Adam Thompson’s current body is only fourteen years old, but his mental age is already twenty-three—he’s long past the age of acting on impulse and stirring up trouble.

The Jefferson Era’s mother always said he was a “roaming rascal.” At first, he was quite pleased, thinking it meant he was a chivalrous wanderer, but after Mary Wood explained, he realized that “roaming” meant loafing around, and “rascal” didn’t mean being righteous and helpful, but rather causing trouble.

In short, a “roaming rascal” is just a good-for-nothing troublemaker.

That’s right! Already fourteen, yet still fighting with other kids for turf every day—what else could that be but a little hoodlum?

“Fighting all the time is pointless. We might as well find something to do and make some money to spend!”

The three of them looked at each other. Little Michael Bolton blurted out anxiously, “Mr. Thompson, big bro, are you chickening out too?”

Adam Thompson shook his head. “I just think fighting every day is boring. I want to find something to do, or maybe go browse a bookstore. Is there a bookstore nearby?”

“Go to a bookstore?”

The three of them were baffled and shook their heads together. “There’s no bookstore in the neighborhood!”

A wave of intense drowsiness hit. Adam Thompson yawned. “It’s too late. Let’s go home and sleep! We’ll talk tomorrow. You guys can just come find me.”

He stood up and walked a few steps. Suddenly, Little Michael Bolton cursed viciously, “Coward, you ball-less eunuch, you’re not even as good as a dog! We must be blind!”

Adam Thompson was furious, his sleepiness vanishing instantly. He turned and grabbed Little Michael Bolton by the collar, dragging him over. “What do I owe you, for you to insult me like this?”

Little Michael Bolton glared back. “You almost got killed by their dirty tricks, and you can still swallow your anger? Of course you’re a ball-less eunuch!”

“What do you mean, what dirty tricks?”

Adam Thompson said coldly, “Tell me exactly what happened back then.”

“Let go of me first!”

Adam Thompson released his grip, only to realize he’d dragged this at-least-one-hundred-and-fifty-pound fatty more than a dozen steps.

Little Michael Bolton seemed used to being dragged by him. He straightened his clothes and said, “They couldn’t beat you, so they challenged you to a duel—each side hits the other three times with a wooden stick, and whoever can’t stand loses. You even signed a wager agreement, both sides agreeing to accept the outcome.”

“And then?”

“Then they let you go first. They sent out a martial artist, and you hit him three times on the back with a wooden stick. The martial artist staggered two steps but managed to stay standing. Then it was their turn.”

At this point, Little Michael Bolton gritted his teeth. “They actually switched to iron rods in secret…”

“Iron rods?” Adam Thompson’s eyes narrowed to slits.

……

Adam Thompson returned home, weighed down with worries. As soon as he climbed over the courtyard wall, he saw his mother, Sarah Parker, standing in the yard with a whistle stick, looking at him coldly.

“I want to recover my memories. Little Michael told me a lot!”

Sarah Parker’s gaze softened. She set the whistle stick aside, walked over, and stroked her son’s head. “The thing I regret most is not insisting that you keep studying.”

“I went to school?” Adam Thompson asked in surprise.

“You studied for a year when you were seven. Mary Wood advised me to let you keep studying, but I thought studying only led people astray, and that practicing martial arts was more useful—so you wouldn’t be bullied in the future. But now I regret it deeply!”

“Why?”

A fire of anger flared in Sarah Parker’s eyes. “If you’d kept studying, you wouldn’t have been stupid enough to sign that damn wager agreement, leaving your mother unable to win the lawsuit!”

Looking at his mother, Adam Thompson felt a strange ache in his eyes. After a while, he lowered his head and said, “I won’t be stupid again!”

Chapter 3: Fusion and Transcendence

Although Adam Thompson didn’t want to cause trouble anymore, after Little Michael Bolton told him the truth, it was like a nail had been driven into his heart.

If it had just been a fight and he’d gotten hurt, he could have let it go once he healed. But the other side had used such despicable tricks to frame him—Adam Thompson just couldn’t swallow that.

But no matter what, Sarah Parker absolutely forbade him from provoking those rich kids again. They were too devious and cunning, and her son was no match for them—sooner or later, they’d get him killed.

Sarah Parker went out on house calls every morning and rushed back in the afternoon to prepare medicinal plasters, all while keeping an eye on her son. Adam Thompson didn’t have a single chance.

No opportunity meant he could only wait for one.

On the other hand, Adam Thompson was also very curious about his former self. Ever since he discovered his own extraordinary skills, he’d been constantly exploring his potential.

That morning, Mary Wood was mending his clothes while chattering about his childhood. Adam Thompson sat nearby, resting his chin on his hand, listening intently.

“Ever since you were half a year old, your mother would bathe you in herbal medicine. I told her you were too young to handle such strong remedies, but she wouldn’t listen. The fact you survived her treatments just shows you’re lucky.”

Adam Thompson laughed. “Are there any benefits to herbal baths?”

“Your mother claims it’s miraculous—a secret family recipe that can cleanse the marrow and strengthen the tendons. I don’t think it’s as amazing as she says. At most, you’re not afraid of heat in summer or cold in winter, you’re strong and rarely get sick. That’s all I’ve seen.”

No wonder he didn’t feel cold wearing just a thin shirt. What kind of secret recipe was this!

Adam Thompson really wanted to ask about The Jefferson Era’s mother’s background, but in the end, he held back. He’d noticed that whenever he asked about The Jefferson Era’s father or mother, Mary Wood would always find an excuse to leave.