0048 Sold at a Loss with Tears

After the duty manager called the police, it took about ten minutes for officers from the local station in Binjiang University Town to arrive. The investigation was led by a middle-aged officer named Liu, accompanied by a young auxiliary policeman named Li. As soon as the two entered the waste processing plant and saw the line of rat corpses, they were both taken aback. More than twenty rats, all impaled with nails—no matter how you looked at it, something was off.

"Boss, isn’t catching rats legal? Why’d they call us out in the middle of the night?" the young auxiliary police officer whispered.

"Xiao Li, you don’t get it!" Officer Liu scolded. "Catching rats isn’t illegal, but deliberately releasing plague-infected rats is a serious crime."

Crouching down to inspect the scene, Officer Liu quickly realized this could be a significant case. He and his apprentice conducted initial interviews and a basic investigation around the plant. A few minutes later, staff from the disease control station arrived in white coats, packed up all the rats, and took them away for testing.

After a two-hour wait, the test results finally came back, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief. None of the specimens carried plague or any infectious diseases; it had all been a false alarm.

"As long as it’s not the plague!" someone said. "If someone had actually released disease-carrying rats on such a scale, the consequences would be dire," Officer Liu remarked after receiving the results at the station, finally relaxing himself. Police were skilled at dealing with criminals, but combating infectious diseases and viruses was another matter entirely—outside their expertise and responsibility.

"Sir, since there’s no plague, do we still open a case?" Xiao Li asked.

"We do. Why wouldn’t we? I keep telling you, always look at things from multiple perspectives! Look at these nails in the rats. It’s obvious they weren’t fired from a nail gun."

"The force required to drive a nail straight through a rat—most likely, it was a homemade crossbow or an air gun specifically modified for firing nails." Officer Liu continued educating his apprentice.

Several nearby universities offered mechanical engineering and manufacturing programs. He suspected that some student, seeking amusement, had secretly made such a forbidden device. After all, crossbows and air guns were classified as controlled weapons in China, as strictly prohibited as sharpened throwing darts—private possession was forbidden and would be punished if discovered.

"Got it, sir! I’ll check the surveillance footage and compare suspects right away!" Realizing the seriousness of the case, Xiao Li perked up and rushed off to analyze camera footage for potential suspects.

...

The next morning, Chen Jue woke up naturally a little after five o’clock. He’d been rising earlier and earlier lately, his biological clock increasingly regular—his mind always began to stir about ten minutes before sunrise, emerging from deep sleep.

After washing up and putting on his jacket, he climbed to the rooftop of the talent apartment building. The sky to the east was barely light; the sun had not yet risen. Chen Jue stretched and warmed up on the rooftop. After about three or four minutes, the city’s skyline revealed the first sliver of the sun.

As crimson sunlight pierced his eyes, Chen Jue closed them and began his eye exercises.

"At sunrise, the sun’s rays enter at a lower angle and are scattered by the atmosphere, so the blue light is dispersed, and the human eye perceives mostly orange-red light," he recalled from his recent online research while doing the exercises. "Getting sunlight at a low angle early in the day is more effective at synchronizing the circadian rhythm."

Years of risk control data analysis had cultivated in Chen Jue an unusual habit: whenever something caught his attention, he’d analyze and research its origins. For instance, upon learning that red light could stimulate retinal mitochondria and improve vision, he’d collected mountains of literature online about it—why sunlight at sunrise and sunset was reddish, how morning sunlight regulated the body’s biological clock, and so on. The answers to these questions were supported by scientific research and authoritative sources—not wild guesses based on his attribute panel.

"In the ancient ‘Song of Beating the Earth,’ there’s a line: ‘Work at sunrise, rest at sunset.’ Just one simple line encapsulates the body’s circadian rhythm. I wonder if the practitioners of ancient times could live longer, healthier lives like modern people."

As he pondered this, continuing his eye exercises, a prompt appeared on his panel after about half an hour.

——————

[Ding~]

[You have completed a standard red light therapy session and eye massage. Your vision has improved slightly.]

[Constitution +0.01]

——————

[Ding~]

[Skill proficiency reached 100%. Skill level up.]

[Eye Exercises Lv2 (500/500) → Lv3 (1/2000)]

[Your understanding of this eye massage technique has deepened. You have an enhanced grasp of the blood vessels, acupoints, and muscle contours around the eyes, and the effectiveness of your massages will continue to improve.]

——————

"Leveled up!"

A surge of unfamiliar muscle memory tingled in his fingertips as he massaged the area around his eyes. Pressing on the acupoints now felt even more comfortable than before. When he opened his eyes, the world was bathed in a pleasant blue-green halo.

He blinked and waited for his vision to normalize, realizing that everything around him now looked sharper than ever. Of all his recent training results, it was the improvement in his eyesight that thrilled him most. At this rate, he might soon be able to ditch his glasses altogether.

Trying them on again, he found the world even clearer than before—but now he felt a bit put off by the old square frames he’d worn for years. "The prescription must have decreased again," he muttered. "These glasses can’t be worn much longer, or I’ll get dizzy." Mismatched lenses were a common issue; he’d need to get new ones soon.

But it was still too early—none of the nearby shops had opened yet, so he’d have to put off getting a new pair.

...

After finishing his eye exercises and gaining a minor point in constitution, it was just after six in the morning. Most people were still sleeping in, but Chen Jue was already heading to the park for his next training session.

"I’ve got until 8:30 before work starts. That’s two more hours to exercise," he calculated. That was one of the perks of waking up early—he had more time to use than those who slept in.

At the park, instead of practicing tai chi by the lake as usual, he headed for the tai chi class he’d noticed before. Since he’d already mastered the "Twelve Forms of Tai Chi," the panel suggested he needed to learn more advanced routines to keep improving.

Online tutorials were limited; there was no substitute for real-life instruction, so Chen Jue decided to enroll in a class. After searching the park, he found the group already practicing, even before six o’clock—mostly elderly men and women, with a few middle-aged participants. There wasn’t a single young person like him; these days, young people were either overworked or partying late, and few would get up at six to exercise, let alone enroll in a tai chi class.

He went up to the instructor—a kindly, gentle-faced man named Zhao—and explained his intentions. Upon learning that this young man wanted to join, Zhao was especially enthusiastic. He explained that he taught the thirty-three forms of Wudang Tai Chi, a secret tradition from the Quanzhen Dragon Gate lineage, distinct from the more common forms.

Just paying the fee wasn’t enough to learn the true art—traditionally, one had to become a Taoist disciple. However, Zhao Jianguo, though only a lay practitioner himself, had studied the art at Wudang in his youth. For ordinary trainees, he taught the widely-available twenty-four and forty-eight forms, as well as the Wudang thirteen forms—routines commonly found online, with no teaching restrictions.

Tuition was charged monthly, quarterly, or yearly, and unless there was a typhoon or heavy rain, the class met daily in the park. Chen Jue decided to sign up for a month, added Zhao Jianguo on WeChat, transferred 1,000 yuan, and joined the group’s practice.

"Let me see your tai chi basics first," Zhao said after a few questions. Upon learning that Chen Jue had practiced the simplified twelve forms, he asked him to demonstrate.

Chen Jue nodded and performed the entire (mastered) "Twelve Forms of Tai Chi" from beginning to end.

...

Zhao Jianguo’s eyes nearly popped out of his head at the display! The movements were smooth and practiced, the posture light yet steady, exuding a touch of the masterly—this was no beginner’s form.

"Chen, are you sure you’ve only practiced for a short time?" Zhao asked, astonished. For he could find not a single flaw in Chen Jue’s execution—it was textbook perfect. As the instructor, even he couldn’t perform the forms so precisely.

"It’s been about a week, I think," Chen Jue replied.

"A week? You really are gifted!" Zhao exclaimed, then, after a moment’s thought, said, "Here’s what we’ll do. Your twelve forms are already excellent; the only thing you lack is stance work. I’ll teach you all the routines I can, and after you’re familiar with them, I’ll start teaching you the thirteen Wudang stance techniques. Deep stance training will significantly improve your physical condition!"

The prospect of learning so many tai chi routines made Chen Jue feel his tuition had been well spent. He’d never learned stance work from the elderly practitioners in his neighborhood, and wasn’t sure if it was as miraculous as rumored, but he was eager to find out.

...

He practiced under Zhao Jianguo, starting with the twenty-four forms, then the forty-eight, and finally the thirteen Wudang forms. With his solid foundation in the simplified twelve forms, Chen Jue quickly mastered all the routines in just two hours, activating them as panel skills and earning another 0.01 free attribute point.

Just then, a new prompt appeared:

——————

[Ding~]

[Detected high overlap among four movement skills.]

[Do you wish to merge "Twelve Forms of Tai Chi," "Twenty-four Forms," "Forty-eight Forms," and "Wudang Thirteen Forms"?]

[Merging will consume 0.20 free attribute points.]

——————

"That’s a lot to merge! How long will it take to accumulate enough?" Chen Jue muttered, a bit frustrated. Last time, merging "Skipping Stones" and "Throwing Darts" had taken him a week’s worth of free attributes. Merging four tai chi routines would take ten days or half a month at this rate.

"Forget it, take it slow. Merge if you can, otherwise just max out all the skills first. It’s just a bit more to keep track of—doesn’t affect usage," he grumbled to himself.

...

At 8:30, Chen Jue bade farewell to Zhao Jianguo and left the park.

But after he left, Zhao Jianguo, still suppressing his shock, couldn’t help but take a deep breath and mutter, "A genius!"

In just two hours of one-on-one instruction, Zhao Jianguo had already noticed Chen Jue’s astonishing learning ability and memory. Often, after only one demonstration, Chen Jue would grasp the trick, correct his own mistakes, and even improve on the details. Zhao had taught tai chi in this park for over a decade, with thousands of students—none had ever learned so quickly or so well.

"Other students need months to master these moves. No wonder he only signed up for a month! At this rate, he’ll learn everything I have to teach in less than a week," Zhao thought ruefully. The more he considered it, the more he felt he’d undercharged that 1,000 yuan—he’d taken a loss of epic proportions.