Since that was the case, Lin Wanrong didn't bother with pleasantries and tucked the booklet away for himself.
"This technique might be a cut above the usual harvesting-and-nourishing tricks, but if you don't practice it right, it can still turn sleazy. When you're with a woman, make sure it's a two-way flow—yin and yang in sync—especially with a virgin," Uncle Wei cautioned.
A cut above harvesting-and-nourishing? Bullshit—it was straight-up a playbook for horny thieves. Uncle Wei's vagueness probably came from never testing it himself, which was fair enough.
But Lin Wanrong had only been in this world a month—barely enough time to flirt, let alone find a woman to "sync" with. And let's be clear: with his standards, street girls were a hard no—he wouldn't even glance their way.
Seeing Lin Wanrong's blank, clueless look, Uncle Wei shook his head helplessly. "Fine, I'll give you one more push."
He lightly pressed a palm to the crown of Lin Wanrong's head. A surge of heat flowed from his hand, flooding into Lin Wanrong's body, spreading through his limbs and bones. His whole frame felt warm and cozy—like a slab of meat popping out of a microwave.
No clue how long it lasted. When Uncle Wei finally pulled his hand back, sweat beads rolled down his forehead, his face ghostly pale, looking like he'd aged twenty years in an instant.
Now he finally looks eighty—cucumber facials wouldn't fix that, Lin Wanrong thought to himself.
He flexed his arms. A strange energy seemed to ripple through his joints and limbs, and he felt noticeably stronger than before.
Uncle Wei caught his breath for a while before "opening" his eyes. "Your bones are decent, but since you're past eighteen, your body's already set. The empowerment ritual I just did on you? Barely worked. I poured in seventy percent of my strength, and you soaked up less than ten."
He shook his head as he spoke, either lamenting Lin Wanrong's missed prime or mourning his own lost power.
Seventy percent in, less than ten percent absorbed? That's some piss-poor efficiency. Lin Wanrong felt a little sheepish.
Truth was, he'd graduated college at twenty-one, slugged it out four years at a Fortune 500 company to land a department manager gig. He wasn't some eighteen-year-old kid—he was twenty-four or twenty-five. But when he'd fallen off Mount Tai, space and time got all twisted up. Landing in this world, his body somehow rewound to eighteen or nineteen. So now he had the shell of a teen with the heart of a twenty-five-year-old.
No way he'd explain that to Uncle Wei. For the old man's selfless act, all Lin Wanrong had was gratitude.
Looking at his ashen face, Lin Wanrong thought seriously for the first time—Even if he's gay, Uncle Wei's still my Uncle Wei.
"Uncle Wei, thank you. You can't force everything—I'm happy enough with this much progress," Lin Wanrong said lightly. And he meant it. His body getting warped by time and space, yet still surviving to end up here? That was a damn miracle already—what more could he ask for?
Uncle Wei shot him a thumbs-up. "You can take it and let it go—real hero material. Good job. Wanrong, don't worry—the empowerment ritual might've flopped, but I reckon if you practice the techniques in that booklet, you'll still make it big."
Empowerment ritual? Why'd that name sound so off? All Lin Wanrong knew was enemas.
With the "empowerment" bust, his interest in martial techniques faded. That booklet? Might as well treat it as a porn stash—great for spicing up bedroom vibes with a wife. He snickered to himself, mood lifting again.
"Wanrong, since we've known each other, how do you think I've treated you?" Uncle Wei's voice cut through his dirty thoughts.
"No question—you saved my life, like a second father," Lin Wanrong replied without hesitation.
A weird smile flickered on Uncle Wei's face. "So if I asked you for a favor, would you do it?"
Lin Wanrong, wary he'd bring up posing as someone's son again, rushed in, "As long as it's not pretending to be someone else and it's in my power, I'm in."
Uncle Wei nodded. "Good enough. It's simple, really—I want you to go to the Xiao household and work as a servant."
"A—servant—?" Lin Wanrong nearly bit his tongue off.
He knew of the Xiao family—big shots in Jinling City, filthy rich. Uncle Wei had slummed it as one of their senior servants. Of course, Lin Wanrong knew that was just the old man's cover.
This geezer wants me to be a servant? To wait on people? He glared at Uncle Wei. If he hadn't already shot his mouth off, he'd have jumped up and beat the old bastard half to death.
Seeing the smug grin on Uncle Wei's face, Lin Wanrong realized he'd walked right into the trap. This damn geezer—fine with debasing himself as someone's lackey, but dragging me down too? Pure evil.
He could picture it: him in a cheap green shirt, little cap on his head, getting barked at by some master. He'd always lived free and easy—now this old fart had screwed him into servitude. The hate in his gut flowed like the goddamn Yangtze River, endless.
Uncle Wei didn't need to see his face to know what he was thinking. He sighed dramatically, "Forget it. If you're not up for it, I won't—"
"Hold up—" Lin Wanrong cut him off. He knew the old man was baiting him, but with his big talk already out there, he gritted his teeth. "Fine, I'll do it. I'll go to the Xiao place and be a—servant!"
"But," he added, twisting his tone, "one year max. I'll do a year at the Xiao house. After that, we're square."
"One year?" Uncle Wei nodded. "That should be plenty. Wanrong, I want you to join the Xiao family and make something of yourself—for their sake and yours."
A servant? Make something of myself? For the Xiao family? For me? This geezer's full of shit—telling a servant to build a career? Only he could dream that up.
Uncle Wei obviously knew what was running through his head. A mysterious smile crept onto his face. "Remember: the heavens only favor those who hustle. You get one shot—grab it yourself. What you end up with might be beyond anything you've ever dared to dream."
Lin Wanrong had a gut feeling this old bastard was circling back to that same damn trouble he'd dodged before. He wanted to press him, but Uncle Wei was already kneeling on the bed, meditating, clearly done talking.
Lin Wanrong swallowed his questions. He'd taken a beating today and was dead tired. After mentally cussing out the sneaky old prick for a bit, he passed out.
A rustling sound jolted him awake. He cracked his eyes open—dawn was breaking. Over there, Uncle Wei was packing up to leave.
Seeing him stir, Uncle Wei hopped off the bed and stood in front of him, booming, "No feast lasts forever, Wanrong. Take care of yourself."
Lin Wanrong scrambled up, ignoring the ache in his shoulder, and dropped to the floor, respectfully kowtowing three times to Uncle Wei.
Sure, the old man had played him, roping him into serving someone else, but he'd saved his life—plain and true. A real man repays his debts—three kowtows were nothing.
Uncle Wei rushed to stop him, then remembered something. "Oh, right—almost forgot. Wanrong, tomorrow's the Xiao family's servant selection contest. I've signed you up as my distant nephew. Gave you a nickname—Lin San. Remember that: when they call 'Lin San,' that's you. Don't be late."