Chapter 1: Don’t Even Think About Leaving Without Paying (Part 1)

“Mike Brooks, Mike Brooks...”

On a country path shaded by green trees and lined with lush grass, a boy of about thirteen or fourteen, with a sturdy and spirited look, ran while shouting loudly. His clear voice set off a chorus of barking from the village dogs. A half-grown clumsy dog, tongue lolling, followed behind him, bouncing along.

In no time, the boy ran out of the village.

From a distance, he could vaguely see a familiar figure standing on a small hill.

“Mike Brooks really is here.”

A look of delight appeared on the boy’s face—he hadn’t come to the wrong place after all. But...

Suddenly remembering something, the joy vanished from his face. With a sigh, he hurried to the foot of the hill, raised his hand and waved it vigorously at the figure above, shouting, “Mike Brooks, come down, it’s time to go back to the shop.”

On the hill, a youth who looked about sixteen or seventeen heard the call, shook his head as if pulled from deep thought, and looked down at the boy below. A bright smile immediately appeared on his face: “Little Henry, what’s the matter? Why are you running so fast?”

“A big customer has come.” Little Henry, out of breath from running, took a few deep breaths after speaking, then hurriedly said, “Someone’s at the shop wanting an appraisal. Uncle Li from next door said he’s a martial artist, a big customer, and told Little Henry to come get you right away.”

“A martial artist... I could have become a martial artist myself once...”

Little Henry saw Mike Brooks's eyes go distant for a moment and sighed inwardly. Although Big Mike always wore a smile in the village and seemed to live happily, everyone knew that deep down, Big Mike must feel disappointed.

Six years ago, the name Mike Sullivan was already famous for miles around. Back then, he was the pride of the entire Nanlin Village. Who would have thought that later, because he couldn’t draw in qi, he was expelled from the sect? What a pity!

Mike Sullivan only reminisced for a moment before coming back to himself. Seeing Little Henry looking even sadder than he was, he reached out and patted Little Henry on the head, smiling gently: “Little Henry, everyone has their own fate. Even though I can’t become a martial artist, I can still do appraisals.”

Mike Sullivan smiled lightly, though in his heart he sighed at how fate is full of twists and turns.

Back then, he was valued by the sect and trained as a genius. Unfortunately, the good times didn’t last. From the moment he joined the sect, for six years, he was never able to draw in qi.

Others thought he lacked the talent to be a martial artist, but only he knew the real reason: he was a transmigrator.

He was originally from Earth; his soul didn’t belong to this world and was rejected by it. Since the world itself didn’t accept him, how could he draw in the spiritual energy from outside into his body?

He remembered that as a child, he had always wanted to become strong in this world, but in the end, he was expelled from the sect.

The only consolation was that, during his year in the sect, he figured out why he couldn’t draw in qi.

For the next five years, he spent his time reading. Although he never solved the qi problem, he read a lot of books. Maybe because he was a transmigrator, his mental strength was naturally much stronger than others, so he became an appraiser.

Maybe this was his fate—destined never to become a powerful martial artist!

Mike Sullivan gave a self-mocking smile and slowly walked back toward the village.

In Nanlin Village, there was a simple house with front and back yards. This was where he appraised treasures for people.

From a distance, Mike Sullivan could see a man of about thirty standing in front of his house. Dressed in gray, his bulging muscles were obvious, and a broad-backed saber was strapped to his back.

Mike Sullivan quickened his pace, walked up to the man, and gestured politely toward the door: “Honored customer, sorry to keep you waiting. Please, come inside.”

“You’re the appraiser?” The man’s eyes widened in disbelief as he looked at the youth before him. He’d heard the appraiser here was young, but this was too young—he looked only sixteen or seventeen. Appraising was different from other things.

An appraiser needed extremely strong mental power, which grew with age. How could someone so young really be an appraiser?

Looking at the young face before him, the man sighed inwardly. It seemed this trip would be another waste. And those bastards who told him the appraiser here was amazing—he’d have to teach them a lesson when he got back, for making him come all the way to this backwater place.