Chapter Eleven: I Am Lei Feng

After browsing through the Bond interface, Zhang Yu continued to switch down, finding the taskbar still empty. He had no idea when the system would assign him a task or what kind of tasks they might be, but after a brief grumble, he moved on.

Ironically, the most crucial Talent interface was not something that required constant attention. When the need arose, he could simply exchange for what suited the situation—after all, a blade should be used at its sharpest to reap the greatest reward.

Finally, he arrived at his personal information main page. Staring at his dismal stats, save for his charisma, Zhang Yu couldn’t help but purse his lips in dissatisfaction.

Martial Ability — 19
Leadership — 14
Intelligence — 42
Politics — 27
Charisma — 88

“If I remember correctly, isn’t it five hundred points of prestige or experience to increase a stat by one?” he mused.

Zhang Yu tapped after Martial Ability—19. A small plus sign appeared: “Would you like to use 500 points to increase Martial Ability by 1? Yes/No.”

“No.” Starting at 18, and after a few days of hard training, it had only crept up to 19. Even if he spent another two points, he’d only reach 21—hardly a match for any able-bodied youth who might cross his path. Better to focus on his strengths, to pursue mastery in what he excelled at.

Thinking this, Zhang Yu flicked his imaginary fringe, then tapped after the Charisma stat—88—and chose “Yes.”

“Would you like to use experience points or prestige points for this enhancement?”

“Experience points are better saved for redeeming talents from the talent pool. But prestige… the prestige I’ve accrued won’t just disappear on its own, right? I’ll choose prestige.”

With the selection made, Zhang Yu blinked, and saw his Charisma stat rise to 89, while the prestige tally at the top left of his interface shifted: 650 (1150).

“So that’s how it works!” Zhang Yu finally felt he’d grasped the basics of the system.

All in all, experience points were extremely valuable, to be saved up for redeeming a variety of talents—this was the real key to gaining fame in the Three Kingdoms. Prestige, meanwhile, was mainly for boosting stats. Though spent, the system would always remember the highest prestige ever attained, so earned titles and corresponding abilities would remain.

He ran through all of this in his mind, then spent another 500 prestige to raise his Charisma to 90, and turned his attention to the badge section below.

[Gentleman as Jade] (Trait: The host possesses a charm that easily wins others’ favor at first sight.)
[Long-Term Illness] (Trait: The host’s body is frail due to a chronic illness, with a risk of relapse in poor environments.)

[Man of Righteousness] (Trait: Affinity with like-minded generals increases more quickly.)

“Mm, training can’t be neglected. When it comes to things related to the body, it always feels most reassuring to do it yourself.”

Having reviewed his situation, Zhang Yu left his room, preparing for his afternoon workout.

His routine—studying and calligraphy in the study, physical training in the courtyard, visits to his parents’ quarters, and time in his own bedroom—these four points defined the lines of his life. Of course, there were also his early morning and dusk jogs.

In the blink of an eye, a week passed. Zhang Yu’s Martial Ability had risen to 21, his Intelligence had inexplicably jumped to 45, and his body, once like fine mutton-fat jade, now bore the beginnings of real muscle. He even seemed a little taller than before.

One day, preparing to soak in a wooden tub, Zhang Yu shooed out Han Yan, blushing shyly, and Ying’er, pouting in annoyance. Then, standing naked, he admired his body from head to toe—utterly satisfied. Poking at his clearly defined six-pack, a phrase popped into his mind: “an angel’s face, a devil’s body”…

Summer mornings are always better for exercise than nights. After the moon’s gentle radiance had cooled the earth, there was none of that stifling heat, and the body felt in optimal condition.

Han Long, his human alarm clock, always knocked on his door right at the crack of dawn. Ever since the sword was forged, Han Long’s affection for Zhang Yu had risen by three more points; he never parted from the weapon, even carrying it on his back when running—it was forged from pure refined steel, weighing almost ten pounds, exquisitely crafted and practical, not quite up to Liu Bei’s twin swords, but not far off.

“Aren’t you tired carrying that sword every day?”

“Not at all. Young master, if you wished, carrying you would be no trouble for me, either.”

Well, that’s what I get for asking. This bizarre world is beyond me—I’ll just keep being a quiet, handsome man.

With most of the refugees gone, Zhongshan was regaining its former vitality. Shops and stalls opened early, and sometimes they’d meet others out for a stroll. Zhang Yu and Han Long’s running route no longer circled their own compound, but expanded to the inner city of Zhongshan—a single lap took over an hour.

One morning, as they headed out early, a sudden incident occurred as they reached the west city.

A carriage burst from a side street, racing straight toward a scholar just ahead and to their right.

“Young master, look out!” Han Long turned back, shielding Zhang Yu.

“I’ll be fine—you go save him!”

At Zhang Yu’s urging, Han Long leapt forward, as if born for swordplay. He drew his treasured blade in front of the scholar, swinging it in a smooth arc and striking the panicked horse’s leg.

With a shrill neigh, the horse collapsed, and the driver was flung several meters away.

Moments later, the driver scrambled to his feet, thanked Han Long, and hurried to the scholar to apologize.

As Zhang Yu was about to resume his run with Han Long—

“Wait! Young master, please hold on a moment!”

“Hm?” Zhang Yu turned at the call, looking at the middle-aged scholar. “You mean me?”

“How odd… how very strange.”

Hey! You’re the strange one. I know I’m devastatingly handsome, but staring like that isn’t exactly polite, is it?

“May I ask what business brings you here, sir?” Zhang Yu kept his inner complaints to himself, maintaining a polite demeanor.

“Ah… I am Liu Liang. May I have your name, young master?”

So he just wanted to thank me—such a trivial matter!

Zhang Yu smiled. “It was nothing, not worth mentioning. My name is Lei Feng!” Without waiting for Liu Liang to say more, he took off with Han Long.

“Lei Feng? I didn’t know there were any Lei families in Zhongshan…”

“Sir,” the driver said softly, “you must be new here. That’s the eldest son of Zhang Shiping, our great benefactor—his name is Zhang Yu. There are few in Zhongshan who don’t know him; everyone calls him Jade Gentleman!”

“Jade Gentleman? Zhang Shiping?” The scholar stroked his goatee, stepped onto the driver’s carriage, and said, “Take me to the Zhang residence. I won’t hold the runaway horse against you.”

It was a cloudy day, and halfway through their run, thick clouds gathered, threatening to burst at any moment. Zhang Yu dared not continue as usual and headed back with Han Long.

“Young master, the master wishes to see you in the main hall,” Ying’er called from the doorway as soon as they arrived home.

Taking the warm water from Han Yan, he bent down to let her wipe the sweat from his brow, then made straight for the main hall.

As he rounded the eastern wing, the rain began to pour, drenching him in an instant. A servant hurried out with a paper umbrella, but the effect of that troublesome badge seemed to work far too quickly.

Wrapped in a dry cloth, Zhang Yu made his way to the hall, already feeling a cold coming on, his nose blocked. Pushing open the door, he saw Zhang Shiping deep in conversation with the scholar he’d met that morning.

“Yunuer, are you all right?” Zhang Shiping rushed over, touching his still-damp hair. “Let me introduce you—this is—”

“I know, father… Ah-choo! It’s… Mr. Liu Liang.”