Qin Ren trained like a madman.
Iron sandbags were strapped to his legs. Not just any sandbags—these were filled with iron grit.
In his previous life, he had been a hardworking student. From elementary school to high school to college, he excelled. But fate had played a joke on him: he majored in philosophy—a subject with little practical use in his old world, and even less in this one.
How he envied those transmigrators who studied metallurgy, chemistry, or physics—those lucky ones who got struck by lightning and woke up in another world armed with real skills. Some even drove trucks loaded with machine guns into ancient times like war gods.
Even medicine would've been a better choice! He could at least pretend to be a divine physician.
But no—he was a philosopher. A man of thoughts, not action. A dreamer, not a doer.
In his last life, his name had been Li Gang. He idolized the infamous womanizers Ximen Qing and Ouyang Ke, fantasizing that one day he'd be rich, suave, and surrounded by gorgeous women.
Now, reborn in a world where strength ruled and he was blessed with talent, wealth, and lineage, he made a vow:
"To hell with philosophy. I'm going to become the greatest flower thief in history—peerless, unmatched, a legend!"
A Flower Thief's Checklist:
Looks? Covered.Born from two of the most beautiful people in Jianghu—Qin Xiaoyao and Tie Linger—he and his two older brothers were practically sculpted by the heavens. And he? He was the most handsome of them all.
Money? Overflowing.Xiaoyao Villa was a powerhouse of the righteous path, with assets spread across the Great Qin Empire. His uncle, Tie Kongshan, was richer than kings. Qin Ren was born into wealth.
Skills? In progress.Lightness skill was essential. It wasn't just for escaping after stealing a kiss—it was about style. Flowy robes, elegant leaps, rooftop getaways. All part of the package.
Medicine? No problem.Xiaoyao Villa had a vast collection of herbs, and Uncle Qin Shou knew every recipe under the sun. Qin Ren studied diligently, learning the art of aphrodisiacs, sedatives, and more.
Let no one be fooled—righteous sects weren't all purity and virtue. In the Great Qin, "righteous" just meant paying taxes. They still ran brothels and casinos—just legally.
Qin Ren ran tirelessly.
Through Xiaoyao Villa. Along its walls. Up the mountain trails of Lingyun Peak. Through forests, rivers, and ravines.
Time passed. The boy grew.
Iron shot became iron blocks. Then came ten sandbags. Then lead weights.
His body grew strong, his silhouette refined. His inner strength surged with each breath.
Eventually, he carried 500 jin of lead (over 600 pounds) and still bounded through mountain peaks—racing apes across treetops.
With the weights on, he could leap up a ten-zhang cliff. Without them? Forty zhang—over 130 feet.
All the while, he kept one thing sacred: his image.
Long hair billowing in the wind. Sapphire silk robes with wide sleeves fluttering as he soared. Every move was a performance.
Lightness skill wasn't just a martial art—it was an art of being cool.
Weapons? He didn't need them.
His body was his weapon. It was also his charm. What use was supreme martial arts if you were a eunuch?
He trained fiercely in arts like Burning Passion Qi and the Heavenly Cloud-Flipping Technique.
His childhood? Anything but colorful.
The Qin family forbade their children from leaving the mountain before age fifteen. He rarely saw women.
The future flower thief grew up among warriors and monks, not maidens. So he ran, trained, dreamed.
He longed to fly like a great roc—soaring thousands of miles, free.
Time flew.
At fifteen, Qin Feng, the eldest, descended the mountain. Half a year later, the world called him Starlight Sword Saint.
A few years later, Qin Lei, the second brother, left. In months, he became Mad Thunder Blade God.
Qin Ren was left alone.
The grand Xiaoyao Villa felt cold. Adults didn't understand him. They didn't believe cars could outrun horses or that airplanes could fly higher than birds. Cellphones? They thought he was crazy.
His brothers didn't believe either, but they listened. They laughed. They indulged his wild tales.
Now both had become legends. And the youngest still chased his dream—training in snow and sun, never giving up.
The Morning He Turned Fifteen
March 7th, Year 798 of the Great Qin Calendar.
Qin Ren rose early. He put on his finest robes, stood before a bronze mirror, and admired himself for a long time.
A youth of six feet tall, long hair flowing, sword-like brows, eyes like stars. At the corners of his lips curled a lazy, confident smirk.
He sighed dramatically.
"Fifteen years old... and already this handsome. Who in the world could possibly compare? How... lonely this must be."
He shook his head solemnly.
"If being rich is a sin, then let me be guilty forever. If being handsome is a crime, then I shall be the most wanted man alive!
Jianghu, Wulin, beautiful ladies of the world—your dream lover is coming. Open your arms, open your hearts, and yes... open your legs."
He stepped out of his room and let out a long, triumphant howl.
The servants in the courtyard stared in awe. Today, the Third Young Master was radiating an aura they'd never seen before.
Pride. Charisma. Swagger. The kind of presence that said: "Among all the handsome men in the world, I alone stand at the top!"
This—was the Aura of Ultimate Handsomeness!
And everyone knew: the Third Young Master had trained his roguish spirit for ten whole years.
Today… he was finally unsheathing it!
In that moment, every servant in the courtyard fell silent.
And in their hearts… they mourned for the women of the world.
Because they all knew what he had said, many times before:
"I will become the greatest flower thief in history—and conquer every beauty under heaven!"