"Are you serious about this, Young Master?"
Pang Lin, the head of our estate's guards, gave me a skeptical look. "This isn't a game. Martial arts mean pain, sweat, and sacrifice. And even if you go through all that, there's no guarantee you'll get anywhere. Besides, you're not a kid anymore. Your bones are set. I'm afraid it's just too late for you to see any real results."
"I know what I'm getting into, Uncle Pang. Don't worry," I said with a nod.
"Old Pang, I'm counting on you," my father chimed in, clapping him on the shoulder. "From now on, I want Dao'er to treat you as his master."
Pang Lin looked flustered, jumping to his feet. "Master Jiang, you can't be serious! I don't have any kids of my own; teaching the Young Master a few moves is nothing. I could never presume to be his master."
"If I say you can, you can. Don't argue with me!" my father insisted, giving his shoulder another firm pat. He turned to me. "Dao'er, what are you waiting for? Show your master some respect."
"Disciple Jiang Dao greets Master Pang," I said, stepping forward and bowing deeply.
I saw my father's angle immediately. He was trying to bind Pang Lin to us with the unbreakable bond of master and disciple. That way, if things went south later, Pang Lin would be family. He'd never turn on us. And even if he did, he wouldn't bring himself to kill his own student. It was a clever move.
Pang Lin rushed to help me up. "Young Master, you honor me far too much."
"Master Pang," I said, looking him in the eye, "from this day forward, you are my teacher. Please, guide me and don't hesitate to correct me when I'm wrong."
"Of course, Young Master," he replied quickly. "I will hold nothing back."
"He's all yours, Old Pang," my father said with a satisfied smile, then turned and walked away.
I saw a flash of resignation in Pang Lin's eyes before he sighed. "Alright, Young Master. Follow me."
He led me out to the empty training yard in the center of the estate.
"I've never had a son," Pang Lin began, his voice softer now. "I always figured I'd find a worthy successor in a few years to pass on my 'Mad Demon Staff Technique.' But if you want to learn it, I'll teach you everything, move for move."
He picked up a heavy iron staff from the weapons rack. With a single, sharp flick of his wrist, the staff sliced through the air with a vicious whoosh.
"The Mad Demon Staff has eighty-one forms, broken into three levels of mastery," he explained. "The first is all about pure speed. The second is about power—making every strike heavy enough to shatter brick and split stone. The third level is unity, where all eighty-one forms flow together into one devastating, earth-shattering blow. To be honest, I've only ever reached the second level myself."
He began to move, the iron staff a blur in his hands as he demonstrated the forms. After each sequence, he'd pause to explain the intricacies. But a few minutes in, he stopped, a frown creasing his brow.
"Young Master?"
I had been hanging on his every word, but now my focus was gone, my mind a million miles away.
"Oh! Sorry, I'm listening. Please, continue," I stammered, shaking myself back to the present.
He nodded, though he looked unconvinced, and resumed his powerful, whirling demonstration.
But he'd lost me. A tidal wave was crashing through my mind, and a voice—a voice that felt like it was inside my own head—spoke with digital clarity.
[Martial Arts Modification System Activated]
A system? Was this really happening to me?
A translucent blue screen shimmered into existence right in front of my face.
Name: Jiang Dao
Strength: 0.8
Speed: 0.8
Spirit: 1.2
Martial Arts: Mad Demon Staff Technique [Modifiable]
I blinked, then rubbed my eyes hard, but it was still there. My heart hammered against my ribs. I fought to keep a straight face, to force myself to focus. Pang Lin was giving me the lesson of a lifetime, and I couldn't just zone out, no matter how badly I wanted to mess with this… this screen.
For the next two hours, Pang Lin patiently walked me through every last detail of the technique.
"If you have any more questions, just come find me," he said, finally setting the staff down.
"Thank you, Master Pang. I will," I said, my voice tight with anticipation.
He gave a slight nod and walked away, a weary sigh escaping his lips. He had done his duty, whether I followed through or not.
The second he was out of sight, I bolted for my room.
I was sure of one thing: no one else could see the panel. I slammed the door shut and stared at the screen. It looked just like the interface from a game I used to play in my old life. My eyes locked onto the word [Modifiable]. I knew exactly what to do.
Focusing all my intent, I mentally tapped the line for the Mad Demon Staff Technique.
WHOOSH.
The text instantly changed.
Mad Demon Staff Technique (10 Years of Practice)
A torrent of information flooded my brain—muscle memory, instincts, reflexes. My lean body felt denser, stronger. The palms of my hands, smooth just moments before, were now rough with thick, hard calluses. The skin on my arms darkened to a sun-forged bronze as my muscles swelled, growing larger and more defined, as if I'd been training relentlessly for a decade.
I stared at my hands, my arms, in disbelief.
Ten years? Did that mean I now had ten years of practice under my belt? This system could literally modify my training time.
A surge of adrenaline shot through me. I looked back at the panel, wondering how far I could push this. I focused again, tapping it repeatedly.
The text was blurred and updated.
20 Years of Practice.
30 Years of Practice.
…
50 Years of Practice.
60 Years of Practice.
Finally, it stopped. The panel refreshed with new stats.
Name: Jiang Dao
Strength: 1.2
Speed: 1.1
Spirit: 1.2
Martial Arts: Mad Demon Staff Technique (60 Years of Practice) [Max Level]
I felt like a completely different person. A deep reservoir of power coursed through me, my mind packed with decades of hard-won experience. Thick veins stood out on my arms like coiled ropes before settling back beneath the skin. The pallor of my old, weak self was gone, replaced by a healthy vigor. I felt invincible. My shoulders, my back, my legs—all were now corded with thick muscle. I was bigger, stronger.
Sixty years of skill… just like that?
My hands were huge. I made a fist, and my knuckles cracked like firewood. But the most incredible part was the knowledge in my head. I hadn't just mastered the three levels of the Mad Demon Staff; I had surpassed them.
A fourth level had emerged from my sixty years of simulated practice.
Pang Lin had never mentioned a fourth level. This one was called Malevolence. It was described as a technique fueled by pure, overwhelming killing intent, like a tiger descending on its prey.
It was nothing like the other three. This one was terrifying. It was said that a single strike was more powerful than the other eighty-one forms combined, capable of knocking an opponent out from its sheer, horrifying aura alone.
"This is insane," I whispered to the empty room. "This system is completely broken."
I had just achieved something my master couldn't in a lifetime.
And then a thought hit me.
If I could modify this martial art… what about others?
A new, electrifying excitement took hold. That old Daoist priest had told me martial arts were useless against the real dangers of this world.
Maybe he was wrong.
With a system like this, if I could learn and master dozens of techniques, what kind of power could I achieve? I could stack centuries of experience. Enough to face down any evil spirit and crush it in the palm of my hand.