Then it happened in an instant—a sudden collision that sent Zixuan stumbling backward.
A figure had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, barreling through the crowd. Thick, imposing armor covered every inch of him, shining and clanking with every step. The sheer weight of it forced Zixuan off balance, and before he could react, he found himself hitting the ground with a heavy thud. Dust kicked up around him, and a few nearby merchants jumped back, startled.
The gladiator, towering and broad-shouldered, turned slightly and shot a disgusted glare over his shoulder. "Watch where you're going!" he barked, his voice carrying the authority of someone used to being obeyed.
Zixuan pushed himself up on his hands, brushing dust from his shoulders. He narrowed his eyes, his calm composure now replaced with a flicker of irritation. "You bumped into me! It's the other way around!" he snapped.
The gladiator paused for a heartbeat, then shrugged nonchalantly and continued walking. The heavy boots clanged against the stone streets with each step, and the sunlight caught his armor, making it glint sharply, almost as if mocking Zixuan's indignation. He didn't even glance back. Not once.
Zixuan let out a sharp exhale, the irritation in his chest building. "Damn that guy's annoying," Chin Xian muttered internally, his voice tinged with frustration.
Zixuan's fingers clenched into fists. His eyes burned with a quiet, smoldering anger, and for a moment, the crowd around them seemed to fade into the background. Every instinct honed from years of combat in his past life screamed at him to confront the slight, to correct the imbalance.
Slowly, deliberately, he straightened up, dusting off the rest of his clothes. His gaze followed the retreating figure of the gladiator. Each step he took toward him was measured, controlled—like a predator stalking something smaller, unaware of the power it was provoking.
"Also… why are there gladiators in China, anyway?" Zixuan muttered, his brow furrowed in confusion as he walked. The question hung in the air, genuine curiosity laced with disbelief.
Chin Xian's voice answered internally, but it did nothing to satisfy the question. "…China?"
Zixuan blinked at the response, tilting his head slightly. "…Yeah," he replied, almost to himself. "That's the country. This is… supposed to be China." He glanced around, taking in the people, the streets, the architecture, the merchants shouting deals. Everything felt familiar… but also oddly displaced. Something didn't quite fit.
The crowd parted slightly as he moved, the earlier tension from the collision having faded but leaving an undercurrent of whispers. Some stared openly, curious or perhaps cautious, while others gave a wide berth to the boy with the burning gaze, as if they instinctively sensed that he wasn't ordinary.
Zixuan continued walking, trying to shake off the collision, though his mind was already running. The armor, the weight, the confidence of that gladiator—it had all triggered something deep in him, a memory of combat, of mastery, and of the thrill of testing strength against strength.
"This body," Zixuan muttered under his breath, almost to himself, "it's weak. Not weak enough to stop me… but weak enough to remind me that I have work to do."
The clang of the gladiator's armor faded as he moved further down the street, but Zixuan's eyes never left him. Step by step, the determination built—a promise to himself that he would not let someone like that just walk away, not again.
Even as the city around him carried on—merchants shouting, children running, people moving about their daily lives—Zixuan's focus was unyielding. The clash of past strength and present limitation pressed against him, like a silent challenge, and he knew, without doubt, that he would have to rise above this weakness… starting now.
He slowed slightly, letting the crowd filter past him, but every muscle in his body was ready. Every sense sharpened. Even if he didn't know exactly why, the fire had been lit.
And deep inside, Chin Xian's voice whispered quietly, almost in awe, "…This isn't just my body anymore."
Zixuan's lips curled into a faint, almost imperceptible smirk. "…No," he agreed. "Not anymore."
He took another step, letting the city fall away behind him, eyes still locked on the armored figure moving further down the road.
Zixuan's lips pressed into a thin line as he surveyed the bustling street. He'd taken in the chaos of the market, the shouting merchants, the scurrying townsfolk—but now, his mind had already shifted to the next step.
"Let's buy some dumbbells," he said casually, turning his gaze toward Chin Xian.
There was a pause.
"…What are dumbbells?" Chin Xian's voice asked quietly, confused, almost as if the word didn't even exist.
Zixuan froze mid-step, eyebrows shooting up. His mouth opened, then closed, a faint smirk creeping across his face. "…Right. Of course," he muttered. His hand dropped, and he shook his head slightly. "I forgot… I'm not in my time anymore."
The realization hit him with a faint jolt. Old China. A time when weights, fitness equipment, and even the concepts of physical training he knew were centuries away.
"Ohh," he said slowly, adapting on the fly. "…I meant stone locks."
Chin Xian let out a soft, uncertain laugh. "…Stone… locks?"
"Yes," Zixuan replied firmly. "Weights. Stones shaped for training the body. You'll understand when you see them."
Chin Xian blinked a few times, but before he could respond, Zixuan's thoughts moved ahead.
"But… we need money."
Without another word, he turned on his heel. His legs moved faster than they should have been for a boy his age. The townspeople barely had time to register his movement before he was gone. Dust trailed behind him as his speed kicked up the cobblestones, his body a blur to all but the sharpest of eyes.
"…What the—?" a merchant shouted after him, but the words barely carried before Zixuan disappeared down the street.
The people around stared, mouths slightly agape. Some whispered, others simply shook their heads, convinced they'd just seen a ghost dart through the market. Children pointed, tugging at their parents' sleeves. "…Did you see that?!" "…Was that…?"
But among the crowd, one man stood apart. Older, with a worn face and eyes sharp as a hawk. He'd been carrying a crate of fish, balancing it carefully as he watched the blur of motion.
Unlike the rest, he didn't gasp. He didn't whisper. He didn't think it was a spirit.
He saw Zixuan.
Not a ghost. Not a trick of the light. A real boy—though the speed was unnatural, almost impossible. His eyes followed Zixuan as he disappeared down the street, and a faint frown appeared on his face.
"…Strange kid," the man muttered quietly to himself. Then, after a pause, he shook his head and returned to his work—but his gaze lingered longer than usual, an uneasy curiosity in his eyes.
Behind Zixuan, the market slowly returned to its normal rhythm. Merchants shouted, children laughed, and the smell of bread, fish, and smoke returned to the air. But a small ripple of unease lingered, carried by the whispers of those who thought they'd seen something impossible.
And somewhere in the back of Zixuan's mind, Chin Xian's voice muttered: "…Maybe we shouldn't have left it this way…"
Zixuan ignored it. Not yet. There was work to do. Stone locks to acquire, strength to rebuild, and this old world… to conquer.. peacefully, or the hard way