Why doesn't this method have a name? He wondered. Locals named everything, especially martial arts moves. A punch could be 'Flying Sky Dragon's Tail Strike,' though a plain hook's way better. Not that I care, of course, but by local standards, it's odd.

  Outside, it was getting dark, night was approaching. The yard rustled with grass and quiet childish whispers. Window shutters creaked as if someone peeked inside, then the door burst open, revealing two girls with smudged faces. Their big eyes watched their father expectantly. The elder stood firm, slightly frowning, braced for anything; the younger peeked from behind with tear-reddened eyes. Their father hadn't abandoned them, had come back. Even if bad, he was their only kin. They knew no one else, had nowhere to go.

  "Sit down and eat," Zhang Min said curtly, unsure how to act.

  The girls hesitantly stepped in, shut the door, then sat by the hearth, hungry eyes on the pot of pilaf. The delicious smell teased their appetites, making little Minzhu's chin drip with drool. They rarely ate with their father, so they didn't know how not to anger him.

  "Start eating," Zhang Min ordered.

  To ease the awkwardness, he rose and headed to his bed. Passing one daughter, he wanted to pat her head paternally, but both flinched in fear, shrinking, blinking as if bracing for a hit. Shocked by their reaction, Zhang Min froze, carefully withdrew his hand, and without a word lay down.

  Their dad's such a shitbag, he thought, turning to the wall and clenching his fist. They're such tiny things. How could he even raise a hand?

  Behind him came clatter of dishes, then slurping mixed with soft sobs. Soon everything calmed, filled with childish snores. Zhang Min got up and sat cross-legged. He looked at sleeping Xue and Minzhu, then for no reason sighed in relief. When they'd opened the door and appeared unharmed, a weight lifted from his chest; now seeing them asleep, warmth filled it. That night he slept soundly and worry-free.

  Next day, Zhang Min awoke near noon. The room filled with food scent. A covered stew pot warmed on embers, hearth corners stocked with kindling. He'd recently learned the girls gathered dry branches in bundles from the woods, sold or traded them for food. Through this simple way, they'd survived without his support so far. Add theft and eating frogs with rats, and it was a miracle they clung to their tiny lives.

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  "Heh. They did the laundry, hauled wood, and bolted," he scratched his head. "Can't be a real dad to 'em, but feeding two kids rice ain't a big deal."

  Though his career as a mercenary had only just begun, he'd gained modest ties with the Tsangyan clan, gotten the training method, so he expected decent earnings ahead. Moreover, he didn't waste money mindlessly. He'd hidden his hefty silver purse in a floor cache, keeping a few coins for expenses. Even with recent buys, his savings could last a month or more.

  Mercenary work paid well but came with risks and dangers, and he didn't feel ready. His warrior's main tool, the body, still fell short of the minimum, slashing survival odds in real combat. First mission lucked out, next time might not. Zhang Min decided to skip taking any new jobs for a couple weeks, focus on training.

  "I ain't expectin' miracles, but I'll squeeze all I can from these next few days."

  After breakfasting on leftover pilaf, he sat on the straw mat that served as his bed, closed his eyes, and organized the scroll's knowledge. It lacked actual martial arts, no strikes or techniques, just body strengthening, turning it into a weapon. Meditations, strength exercises, intricate breathing, special moves made an ordinary person a martial practitioner. Crossing this invisible threshold was called 'reaching the first stage of Body Tempering.'

  "There where's first, gotta be second, but ain't in the scroll. Weird," he mused aloud, heading to the yard. "Don't matter. Figure it out as we go."

  Although he grasped the knowledge's essence, as a man from the modern world, none of it made logical sense. During training, supposedly not just physical strength or agility grew, but Inner Qi or Life Energy multiplied and purified too, which seemed like nonsense to Zhang Min.

  "Well. Let's get to it!"

  Despite valid doubts on the mysterious Qi, he found the exercises very useful, as the scroll passed not just the training plan but explanations for why each move. Grunting and sweating, Zhang Min spent nearly an hour trying tai chi-like yoga posures, but it wasn't great, though sweat poured in streams.

  "Whew. Got max three weeks to prep," he gauged, wiping his sweaty brow. "Maybe less. Endurance sucks. Ugh. Back to morning runs. Tsk. Hungry again..."

  "Hey!" a voice called from the road. "Homeowner? It's the carpenter with his crew! Brought the tub!"

  "Oh! Comin', comin'!" Zhang Min replied.

  “Why’re you so sweaty?” the carpenter asked, surprised.

  "I'm a mercenary now. Gotta keep in shape."

  "Hm. You should apprentice with me instead. You're a pretty bright guy."

  "Oh yeah? What if I actually said yes? What would you do then?" Zhang Min grinned.

  "Ha-ha-ha. You almost had me there." the carpenter laughed. "Come on, show me what needs fixin'."

  "Heh. Door, shutters… and a few other things."

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