Chapter Fifty-One: Acting

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Qin Anyi and Wang Yiran’s training schedule remained unchanged, even with the arrival of the weekend. Although Wang Yiran had suggested increasing both the intensity and frequency of their sessions over the weekend, her proposal was flatly refused by Qin Anyi. Every night, they engaged in two hours of live combat drills, after which each would return home and complete their respective physical conditioning routines. Mornings were devoted to nearly two hours of endurance training. According to Kirin’s calculations, this was already pushing their bodies to the absolute limit.

When it comes to arranging training volume, if one merely stops based on subjective feelings of fatigue instead of truly reaching the body’s edge, the results are greatly diminished—there’s no way to achieve real limit training. The body, after all, possesses inherent self-preservation mechanisms. From a biological perspective, it will never allow itself to deplete every last reserve of energy, always retaining a portion for emergencies; this instinct is written deep within our genes, and is only natural. However, surpassing this threshold risks inflicting near-permanent damage, a loss far outweighing the benefit.

Thus, the optimal training method is always to operate right at the brink, extracting every last ounce of strength before allowing for rest and recovery. Yet finding this critical point is notoriously difficult—even the most sophisticated scientific instruments cannot calculate it with complete accuracy. That is why many extreme training regimens invented by humans end up destroying the trainees’ vitality, causing serious health problems or even early death as they age. Traditional Muay Thai is a prime example; aside from the modern competitive form, true masters who treat Muay Thai as a way of life rarely live past forty, destroyed by pushing their bodies too hard.

But with Kirin’s guidance, Qin Anyi and Wang Yiran faced no such dangers. Their daily training, though not lengthy, was already exhausting their bodies to the fullest extent safely possible. For this reason, Kirin rejected any suggestion of increasing their workload over the weekend. No matter how eager they were to become stronger, they had to remain within safe boundaries, or the cost would outweigh the gain.

Wang Yiran understood this well and, after hearing Qin Anyi’s explanation, did not persist.

After completing his endurance run on Saturday morning, Qin Anyi didn’t head straight home. Instead, he wandered aimlessly through the streets—partly to give Guo Qingyuan an opportunity to make a move, and partly to give himself space to think. The task entrusted to him by Wei Dong was, on the face of it, rather peculiar and didn’t stand up to scrutiny in many ways. Still, Qin Anyi trusted Wei Dong wouldn’t harm him, so he assumed these oddities were matters Wei Dong couldn’t explain in detail for now.

This was, to Qin Anyi’s recollection, the most leisurely Saturday he’d ever had. In the past, he’d have been busy with odd jobs, using every spare moment to earn a little for living expenses. That was no longer necessary. The tutoring fee he now received—four yuan a day—had significantly improved his family’s situation. He’d tried to persuade his parents to stop working themselves to exhaustion as housekeepers or porters, since his current income as a tutor far exceeded what the family had ever earned in total before. But his parents refused, and he could only compromise for the time being; these things required patience, so they could gradually get used to the change.

Seizing the rare chance for leisure, Qin Anyi went to a mall and ordered a computer for his younger brother. After paying, he wrote down their address and instructed the delivery staff to bring it straight home. His brother, whose legs were disabled, had little to do at home besides study. With a computer and internet access, he could at least connect more easily with the world. This had always been Qin Anyi’s wish, but money had been too tight until now. With the means at last, he was determined to fulfill this dream.

After purchasing the computer, Qin Anyi stood on the street, at a loss. He’d never had any experience shopping for pleasure, and for a moment, he didn’t know where to begin.

While hesitating, he heard a sudden scream nearby. He turned to see a small, thin man running frantically in his direction, chased by a strikingly attractive, mature woman. The woman, however, was hobbled by her high heels and quickly fell behind. The thin man grasped a handbag—obviously snatched from the woman—in one hand, and brandished a gleaming knife in the other. The few passersby scattered out of his way; no one dared intervene.

The man’s face was contorted with terror, and as he ran, he kept glancing back, clearly afraid of being caught.

Qin Anyi stood motionless, watching as the thief dashed straight toward him. Suddenly, as if only then noticing Qin Anyi, the man’s panic deepened. Without thinking, he swung the knife at Qin Anyi.

For someone at Qin Anyi’s current level, a dozen such petty criminals would pose no threat. Yet he didn’t attack, instead reacting like any ordinary bystander—instinctively raising his arm to block the knife with his forearm. The thief, thrown off by the unexpected resistance, slashed Qin Anyi’s arm, drawing blood. In his flustered state, the thief hurled the stolen handbag at Qin Anyi, dropped the knife, shoved him aside, and ran off.

It all happened in a flash. The sparse crowd hadn’t even processed the event before the thief had vanished without a trace—his speed impressive. The third floor marked the start of the residential units in this high-priced apartment building.

Qin Anyi did not resist as the beautiful woman pulled him up to the fourth floor. She ushered him into her apartment, seating him on the living room sofa, then hurriedly rifled through various drawers, searching for something.

From the moment the woman screamed on the street until now, Qin Anyi had played along. After all, acting was never a one-person show—was it?