Infinite Fighting

In the early morning, Zhang Ji awoke to the sound of a whistle.

He dressed himself in his reasonably spacious room and splashed his face with water he’d drawn from a bucket.

After that, he headed out for breakfast.

His job was to load and unload cargo of all kinds. He worked about twelve hours a day with almost no breaks.

It was a good thing his current body was so resilient. He had been at it for seven days without any major issues.

They provided three meals a day here. The portions were filling, and they included meat.

Relatively speaking, the food wasn’t bad. It was even better than the three daily meals he had before he transmigrated.

’Pre-made meals, after all. They can only be so bad.’

He had already adapted to life here.

Bathing and using the toilet were a hassle, but at least he was alive.

After grabbing a tray and getting his food in the cafeteria, Zhang Ji sat down next to a sturdy man with his sleeves rolled up.

The man’s name was Gu Ming. He was the one who had greeted Zhang Ji on his very first day.

He was a native of Shanli Island, a descendant of "criminals."

Unlike Zhang Ji, he was married and even had a son.

"It’s payday today," Gu Ming said to Zhang Ji.

"I know," Zhang Ji replied, eating his food.

"What I mean is, don’t start any trouble with them," Gu Ming said in a low voice.

"What do you mean?" Zhang Ji asked, confused.

This job offered no hope and no future. Compared to his life before transmigration, it felt like serving a sentence of hard labor. Even so, he had no intention of stirring things up at the moment.

"It might be a little short," Gu Ming said.

"They’re docking our pay?" Zhang Ji realized. "Does Uncle Cheng know?"

"He knows," Gu Ming said.

"Why? Doesn’t he do anything? They clearly promised us a certain amount..."

Zhang Ji stopped mid-sentence.

He was an adult who had experience with society. He was far older than his current appearance suggested.

He knew the world had never been fair, especially not in a place like this.

He looked at the calluses that had formed over the torn skin on his hands and felt the dull ache in his feet and shoulders. A wave of unease washed over him.

His shoulders were raw, his feet were blistered, and the sores on his palms had burst twice. All he wanted was the pay he was promised from the start.

"I’m done. You should hurry up."

Gu Ming quickly finished the food on his tray and got up to leave.

Zhang Ji also finished his meal in a few quick bites, put his tray away, and immediately went back to work.

He loaded and unloaded obediently until noon arrived.

After lunch, the workers were gathered by a foreman named Yin Kun.

He worked for Kratos and was in charge of distributing the local currency, "Kui Coins."

They were small, thumb-sized batteries, flat like coins, with the character for "Kui" printed on them.

They had some practical value and could be used to power small electronic devices, but their significance was mostly symbolic.

"When I call your name, come get your pay," Yin Kun said. "Gao Lang, Wang Yi..."

The workers went forward to receive the small, coin-like batteries.

Not a single one of them received the full amount. As Yin Kun counted, he would always come up short by ten or twenty.

"Zhang Ji."

Yin Kun called Zhang Ji’s name.

Zhang Ji walked up.

Yin Kun sized up Zhang Ji, then glanced at his records.

"You’ve been here eight days. We’ll call it one-sixty," Yin Kun said, pushing a small box across the table.

Zhang Ji glanced inside. The box, which could hold two hundred Kui Coins, contained only one hundred and forty.

He didn’t take the box.

Thinking of the hardships he had endured recently, he felt a stubborn streak flare up for some reason.

"It’s wrong," Zhang Ji said, staring at Yin Kun.

"Wrong?" Yin Kun sneered. "You’re right, it is wrong. Since you’re new, you should show me another twenty in ’respect’."

As he spoke, he took another twenty Kui Coins from the box.

Zhang Ji’s gaze was fixed on Yin Kun. There was no anger in his eyes, only ice.

"Take it and scram! What are you looking at me for?" Yin Kun barked.

Zhang Ji took off his blue work jacket and casually picked up a crowbar leaning nearby. He’d been eyeing it for a while.

The two cronies standing next to Yin Kun stepped forward, ready to make a move.

The other workers were startled, but not one of them came to help.

Yin Kun met Zhang Ji’s gaze. "Don’t want to work here anymore?"

"It’s not the right amount!" Zhang Ji said.

A fire was burning in his heart.

This baffling transmigration, this kind of life... he was deeply dissatisfied.

Faced with such oppression, he refused to accept it.

Suddenly, Yin Kun grabbed a handful of Kui Coins and threw them violently at Zhang Ji. The coins scattered across the ground, CLINKING and CLATTERING endlessly.

"Fucking worthless piece of shit. You’re only fit for manual labor your whole life," Yin Kun spat. "What are you looking at? Didn’t you say it wasn’t enough? It’s all yours now! Pick it up!"

Zhang Ji’s eyes narrowed and he tightened his grip on the crowbar. Gu Ming hurried forward, started picking up the Kui Coins for him, and said, "Hurry up and thank Brother Kun!"

After a moment’s hesitation, Zhang Ji put down the crowbar. He took his share from the table and helped Gu Ming gather the coins from the floor.

He had no attachments and could risk his life over a matter of principle. But Gu Ming had a family. If he pushed this, Gu Ming would inevitably get dragged into it.

There were extra coins in the handful thrown on the floor, but he only picked up the amount he was owed. He didn’t take a single one more.

After gathering the coins, he and Gu Ming turned and left.

The two sat on some steps. Gu Ming said to Zhang Ji, "Try not to clash with the people in charge. It’s not easy to get a job here."

It was true. In the entire Kui District, a job as a loader was actually considered a good one.

That was why no one said anything, even when their pay was docked.

"I want to get some roasted duck rice. My treat," Zhang Ji said to Gu Ming.

"Alright." Gu Ming didn’t refuse, simply nodding.

Soon, the two arrived at Wang’s Roasted Duck Rice again.

The restaurant was simple, with a dozen or so tables and stools next to them.

The only thing that set it apart from other places was the television mounted on the wall.

It was a pretty big TV.

Around seventy or eighty inches.

Zhang Ji noticed that the dog by the entrance was a different one.

’Looks like the last dog didn’t make it.’

The owner didn’t seem to recognize Zhang Ji as the person who had killed his dog. Their encounter had been brief, and he hadn’t even gotten a good look at Zhang Ji’s face, since Zhang Ji had been hunched over eating dog food the whole time. It might also have been because he was wearing different clothes now.

"Two orders of roasted duck rice," Zhang Ji said.

"Ten pieces," the owner said.

Zhang Ji counted out ten batteries for the owner, who then went to prepare the food.

He just took the pre-made roasted duck out of a package, heated it up, chopped it, and placed it on top of rice.

There was no poultry farming here, so there was no way they’d be serving fresh duck.

And most importantly, this method was the cheapest.

Zhang Ji did the math. A day’s work could buy him four meals of roasted duck rice.

In a place like this, that was practically a luxury.

In other jobs, you’d be lucky to make ten batteries a day, and the work wouldn’t necessarily be any easier.

"By the way, don’t go to Cat Street with the others. A lot of the women there are sick. I’ll introduce you to a better girl later," Gu Ming suddenly said.

Cat Street was this area’s red-light district.

Zhang Ji hadn’t considered going to a place like that, so he just nodded. "I understand."

Then his attention was drawn to the television.

A fighting tournament was being broadcast.

Two amateur Seventh Rank fighters were competing.

The venue wasn’t a ring but something more like a gladiator arena, complete with props and obstacles.

As one of them shattered a solid concrete brick with a punch and the other leaped over three meters into the air from a standing position, Zhang Ji’s expression shifted slightly.

Then they began fighting up close. A single punch sent one flying several meters, but he was able to get back up quickly and continue the fight.

’These guys are basically superhuman!!’

It was only at this moment that Zhang Ji remembered once again that he had apparently transmigrated into a game world.

And the power ceiling in this fighting game was absurdly high...

"Your food!"

The owner placed the two orders of roasted duck rice in front of Zhang Ji and Gu Ming.

Gu Ming started eating and asked Zhang Ji, who was still glued to the screen, "You like watching fights?"

Zhang Ji hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "I want to become a fighter."

’It’s not just "want." I suddenly have a goal now.’

"It’s not easy around here. If you just train blindly, you won’t even reach the lowest amateur level," Gu Ming said.

"Are the official fighters strong? Have you ever seen one?" Zhang Ji asked.

"Kratos is one," Gu Ming said. "He practices the Iron Shirt technique. They say a normal handgun can’t even break his defense."

’D-Class!’

Zhang Ji mentally assigned Kratos a rank.

In the game *Ultimate Fighting*, the fighting realms and styles weren’t very complicated.

In the version Zhang Ji had played, there were officially eight set tiers.

The highest was K-Class, a tier that existed only in the background lore. The developers never provided specific data on how strong they were.

SSS-Class, or Planet Level, which, as the name implies, possessed the power to shatter stars.

Super S-Class, also called SS-Class, or Continent Level.

S-Class, capable of destroying cities and toppling nations.

A-Class, whose feats in the lore varied. Because they were from different eras, it was hard to create a unified measurement, but in a technological setting, not even a nuclear missile could kill them.

B-Class, a powerful fighter. In the background story, one was recorded to have single-handedly defeated a modern army.

C-Class, with attributes far surpassing ordinary humans. Among firearms, only large-caliber sniper rifles could harm them, and those with powerful senses could even dodge the shots in advance.

D-Class, an official fighter. They had broken human limits in certain aspects and could completely dominate an ordinary person with a handgun. The top D-Class fighters had records of defeating over a hundred fully-armed soldiers.

Below that were the amateur levels.

In other words, the people on TV right now, who looked like martial arts masters.

Just then, a winner was decided on the television.

One of the fighters had faked an injury to bait his opponent into recklessly advancing, then landed a punch on his head, sending him flying.

That punch was powerful enough to shatter a solid brick, but when it hit an amateur Seventh Rank fighter, it only left him struggling on the ground, unable to get up. It didn’t look fatal, or even like a serious injury.

’Was he faking?’

’There might be an element of showmanship to it, but at least part of it has to be real.’

A commercial started playing on the TV. Zhang Ji lowered his head and began to wolf down his food.

He secretly made a resolution.

’First, I’ll set a small goal. Become an official fighter!’