Chapter Four: The Fruit

(New book is climbing the rankings—please support it! If you’re waiting to binge, please vote!)

Within the Tian Tong Dynasty, the characteristics of many “scholars” were all too apparent—chief among them, dullness and frailty. “Dullness” referred to temperament; “frailty” described their physical condition. These qualities stemmed from their daily habits and the narrow confines of their experience.

Faced with such a feeble and sickly body, Chen Jianchen found himself deeply dissatisfied. Thus, he established a regimen for physical training: every morning upon rising, he would jog in place within his room, do push-ups, and so forth; after completing these, he would seek opportunities to practice Jeet Kune Do outside.

On Earth, compelled by his admiration for Bruce Lee, he had begun studying Jeet Kune Do at thirteen. After more than a decade of practice, he couldn’t claim mastery, but he had at least strengthened his body and honed his combat skills—enough to easily handle three or five ordinary men at once.

Now, however, his present body was far too weak, lacking even the most basic foundation of strength. The skills he’d acquired in his previous life were rendered useless. Still, he was confident that with perseverance and dedication, he could rebuild his body, and everything else would follow.

The body is the capital of revolution.

This truth holds everywhere.

He refused to allow himself to remain limp and flabby, bereft of even the strength to truss a chicken. Such a state left him unfit for labor, and even in bed he would fail to fulfill a man’s duties—how could he still call himself a man?

But naturally, strengthening the body was a long-term endeavor.

First, Chen Jianchen had to be discreet, lest anyone witness his strange exercises and take fright or spread rumors. Second, he needed to improve his diet—after all, there’s an old saying: “People are iron, rice is steel.” Without proper nutrition, how could one put on muscle and grow in stature?

The small grove was tranquil and secluded, especially in the cold of winter, when few would wander there without reason. Thus, he had no fear of being seen, and could move freely, letting his fists and feet fly with abandon.

Jeet Kune Do champions the highest degree of freedom in combat, so Chen Jianchen’s movements were spontaneous and unrestrained, unbound by any fixed forms. He cast his fists and feet at will, pouring his energy into each strike.

Gradually, he became absorbed in the practice, even unconsciously imitating Bruce Lee’s signature cries, letting out a few shouts of “Oh! Oh! Oh!” Though his throat was too raw to produce the proper sound, and the calls came out awkward and strange.

Suddenly, in a burst of enthusiasm, he landed a punch on a nearby sapling as thick as his arm. The trunk didn’t so much as tremble, but a sharp pain shot through his fist, making him grimace in agony. Looking down, he saw that his knuckles were already bruised and swollen, blood seeping beneath the skin.

This body was truly abysmal.

Chen Jianchen forced a wry smile. He knew, however, that such things could not be achieved overnight; only with steady improvement and careful nurturing could he restore his strength.

This was no easy task—perhaps even more difficult than passing the imperial exams. Without the proper conditions, how could one hope to build up their health merely by wishing for it?

Chirp, chirp!

Just then, a familiar cry sounded from the right. Chen Jianchen looked over in surprise, and there, elegant and pure as snow, was the little white fox.

He froze, barely having time to process what he saw. The white fox bounded toward him, stopping just over ten feet away. With a sudden motion, it opened its mouth and dropped something it had been carrying.

It was a pale red fruit, about the size of a ping-pong ball. Its shape was not quite round—somewhat reminiscent of a plum—yet Chen Jianchen had never seen anything quite like it, in this life or the last.

Chirp, chirp!

The little white fox pointed at the fruit with a forepaw, urging Chen Jianchen to pick it up and eat it. But he stood rooted to the spot, dumbfounded.

He had good reason to be stunned.

Though he was a transmigrant, he was, at heart, an ordinary man, his experiences mundane. Confronted with such a bizarre event, he couldn’t help but be astonished, his imagination running wild.

Most pressing in his mind was the question: Could this little white fox be a fox spirit?

Chirp, chirp!

The fox called out again, and seeing Chen Jianchen unmoved, shook its head in resignation. It turned and swiftly disappeared, like a disappointed guest who, wary of unfamiliar territory, dared not linger.

The fruit lay there, conspicuous on the ground.

“What on earth is this about?” Chen Jianchen muttered. He glanced in the direction the fox had gone, then back at the fruit, full of surprise. Could it be that the white fox, having gained some measure of understanding, had brought this fruit as thanks for saving its life?

But what kind of fruit was it?

Unable to resist his curiosity, he bent down and picked it up.

The fruit was freshly picked, its scent sweet and penetrating, stirring his very soul. Its skin glistened with a gentle red sheen, like rippling water—plump and inviting.

Clearly, this was no ordinary fruit.

The fragrance made his mouth water; he very nearly stuffed it into his mouth in a single bite. But just as it touched his lips, he hesitated.

“No, that won’t do. The white fox seems harmless, but caution is wise…”

An idea soon came to him. He hurried back home, the fruit in hand. He failed to notice, as he left, the little white fox peeking out from behind a tree, watching him go. Its mouth curled into a delicate pout, as if feeling wronged—its kindness misunderstood.

At home, Chen Jianchen carefully washed the fruit, then sliced off a small piece with a knife, feeding it to the family’s old laying hen. After observing the hen for a while and seeing no signs of poisoning, he relaxed and ate the fruit himself.

The flesh was crisp and sweet, utterly delicious, a taste that lingered on the tongue. After finishing it, Chen Jianchen was seized by a sudden, burning desire to eat another.

The urge was intense and inexplicable. Alarmed, he quickly washed his face with cold water, managing to suppress it.

By now, Chen Jianchen was certain this was no ordinary fruit, though its true effect remained a mystery.

Lost in speculation, he was startled by a sudden rumbling in his stomach, as if a great cauldron had come to a boil within him. His expression changed; he dashed for the privy, fumbling with his pants. Before he’d even managed to squat, a torrent erupted forth, accompanied by a stench that filled the air.

“I can’t take it!”

Not long after, face pale, Chen Jianchen staggered out of the privy, one hand pinching his nose, the other holding up his trousers. Fortunately, no one was around to witness such an undignified scene—otherwise his reputation as a scholar would have been in tatters.

That day, aside from setting a personal record for time spent relieving himself, Chen Jianchen also broke out in a foul, sticky sweat that clung to his clothes unpleasantly. Yet his spirits soared.

Purged of filth and toxins—in short, after his ordeal in the privy and his sweaty trials, he felt a marvelous transformation take place within his body, as if he’d been reborn. He brimmed with vitality, his mind as clear and bright as a mirror polished after years of dust.

He felt so refreshed, he could have soared into the sky.

Could that fruit be the legendary immortal fruit?

Chen Jianchen wondered joyfully. He had a hunch that this miraculous fruit might well change the course of his life in this alien world.