Riverdale government office building, sixth floor, inside an office.
A middle-aged man in his sixties or seventies, wearing silver-rimmed glasses, with his hair simply combed back, jet-black and glossy, not a single strand of gray.
He adjusted his glasses, squinting his eyes.
In front of him lay a sheet of paper resembling a résumé, listing Andrew Han’s personal history and brief information. The top two lines were circled in red.
Line one: Disciple of Miles Ning.
Line two: Riverdale’s fifteenth officially registered Martial Artist.
Tap, tap.
He tapped the desk, his face showing caution and gravity: “Such a young Martial Artist is likely to be reckless. And being a disciple of Miles Ning, he might become a lawless practitioner.”
Fortunately.
In about two weeks, Andrew Han will depart for Southland University.
Greenfield City and Riverdale are worlds apart.
As the only Tier-One city in Southland Province, it is the provincial center, a place of hidden dragons and crouching tigers. In Greenfield City, Martial Artists are not rare; only Martial Generals stand out.
Then.
He shook his head with a faint smile, murmuring, “This child’s experiences are rather normal. No serious fights or misconduct, even jumping out of the classroom window was to help a deskmate.”
But.
On the surface, he seems gentle and polite. Yet anyone capable of killing a Martial Artist should never be underestimated.
The government’s rating differs from the Martial Arts World. If you can kill a Martial Artist, you are one.
What surprises these government leaders most is that Andrew Han is just a freshly graduated high school student! Killing a Martial Artist shows decisiveness, which is understandable.
But the calm way he handled the aftermath is hard to believe.
For a high schooler to possess such ruthless resolve is rare. Even more so, his rational composure afterward—using Gavin King as a representative to negotiate with other Martial Artists and legally transfer Mr. Stone’s legacy—was remarkable.
That was what truly moved him.
He was the highest-ranking official in Riverdale’s government. Very few people or events could move him—but now, Andrew Han had joined that list.
Click.
He sighed, set down his glasses, and couldn’t help pulling out a cigarette to sniff. “I hope this era passes soon. I have the power to manage the city, but I can’t control martial practitioners.”
Just then.
The office door was gently knocked. Vincent Wen, dressed in a suit, walked in. “Sir, the asset transfer for Andrew Han is complete. Also, should William Han and his wife’s business still be listed as an outstanding individual enterprise?”
“Of course.” He thought for a moment, then lit the cigarette.
“Sir, Andrew Han is actually quite low-key. Maybe he doesn’t want us interfering too much in his daily life.” Vincent Wen mused, a trace of melancholy flashing in his eyes.
Hmm.
The man, Riverdale’s highest official, looked up at Vincent Wen, leaned back in his chair, took a slow drag of his cigarette, and fell silent.
A newly promoted Martial Artist isn’t much.
The problem is this new Martial Artist is far too young—and has a notoriously formidable master: Miles Ning.
...
Meanwhile, at the Han family’s apartment complex.
Vroom vroom.
A brand-new Volkswagen sedan drove into the complex and parked at the entrance.
Linda Chen got out first, clicking her tongue in admiration. “This car is really nice. Your dad’s city SUV looks impressive, but it’s not nearly as comfortable as this one.”
Bang.
Andrew Han closed the door and grinned, “Mom, you got it wrong. What Uncle gave me is a sports sedan, not a regular sedan.”
“What’s the difference?” Linda Chen pressed.
“I... I’m not sure, but there must be some difference.” Andrew Han was at a loss, shrugging. He didn’t care about the value of the car.
Because it was a gift from his uncle, and that couldn’t be measured.
No matter how wealthy a relative is, it’s rare for an uncle to give his nephew a car. This kind of family affection is truly priceless.
Linda Chen circled the car twice, shaking her head with a smile. “Whatever type it is, at least it’s a good car. Your uncle is really generous—this car must cost over two hundred thousand.”
She knew, too.
Even before her son revealed his connection to Sir Newman, George Han had already bought the car, but Linda Chen still felt a bit uneasy.
It should have been his mother who gave him his first car.
Linda Chen was uncomfortable, but sincerely excited for her son. After all, this was Andrew Han’s very first car.
Chirp-chirp.
Two or three birds circled overhead, fluttering back and forth.
Andrew Han looked up. The pale yellow birds contrasted with the blue sky and white clouds, creating a scene of crystal-clear beauty that lifted his spirits.
“Son,” Linda Chen asked, puzzled, “aren’t you excited at all?”
Excited?
Andrew Han withdrew his gaze and looked at his mother. “Why should I be excited?”
Linda Chen was speechless. She touched the silver rearview mirror, sighing, “This is your first car, and for you, it’s a pretty good one.”
In her heart, her son was still a freshly graduated high school student. For someone so young to own a car was extremely rare.
“It’s alright, I’m a little happy.” Andrew Han smiled.
The asset transfer was nearly complete, and he estimated his net worth to be over a hundred million. So two hundred thousand was a trivial amount. Martial power was the real foundation, the source of his freedom.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t tell his parents the real source of this huge sum.
Because it was income from the Martial Arts World. If he lied once, he’d have to keep lying to maintain it. Besides, the assets now under his name originally belonged to Mr. Stone.
Right now, Mr. Stone was already dead.
If his parents learned the exact names of his businesses and started looking into it, they might notice something strange—like Mr. Stone’s mysterious disappearance.
He’d never doubted his parents’ intelligence.
Especially when it comes to their children, parents can unleash unrivaled detective instincts. Back when he thought he’d hidden his martial arts achievements from them, it was only wishful thinking.
But the problem was—
Having wealth but not showing it off is like wearing fine clothes at night.
Andrew Han pondered for a moment, placing his left palm on the car hood and declaring seriously, “Mom, your son is actually a super-rich man. So this car really means nothing to me.”
“Oh.” Linda Chen examined the car, responding casually.
With the birds chirping in the background, Andrew Han froze, standing awkwardly in front of the car.
Heavens above!
He never expected his mother to be so calm. Shouldn’t she be excited and surprised, asking how much money he really had?
Mom, give me some kind of reaction!
Unwilling to give up, Andrew Han insisted, “I’m really rich.”
“I know. You’ve got several million in your account. And probably more besides.” Linda Chen patted the car and gently added, “Don’t worry, I didn’t snoop on your phone. It’s just that two bank transfer notifications popped up when your phone was on the couch the other day.”
...
Andrew Han was stunned, taking a deep breath.
To think he’d wanted to show off—his parents already knew everything.
But seeing the complicated look in Linda Chen’s eyes, Andrew’s sense of pride still surged, as if he could soar into the endless blue sky and look down on the world.
Is this what flaunting wealth feels like?
However—
Where’s the shock I was hoping for? Mom, can’t you at least play along a little?
So—
Andrew Han smiled modestly and sighed. “All this is hard-earned money, legal and aboveboard. But I don’t know how to explain it to you. Having so much money is a burden, too.”
“Honestly, I just want to make a living.”
“Money means nothing to me—it’s just clouds passing by. I really don’t care about it.”
By now, Linda Chen’s expression was odd. She looked Andrew up and down, wondering if she’d mistaken him for someone else.
Her gaze couldn’t stop his heartfelt self-reflection.
Andrew Han spoke earnestly, words pouring out: “Mom, you have to believe me. I don’t even understand why I have so much money. Maybe if I had less, life would be easier.”
But there’s no going back now.
Every moment, deep down, I keep asking myself—having money, is it really a good thing?
Ahem.
A middle-aged woman passing by suddenly coughed violently, her face reddening as she glanced at Andrew Han and Linda Chen before stumbling away.
She couldn’t understand it either.
How could there be someone like this in the world—how could anyone flaunt wealth to such an outrageous degree?
On the other side—
Linda Chen was just as bewildered. She hesitated, thinking for a long while before finally saying, “Let’s just go home. Lucy is probably taking her afternoon nap.”
“Alright.”
Andrew Han replied quickly.
Compared to martial arts, a bit of money wasn’t worth showing off. If not for the iron rules of the Martial Arts World, Andrew Han would rather tell his parents about his true strength.
The two of them climbed the stairs and opened the security door.
Andrew Han’s ears twitched—he could instantly hear Lucy’s steady breathing.
“By the way,” Linda Chen said as she closed the door, then whispered, “I haven’t told your dad. Don’t mention this in front of him yet. He’s very detail-oriented and always thinking things over. Wait until you can explain where the money came from, then tell him.”
“Okay, I understand.”
Andrew Han nodded and returned to his bedroom.
Seeing Linda Chen’s attitude, he suddenly understood—this was real life, not a TV drama where you could toss endless money at your parents. That would be irresponsible, and besides, his parents didn’t need it.
What his parents hoped for wasn’t that he’d have money or power.
Whoosh.
Andrew Han walked to the window, pulled back the curtains, and gazed up at the sun hanging in the blue sky, a relaxed smile on his lips.
His life was getting better and better.
So was the life of those around him.
All of it came from the incredible power of martial arts. But he was still some distance from his ultimate goal.
Keep training!
Andrew Han stared off into space for a while, then began practicing the Yang Pole stance.
Rustle, rustle.
As his vital energy flowed through his body like a rushing river, time slipped away. Before he knew it, dusk had arrived. Andrew Han ate a few bites of dinner and kept practicing his stance.
Above First Rank is Martial Artist.
He could feel the power gathering inside him, growing heavier and stronger. Clearly, he was advancing toward the Martial Artist realm.
...
Night fell, and the bright moon hung high in the sky.
Click.
Click.
Inside the bedroom, only the ticking of the clock remained.
Andrew Han’s legs were slightly bent as he held his stance. His clear, penetrating eyes radiated unmatched intensity—even the darkness of the room couldn’t hide their brilliance.
“Strength and vital energy have fused about ten percent.”
“Only when everything is fused can inner power be generated. But even the power of First Rank fusion rivals the misty inner strength of an ordinary Martial Artist.”
About an hour later, he finally finished his stance practice.
He’d practiced the Yang Pole stance for nearly seven hours today, and had made some progress.
Huff.
Huff.
Andrew Han adjusted his breathing, sat on the bed, and pondered silently.
For the past two days, he’d been busy dealing with the aftermath of killing Mr. Stone, and had only gained about twenty strands of gray-white energy.
He was surprised to notice—
The gray-white energy kept improving his physical fitness, but did nothing for the fusion of strength and vital energy. This left Andrew Han a bit confused; he didn’t really understand what the gray-white energy was or what it was for.
Could it be that it just makes the body stronger?
At the same time, the old question surfaced again—the source of the gray-white energy!
After days of testing, he finally understood that the age of an object wasn’t the real condition for gray-white energy. For example, even the conference table in the Southriver City government office had a strand of gray-white energy.
And that conference table—
It was made by a local company in Southriver City, and was about eight years old.
Hmm.
“I don’t know what gray-white energy is, but I have to figure out the conditions for its source.”