normally, his dual body only showed up when Jack wanted it to, never on its own. Something weird was definitely up.
Jack focused on the alter ego, trying to sense any changes. Suddenly, his eyebrows shot up and a huge grin spread across his face: "A storage space!"
Finally! The classic web novel protagonist move—Jack got his own magical storage space!
After checking it out, Jack felt a little let down—the space was tiny, barely big enough for a backpack. The only cool thing? The storage was linked between Jack Young and Jill Young. Anything Jack put in, Jill could pull out on her side, no problem.
"What’s the point of this? It’s just my stuff anyway, so it’s not that special... Wait—hold up!" Jack’s brain kicked into gear and he jumped up. "Clothes!"
The first time, Jack fell asleep in pajamas, so Jill Young woke up wearing pajamas too. The second time, Jill crashed in sportswear, and boom—Jack was sporting gym clothes. Sure, those outfits kinda worked for both sides, but come on, you can’t keep swapping like that forever, right?
Plus, who knows what kind of world you’ll drop into next—blazing sun or snowstorm? Until your body evolves enough, you gotta be ready for anything. That means packing clothes for every possible climate. Food, water, medicine? Better stock up on those too.
A single backpack’s worth of space? Not sure that’s gonna cut it!
Jack had a gut feeling—tonight was gonna be Jill Young’s big entrance. He checked his watch: 8:30 p.m. Still some time left, better hurry and hit the shops!
Jack dashed out like a man on a mission. He grabbed energy bars, bottled water, chocolate, salt, and a bunch of emergency meds. At the outdoor gear shop, he picked up rope, a compass, and—get this—a crossbow. The owner acted like he was selling contraband, swearing up and down it was top quality, perfect for hunting in the wild.
Jack gave the crossbow a try—it took some muscle, but it worked. He bought it, arrows included (twenty-five, reusable). Then he hit the bookstore for an English dictionary. As much as Jack hated to admit it, you never know—what if the next world speaks English?
I mean, I’ve got some English skills, right? I can always mix words with gestures and get by. With a dictionary on hand, I’m set for anything.
Wait—what if it’s French? Portuguese? Ancient Greek? Egyptian? Martian? Man... might as well give up and dig my own grave.
Finally, Jack arrived at the most important stop—women’s clothing.
How do I even pick? What size am I—er, is Jill Young? It’s been so long, I can’t remember! Actually, I’ve never measured! Hold on, calm down, think... Wait, got it! Jill’s figure should be about the same as Dummy Meg’s. I’ll buy her size. But, uh, what size is Dummy Meg, anyway?
He dialed Dummy Meg: "Hey, Dummy Meg, hurry up and tell me your measurements!"
On the other end: "...Jack Young, why don’t you just drop dead already..." Click. She hung up.
Jack slapped his forehead—his mind was a mess! In the end, he just guessed and bought two sets: one light, one heavy, for whatever weather. As for bras and the rest... don’t ask. Jack’s face was beet red the whole time.
"Sir, are you buying these for your girlfriend?" a salesgirl from the next counter rushed over.
"Uh, yeah, let’s go with that." Jack was still blushing, making the salesgirl giggle.
"You’re so thoughtful, sir! Why not check out our new product? Buy this and she’ll be twice as happy!" She pointed behind Jack, where a poster screamed: NIGHTTIME SUPER GUARD!
The salesgirl’s eyes sparkled, while Jack’s face turned even darker. He quietly walked away, thinking, Girl, you just don’t get me...
At eleven, Jack finished his incense-and-bath ritual. He looked at his eight-pack in the mirror, giving himself a deep, dramatic farewell. Dressed in loose kung fu gear, he lay down on the bed. The signal from his alter ego was getting stronger—Jill Young’s turn was just around the corner.
He did the math: exactly one month since Jack’s last return from dreamland—same amount of time spent in the Martial Arts Realm.
Jack took a deep breath and slowly closed his eyes. Bring it on, wild and weird new world!
In dreams, you forget you’re just a visitor; when night falls, your soul drifts home...
(Jill Young’s otherworldly adventure is about to begin! Also, starting tomorrow, I’m on a business trip—just know I’m giving it my all! Man, I wish I could write full-time. If this book ever makes money, I’m quitting to become a professional author!)