"Water."
The voice was croaky. It sounded like a rusty gate hinge that hadn't been oiled in a century.
"I said, bring me water! Are you deaf? Or did you sell your ears to buy booze?!"
The young man sat up on the straw mat. He clutched a head that felt like it was being split open by a dull axe. He looked down at his hands. They were small. Soft. Callous-free. The hands of a scholar or perhaps a very lazy rhythmic gymnast.
"What in the world..."
He looked around. The room was a disaster. The walls were rotting wood. The ceiling had a hole the size of a carriage wheel. The smell was atrocious. It smelled like mildew and despair.
This was the Thunder Dragon Sect.
Or at least it used to be.
"I definitely died," the man muttered while rubbing his temples. "I fought the Demon Lord of the Northern Wastes. I put a hole in his chest. I drank the celebratory wine. I went to sleep."
He paused. His eyes widened.
"Did the wine kill me?"
"AGHHH! THOSE CHEAP BASTARDS! THEY POISONED THE GOOD STUFF!"
He kicked the blanket off. It disintegrated into dust.
This man was Lei Feng. The Thunder God. The Sword Saint of the Storm. The man who made the entire Murim world tremble a hundred years ago just by unbuckling his belt.
And now?
He scrambled to a cracked bronze mirror in the corner. The face staring back wasn't his rugged handsome bearded visage. It was the face of a scrawny wide-eyed boy who looked like he would cry if a goose hissed at him.
"Reincarnation?" Lei Feng touched his cheek. "Into the body of... who is this? A third-rate disciple?"
He checked his internal energy.
It was empty. Not just empty. It was barren. It was a drought-stricken desert where even the cacti had died of thirst. The dantian was blocked by gunk that looked like grease from a cheap pork bun.
"TRASH! TOTAL TRASH!"
He fell back onto the floor and kicked his legs like a tantrum-throwing toddler.
"I spent sixty years cultivating! Sixty years building the Perfect Thunder Body! And I have to start over with this walking stick of a body? Give me back my muscles! Give me back my qi! Give me back my money!"
Suddenly a loud crash echoed from outside.
KWANG!
"Get out here, you pathetic excuses for martial artists!"
Lei Feng stopped kicking. His ears twitched.
That wasn't the sound of training. That was the sound of trouble. And if there was one thing Lei Feng loved more than alcohol, it was beating up people who caused trouble.
He grabbed a nearby object. It was a rotting bamboo broom. He kicked the door open.
The Courtyard of the Thunder Dragon Sect.
It was pathetic. Weeds grew through the stone tiles. The Grand Hall looked like a stiff breeze would knock it over.
In the center of the yard, three large men stood with crossed arms. They wore the black and orange training robes of the Black Tiger Hall. They were a rival school from the town below.
Kneeling before them was a middle-aged man in faded blue robes. The current Sect Leader named Wei Han. He was trembling. Actually trembling.
"P-please," Wei Han stammered with his head touching the dirt. "Just give us a few days. This is our ancestral land!"
"Ancestral land?" The lead Black Tiger disciple spat on the ground. He was a brute with a neck thicker than his head. "This isn't a sect. It is a garbage dump! The Black Tiger Hall needs this space for a new latrine. It is the only thing this place is good for!"
"But this is the legacy of the Thunder God!" Wei Han cried.
The Black Tiger disciple laughed. It was a wet and ugly sound. "The Thunder God? That old fossil? He has been dead for a century! If he were here I would snap him in half like a dry twig!"
Silence.
The air suddenly grew cold.
A shadow fell over the Black Tiger disciple.
"Hey. Muscle-brain."
The disciple turned around. He looked down. And down.
Standing there was a scrawny boy. He barely came up to the man's chest. He was holding a rotting bamboo broom like it was a legendary divine weapon.
"Who is this rat?" the disciple sneered.
Lei Feng tilted his head. A vein bulged on his forehead.
"Did you just say... snap him like a twig?"
"Yeah I did. You wanna join him, you little—"
Puh-ak!
It happened in a flash. The bamboo broom moved.
The disciple didn't see it. He didn't even feel it at first. He just suddenly found himself looking at the sky. Then the back of his head hit the stone tiles.
THUD.
"S-Senior Brother?" The two lackeys froze.
Lei Feng stood over the unconscious man. He rested the broom on his shoulder. He picked his ear with his pinky finger.
"You have three seconds," Lei Feng said. His voice dripped with boredom. "Pick up this garbage and roll away. If you are still here at four seconds..."
He grinned. It wasn't a nice grin. It was the grin of a tiger looking at a limping deer.
"...I'll break your legs and use them as chopsticks."
"G-get him!" one lackey screamed while pulling a wooden training saber.
Lei Feng sighed. "Youngsters these days. No respect for the elderly."
The lackey swung the saber. A sloppy wide arc. Full of openings.
Lei Feng didn't dodge. He simply stepped into the swing.
Dragon Step: Flash.
He slid past the blade like a drop of water sliding down glass. He brought the handle of the broom up.
CRACK!
Right into the lackey's chin. The man spun in the air twice before face-planting into the dirt.
The last lackey dropped his weapon. He looked at his fallen comrades. He looked at the scrawny boy. Then he looked back at his comrades.
"I... I resign!"
He ran. He ran faster than any horse.
Lei Feng tsked. "Coward."
He turned around. The Sect Leader was staring at him with his mouth hanging open wide enough to catch flies.
"J-Jin?" Wei Han stammered. "Disciple Jin? How did you... that was the Dragon Step! But you... you have been bedridden for months! You have no internal energy!"
Lei Feng looked at the Sect Leader. He looked at the dilapidated building. He looked at the weeds.
Slowly the rage built up again.
He walked over to the Sect Leader. Wei Han flinched.
Lei Feng raised the broom... and smacked the Sect Leader right on top of the head.
WHACK!
"OW! Why?!" Wei Han clutched his head while tears welled up.
"WHY?!" Lei Feng roared. His face was red. "Look at this place! Look at you! Kneeling to a third-rate dojo? Giving up the sect's land? Did I... did the Ancestors leave this mountain to you so you could turn it into a charity case?!"
"B-but we have no money! The Black Tiger Hall is strong!"
"STRONG?! THEY ARE TRASH!" Lei Feng pointed the broom at the Sect Leader's nose. "Starting today the Thunder Dragon Sect is under new management. And the first rule of management is..."
Lei Feng's stomach growled. A loud rumbling sound echoed through the silent courtyard.
He paused. He looked serious.
"...The first rule is that the Sect Leader must feed the disciples meat. Where is the kitchen?!"
Wei Han blinked. "We... we have rice gruel?"
Lei Feng's eyes went dark. The aura of a demon rose from his small body.
"Gruel? GRUEL?! I'M GOING TO KILL EVERYONE!"