"Wei! Stop daydreaming! Table four wants more wine!"

  The cook's sharp cry cut through the noise of the kitchen, jolting Li Wei out of his thoughts. The young man startled, his fingers nearly letting the oil-slicked wooden tray slip from his grasp entirely. The air inside the cramped kitchen was stifling — thick with hot steam carrying the rancid smell of pork fat and workers' sweat that stirred something unpleasant deep in his gut.

  Though, if he were being honest, it wasn't that nauseating combination of smells that was making him want to retch.

  Li Wei turned toward the chopping block, watching the stout, middle-aged cook busily hack apart a duck carcass. Directly above the man's head, the air flickered in a way that wasn't right — exactly like smeared ink bleeding and warping across the canvas of empty space.

  [Status: Fatigued (Stamina < 20%)]

  [Mood: Irritable]

  Li Wei shut his eyes tight, pressing his fingers roughly against his temple as though the physical act alone could scrub the hallucination from his skull. Go away. Please go away. But when his eyelids lifted again, the strange floating text was still there — hovering, as if mocking whatever sanity he had left.

  "Sorry, Uncle... my head suddenly started spinning," Li Wei muttered as an excuse, hastily grabbing the wine jug from the shelf and stepping out into the main hall.

  The noise hit him at once. Local swordsmen passing through and road-weary traveling merchants devoured their midday meals while carrying on conversations that competed loudly with one another.

  Then a rough slam brought everything to a halt.

  BANG!

  The tavern's wooden door was kicked open so hard the hinges screamed. Harsh sunlight forced its way inside, carrying with it the silhouette of a young man in a white robe — far too clean for the muddy streets of this backwater village. At his hip hung a sword in a scabbard studded with blue sapphires that threw blinding glints of light across the room.

  Silence dropped instantly, smothering the hall like a wet blanket.

  In a dim corner, an old merchant suddenly bowed his head low, pretending to be intensely occupied counting copper coins on his table, his hands trembling badly. Across from him, a mother panicked and yanked her child into her arms, pressing both the boy's eyes shut with her rough palms. Everyone here — every native of this world — knew the unspoken rule for staying alive: Don't meet a Swordsman's eyes. Don't breathe too loudly when they walk past.

  But for Li Wei, the arrival of this arrogant young man was no ordinary physical threat.

  Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  The moment the tip of that leather boot crossed the threshold, Li Wei's head felt as though it had been split open with a dull axe.

  "Argh..."

  Not an ordinary headache. It felt like thousands of rusty ice needles being forced in behind his eyeballs all at once. A digital drone — a long, ear-shredding beeeep — drowned out the silence, erasing the creak of floorboards and the frightened exhales around him. The warm colors of the tavern faded slowly, steamrolled by lines of blazing red text that seemed to burn his retinas from the inside out.

  [NAME: ZHAO (PLAYER)]

  [LEVEL: 25 (FOUNDATION BUILDING)]

  [TITLE: WOMANIZER]

  [HP: 100%]

  The words were heavy. Loud. Suffocating.

  Li Wei lost his balance. The tray flew from his hands. CRASH! The wine jug shattered across the floorboards, the sharp reek of alcohol spreading fast. He dropped to his knees, clutching his own head with both hands. Stop... please stop...

  "Hey! What is wrong with you!" snapped one of the guests who'd been splashed with wine.

  Zhao just laughed. He strolled inside with an easy arrogance, glancing down at Li Wei writhing on the floor like a worm on hot pavement.

  "Quite the welcome," Zhao chuckled, visibly pleased. "NPCs in this starter village are seriously glitchy."

  He threw himself onto the nearest stool. Legs up on the table. The soles of his leather boots left smears of mud across wood someone had just wiped down.

  "Hey, Waiter! Over here!"

  The searing pain behind Li Wei's eyes gradually dulled to a constant throb at his temples. He wanted to run. But his legs had gone to jelly. The old merchant in the corner wasn't going to save him. The mother was only holding her child tighter. There were no heroes in this world.

  Li Wei forced his body upright.

  "P-Please... forgive my clumsiness, honored Swordsman..."

  "Always apologizing. Gets old real fast." Zhao studied Li Wei the way a nasty little boy sizes up a grasshopper before pulling its legs off one by one. "Why are you shaking? Scared? Or do you know who I am?"

  "S-Sir... please..."

  "Pathetic." Zhao turned away, laughing at the empty air beside him as though speaking to something invisible. "Check the chat — his fear response is insanely realistic. Let's test my bare-fist damage."

  Without any warning, Zhao's right fist blazed a sharp yellow.

  THUD!

  The blow landed square on Li Wei's solar plexus. The air detonated out of his lungs. It felt like being hit by a cart at full gallop. His thin body was hurled backward. CRACK! His spine slammed into the wooden wall hard enough to split it.

  "Ugh... gah..."

  Li Wei crumpled to the floor, coughing up a clear fluid laced with the taste of blood. Every organ inside him felt pulverized.

  "Unreal," Zhao scoffed, strolling toward his target without hurry. "One tap. Defense is tissue paper."

  Li Wei dragged himself backward across the shards of shattered pottery. Pointless. Zhao was already standing over him, foot raised high.

  Through the blur of tears and pain, Li Wei caught something shift above the young man's head.

  The fist icon that had blazed yellow was now extinguished — dark gray and inert. A small number had begun ticking down beside it.

  [SKILL: IRON FIST]

  [COOLDOWN: 15...]

  "Just die already, trash."

  Zhao's heel drove into Li Wei's stomach a second time.

  THWACK!

  It hurt. Of course it did. Li Wei curled up reflexively.

  But... something was off.

  The first blow had felt like a red-hot iron hammer — crushing, lethal, rattling him all the way down to his soul. But this kick? It felt like being booted by an overzealous drunk on the street. The weight of it was human. Its aura, hollow.

  Why the difference?

  Li Wei's eyes locked onto the number above Zhao's head.

  [COOLDOWN: 12... 11...]

  It was still counting down. And while it counted, Zhao's body was no longer radiating any light.

  A wild conclusion struck his mind, silencing logic before it could raise a single objection.

  As Zhao drew his foot back for a third strike, Li Wei's blood-drenched hand shot forward.

  GRAB.

  Those thin fingers clamped around Zhao's ankle. Hard. Sinking in like the talons of a starving eagle.

  Zhao stopped. He looked down, brow creasing in bewilderment. He yanked his leg — but the dying waiter's grip refused to give. Not because of any profound inner power. It was pure desperation transmuted into strength.

  "Huh? Why won't it let go?"

  Li Wei lifted his bruised, bloodied face. His eyes passed straight through Zhao, locking onto the floating number above his head.

  [COOLDOWN: 09...]

  Every trace of fear in Li Wei's eyes burned away completely, consumed by a single, deeply dangerous question:

  'If that number still hasn't hit zero... does that mean right now, you're just an ordinary man?'