No matter how hard it was to say, for the sake of the future, he still had to speak.
After all, registration was on Monday. Fang Ping wasn't a god—where could he possibly scrape together ten thousand yuan in just a single day?
When his father, Fang Mingrong, dragged his weary body home, the family sat down for dinner. That was when Fang Ping finally opened his mouth.
"Dad, next week is the Martial Arts Exam registration. I want to apply. The fee… it's ten thousand yuan."
The moment the words left his lips, the entire house went silent.
Fang Mingrong, just past forty, didn't look too old, but his face was pale. He worked in a ceramics factory on the outskirts of Yangcheng, not a technical position, just a regular worker.
In Yangcheng, where the average wage for general workers was around 2,000 yuan, Fang Mingrong's salary was over 3,000 a month.
Not because the boss valued him especially, nor because he was outstanding.
The truth was, working long-term in a ceramics factory meant a high risk of silicosis. The pay was basically money traded for health.
But Fang Mingrong had no choice.
Two kids at home—one in high school, one in junior high. Food, clothes, housing, daily needs—everything cost money.
On top of that, he had to save for Fang Ping's university tuition, then think about his wedding and a house someday. The family's days were stretched thin.
Ten thousand yuan—after daily expenses, it would take the couple nearly half a year to save that much.
In today's society, Martial Path was supreme.
Though Fang Mingrong was an ordinary man, he understood clearly: getting into the Martial Arts Exam was as difficult as climbing to the heavens!
In all of Yangcheng, tens of thousands of students took the college entrance exam every year, but those admitted to the Martial Arts path could be counted on two hands.
Fang Ping's Yangcheng No.1 High was already the best in the city. Even so, last year they had only five Martial Arts admits out of nearly 1,500 seniors and more than twenty general-track classes.
In 2007, among those twenty-plus classes, only two students made it through.
These were facts Fang Mingrong knew well from parent-teacher meetings. The teachers even made a point to highlight them.
Because in a regular class, producing any Martial Arts student wasn't a shame—it was a badge of honor.
So, was it worth spending ten thousand yuan to gamble on a slim, near-impossible chance?
Fang Mingrong didn't rush to speak. Li Yuying, Fang Ping's mother, opened her mouth then closed it again.
His younger sister, Fang Yuan, lowered her head, not daring to chime in. Being in junior high, she actually knew more about these things than Fang Ping did.
Finally, Fang Mingrong raised his wine glass, looked at his son, and after a long pause, nodded.
"Later, have your mother give you the bank card. Tomorrow, you'll withdraw ten thousand yuan yourself."
"Dad…" Fang Ping clenched his teeth, wanting to say something to ease his father's burden.
But Fang Mingrong cut him off directly: "Whether you pass or not, what matters is that you had the resolve to try.
Even if you fail, at least you'll have the experience. When Yuan Yuan enters high school, you can guide her.
Our family may not be wealthy, but this is a once-in-a-lifetime matter!"
If Fang Ping hadn't mentioned it, Fang Mingrong would never have suggested it himself.
But now that his son had asked—so what if it meant overtime shifts? Ten thousand yuan wouldn't destroy the Fang family.
Hearing this, Fang Ping didn't speak further. At this point, grand promises were useless.
Besides, he wasn't even confident he could pass.
Yes, he had been reborn, but this wasn't some "Return of the Immortal" story.
The Martial Exam—everyone knew it tested more than just physical fitness.
Fang Ping had looked into it. The requirements were much broader.
Right now, he truly had no certainty.
Still, even if he didn't pass, making a fortune in the future wasn't impossible. Maybe he wouldn't reach the peak, but at least he wouldn't be scamming his little sister out of twenty yuan pocket money again.
The biggest obstacle lifted, Fang Ping felt a weight fall from his shoulders.
Fang Yuan, ever the little joker of the house, tried to lighten the mood. "Fang Ping, are you really going to take the Martial Exam?"
Fang Ping grinned. "Of course. When I pass and become a Martial Artist, you'll be set.
Next semester, you can brag to your classmates—'My brother's a Martial Artist.'
I guarantee you'll be the queen of your school. No one will dare call you 'Chubby Yuan' anymore."
"Fang Ping!"
Fang Yuan flushed with anger. Because of her round face and her name, some boys at school had started calling her Yuan Gun Gun (Roundie-Rollie).
She'd nearly gone to war with them over it.
And now her brother had to bring it up again!
Fuming, she blurted, "You definitely won't pass! Wasting so much money—we'd be better off buying good food!"
"Yuan Yuan!"
Her parents scolded in unison, and she quickly realized her slip, ducking her head and muttering, "I was just kidding. Maybe he'll pass after all…"
Fang Ping chuckled, reaching to pinch her cheek, making her roll her eyes furiously.
…
After dinner, Li Yuying handed over the bank card. She had work the next morning, and Fang Ping wasn't a child anymore—he could handle withdrawing money himself.
He'd done it before when the family needed cash.
Taking the card, Fang Ping muttered with a wry smile, "They really trust me. Aren't they afraid I'll just withdraw everything…?"
There was more than ten thousand in the account. The old Fang Ping wouldn't have dared.
But now…
He shook his head. Forget it. If I need more, I'll just tell them. Sneaking it out would be no different from stealing.
…
The night passed quietly.
April 6th, the next day.
Fang Ping woke early, but his parents were already gone for work.
He washed up and found breakfast waiting on the table—several small dishes and a golden fried egg.
He was used to grabbing a bite from street stalls, but eating leisurely at home felt almost luxurious.
If this were merely a trip back in time, Fang Ping wouldn't have been anxious at all.
The college entrance exam? Nothing. With his past life's experience, spotting opportunities and making it big would have been easy.
But things were different now.
If he couldn't seize this Martial Exam chance, who knew if another would ever come?
And until he became a Martial Artist, even doing business meant watching his back.
Fang Ping was clear about priorities: right now, the Martial Exam came first. Everything else could wait.
If he failed, then he'd consider other paths.
With his plan set, he finished breakfast and prepared to withdraw the money.
Just as he was leaving, Fang Yuan rushed out, dressed for school. "Fang Ping, I'm coming too!"
"What for?"
"I don't care. I'm coming. And you owe me snacks since you used up my pocket money."
Fang Ping chuckled. It was only a bank errand, nothing private.
And who knew—having her along might even be safer, in case this world had dangers he didn't yet understand.
…
It was still early when they left, so Fang Ping didn't rush to the bank.
Walking side by side, Fang Yuan looked around curiously, as though she were the one reborn.
The streets looked the same as in his memory—except for the endless advertisements.
"Moisturizer—approved even by a Grandmaster!"
"Xtep—run faster than Martial Artists!"
"Secret family recipe, one bite and you're a Martial Artist!"
…
Everywhere, the word Martial slapped onto everything.
Yet in all of Yangcheng, population over half a million, there were fewer than twenty Martial Artists living here.
In truth, Martial Artists were distant figures for ordinary folks.
But that didn't stop people from gossiping—or marketers from cashing in.
In this age, Martial Artists were the real celebrities.
Sometimes, celebrities were Martial Artists.
Ignoring the hype, Fang Ping bought Fang Yuan a few skewers of "Martial Artist-approved" barbecue. Afterward, his wallet was down to a single ten-yuan bill.
The little girl was delighted, never realizing it was her own pocket money he'd just spent.
Finally, they reached the ATM.
…
Insert card. Enter PIN. Withdraw.
Fang Yuan stood guard like a tiny sentinel, glaring around for spies.
The machine only dispensed up to 2,000 per withdrawal.
As the first stack of bills slid out, Fang Ping froze, staring at the money.
For a moment, he didn't continue.
Alarmed, Fang Yuan blurted, "Is it fake money?
I saw on the news—ATMs can spit out counterfeits, and the banks won't even admit it!"
She chattered on, angry at the injustice, ready to demand the bank exchange it.
But Fang Ping wasn't listening.
Frowning, he withdrew another 2,000.
Again, he stared at the bills, unmoving.
"Fang Ping, what's wrong? Is it fake or not? Say something! Did you fall into a money trance?"
Her nonstop nagging made Fang Ping glance at her. Suddenly, he shoved the money into her hands.
"Here. Hold this. What do you feel?"
"…Can we just skip the Martial Exam and buy snacks instead?"
Fang Ping burst into laughter. His tone quickened. "So… you don't feel anything?"
Fang Yuan nearly exploded, glaring at him with round, angry eyes. "You're bullying me again!"
"No, not this time."
Fang Ping couldn't hide the grin on his face. "I was teasing you. Let me finish up—we'll head home after."
Then he began withdrawing money like a lunatic.
To Fang Yuan, he looked completely deranged.
A hundred here, two hundred there, never the same amount.
By the time he hit ten thousand, he'd made more than ten separate withdrawals.
And he wasn't done. With balance still left, he withdrew again—only to deposit it right back. Over and over.
Not just Fang Yuan—even the people in line behind them were dumbfounded.
He hogged the ATM for nearly half an hour before someone finally snapped.
"Kid! Enough already! What are you doing, withdrawing a million, depositing a million? Move it!"
Fang Yuan's face turned scarlet. Embarrassed, she tugged hard at Fang Ping's arm.
But Fang Ping had finished his experiment. Calmly, he deposited the excess, took his card, and walked away.
Once outside, he suddenly broke into an uncontrollable grin, laughing like a madman.
"Hehehehe…"
Beside him, Fang Yuan's skin crawled. Was her brother having a breakdown?
"Fang Ping?"
"Hehehe…"
"Don't scare me…"
"Hehehehehe…"
Tears welled in her eyes. "Wuuu… Fang Ping, what's wrong with you?"
"Hehehe… cough, cough—nothing. Let's go home."
Seeing her about to cry, Fang Ping forced down the manic laughter, coughed to cover it up, and dragged her along.
(End of Chapter)