Franming, My Lord

When Lu Yuan stepped out of the alloy weapon store, he was still in a daze.

The lowest-grade alloy equipment had cost him 3,700 yuan — and that was only after haggling relentlessly. Without the haggling, it would've been 3,900. Two hundred yuan more.

*When exactly had he been so confident that 4,000 would cover both a weapon and armor?*

He didn't want to think about it now.

His Gene Battle Mark storage space now held a single item: the Type A1 Black Light Alloy Sword. One and a half meters of jet-black blade, cold light shimmering along its edge.

He glanced at the 300 yuan left in his pocket.

Originally he'd taken a hover cab to the mall. With only 300 remaining — and still needing to eat — he had no choice but to walk back. He'd thought about moving to better housing. He looked at the 300 again.

*...Never mind.*

The mall was over ten kilometers from the slums. He broke into a light jog and made it back in just over half an hour. Thank goodness for the Spiritual Energy — his stamina and raw strength had both improved measurably since he'd begun absorbing it.

He walked back into the apartment complex with his head slightly down and slipped into his rented room.

The apartment had been divided into four units. One was his; another belonged to Li Qinghe. A middle-aged woman occupied the third, and a couple the fourth. The woman and the couple usually left early during the day, so he rarely ran into them. Li Qinghe worked nights, so she was presumably asleep.

He eased the door shut and settled in.

That evening, he opened his laptop, logged into Battle Net, and spent several hours watching instructional videos on Military Body Fist and Military Body Killing Sword. The room was cramped, but since he was only just beginning and moving through the forms at a careful pace, he managed not to knock anything over.

He practiced until the sun went down, soaked through with sweat. He returned the Black Light Alloy Sword to his Gene Battle Mark storage space, sat on the bed, and rested.

After a while, he crossed his legs and began absorbing Spiritual Energy. Warmth spread through him as it flowed in, soothing the ache in his muscles considerably.

He made an unexpected discovery: practicing the Spiritual Energy Guidance Technique while physically exhausted was significantly more effective than practicing it fresh. Body, mind, and Spiritual Energy were mutually reinforcing — each one feeding the others.

*So that's why martial arts training is said to help with Spiritual Energy cultivation. It all makes sense.*

Later that night came the quiet sound of a door opening and closing. Li Qinghe heading off to work.

The next morning, Lu Yuan stepped out early, intending to find a quiet spot to practice his combat techniques.

He'd barely formed the thought when footsteps approached from outside. Li Qinghe was just returning from her night shift, a paper bag of pan-fried buns in hand. She smiled when she saw him and held the bag out.

He reached over and took one.

"Hey — were you practicing boxing yesterday?"

"How did you know?"

"You were so loud I could hear everything from my room."

Lu Yuan blinked. He hadn't realized the noise had carried that far. Then again, he already knew the soundproofing in this place was terrible — the couple next door had made that abundantly clear. He just hadn't expected his own training to be equally audible.

*So much for keeping a low profile.*

"Actually," Li Qinghe said, "I know a decent place for it."

"Really? Where?"

"I've been around the slums long enough to know a few people. A friend of mine runs a martial arts gym. You can train there. I'll take you."

"Sis, are you sure? You just got off a night shift — I don't want to cut into your sleep."

She waved a hand. "It won't take long."

After they finished eating, Li Qinghe led him out the door.

Both of them walked with their heads slightly bowed, footsteps quick.

The slums in daylight looked considerably more orderly than at night. People moved in hurried streams along the streets, many of them gaunt and pallid. The gutters on both sides of every road were choked with rubbish; small children crouched among the refuse, picking out anything salvageable to take home.

*The survival rules of the ordinary people in the slums.* Something Li Qinghe had impressed upon him early: see nothing, hear nothing, mind your own business.

He nodded to himself, heart heavy.

*Poverty.* That was what it came down to.

They turned through several foul-smelling alleyways before arriving at a set of battered metal gates. The sign above them read "Daming Martial Arts Gym" in four large characters, the neon tubing flickering erratically — several lights had clearly given out.

Outside, a handful of burly men squatted along the wall, smoking.

As Lu Yuan and Li Qinghe approached, the men glanced up. The moment they registered Li Qinghe, their eyes lit up. One of them — heavyset, with a scar running across his left eye — let out a slow, appreciative whistle.

Lu Yuan's brow tightened.

Li Qinghe flashed the man a coy smile.

"I'm here to see Brother Ming."

The scar-faced man had already risen to his feet with a grin. He froze. Every other man who had been itching to say something went still as well. The standing man's smile died on his face.

Without a word, he squatted back down and went back to his cigarette.

Lu Yuan glanced at the suddenly silent group with mild puzzlement.

Li Qinghe smiled and led him through the gates.

Inside was a sprawling courtyard packed with equipment — metal training posts, fitness machines, a boxing ring. The air was full of shouts and grunts as people trained: boxing, wrestling, some even running through forms with swords and other weapons.

At the far end of the courtyard, a brown-haired man nearly two meters tall was throwing punches at a metal post. He wore a tight black tank top that left nothing to the imagination; the muscles beneath it were almost cartoonishly overdeveloped.

*Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.*

Each punch landed with a deep, weighty impact, leaving distinct fist-shaped impressions driven into the surface of the post.

Lu Yuan stared. *That's solid metal. And he's leaving dents in it like that.*

*Could this person be a Gene Warrior?*

As they approached, the man stopped and turned.

His gaze swept briefly over Lu Yuan, then settled on Li Qinghe. A strange grin spread across his face.

"Well, well," he said, his voice rough and loud. "Aren't you bold? Coming here to find me yourself?"

Lu Yuan had half-expected the man to be threatening. Instead, contrary to every expectation, Franming immediately straightened up the moment Li Qinghe stepped closer — spine rigid, demeanor shifting entirely.

"You're here. What brings you by?"

"I missed you."

Franming waved a hand at Lu Yuan, a lewd smirk reappearing. "Look around. Qinghe — come in with me."

He turned and walked into a side room.

Li Qinghe gave Lu Yuan a look — one eyebrow raised, a strange little smile — and murmured: "Don't overreact. We'll blow our cover."

Then she followed Franming inside. The door clicked shut. The curtains were drawn.

The courtyard carried on around him as if nothing had happened.

Lu Yuan stared at the closed door.

*...*

*Is this really something a minor like me should be witnessing?*

Inside the room, Li Qinghe lit a cigarette, settled herself on the brown leather sofa, and crossed her legs with unhurried ease.

Franming stood before her. Not the swaggering figure he'd been outside — his spine was perfectly straight, eyes fixed on her.

"You're here," he said. "Why?"

"I missed you."

A pause.

"...My Lord," he said carefully. "Couldn't you stay a little longer?"

Li Qinghe looked up. "Reason?"

Franming's face drained of color. "No — no, I misspoke! My Lord, whatever you say goes!"

Li Qinghe smiled, slow and radiant.

She took out her phone and started playing a mobile game.

After a moment, Franming snuck a glance at her and cleared his throat.

"My Lord... that kid outside. Who exactly is he?"

"A little brother I happened to meet," Li Qinghe said, eyes on the screen. "Good kid. He just had his Awakening — hasn't been to the Land of Origin yet. I want him to train here. Keep an eye on him, teach him what you can."

Franming slapped his chest with both palms — the sound like striking a wall of bricks. "No problem! Leave it to me!"

Li Qinghe's smile faded. She thought of something.

"One more thing. There's a man outside — left eye, scar. I don't want to see him again."

Franming's face went white. He snapped to attention. "Understood!"

"I'll be going now."

"...My Lord, couldn't you stay just a little—"

"Understood means understood," she said pleasantly.

"...Yes, My Lord."

Back in the courtyard, the scar-faced man sat in complete silence, smoking without lifting his eyes.

Franming emerged from the side room and walked up to Lu Yuan.

Li Qinghe stepped out behind him, perfectly composed. "This is the owner — Franming. You can call him Brother Ming."

Franming studied Lu Yuan for a moment.

"Your sister's little brother?" He waved a hand. "Train here. No charge."

Lu Yuan nodded quickly. "Thanks, Brother Ming."

Heart full of complicated feelings, he looked around the courtyard.

*No sooner did I need it than it appeared. Is this what being the protagonist feels like?*

*...As expected of me.*

He hesitated, then turned to Li Qinghe. "Sis — who is Brother Ming, exactly? How do you two know each other?"

Li Qinghe tilted her head and gave him a strange, amused smile.

"Little brother — are you sure you want to know? How much detail are we talking?"

Lu Yuan's expression twitched. He gave a dry laugh.

"...Never mind."

Li Qinghe smiled brightly, eyes narrowing, and took out her phone to play her game.

Lu Yuan spent the rest of the day training at the gym.

The place had everything: metal posts, fitness equipment, a proper ring. He watched the man with the mechanical arm drive his fist through a training post earlier, deforming it completely, and shook his head in quiet amazement. He hadn't expected places like this to exist in the slums.

*Then again, the slums are full of things I didn't expect.*

He trained until the sun sank below the rooftops, soaked through with sweat. He sheathed the Black Light Alloy Sword back into his Gene Battle Mark storage space and walked home.

Back in his room, he sat cross-legged and resumed absorbing Spiritual Energy.

The warmth spread through him again as it flowed in, easing the ache in muscles he hadn't realized were still burning. He noticed again what he'd discovered before: practicing the Spiritual Energy Guidance Technique when physically exhausted produced noticeably better results.

*Body, mind, and Spiritual Energy — mutually reinforcing. Each one sharpens the others.* No wonder physical training was said to aid Spiritual Energy cultivation.

The room was quiet. The walls were thin; he could hear the couple next door most nights, which he'd long since made peace with. He supposed it was only fair that they could hear him in return.

*I really thought I was being quiet.*

Later, he heard the familiar click of the front door opening and closing.

Li Qinghe, heading to work.

He sat alone in the small room as the night settled in around him, and kept absorbing.