Late autumn evening. Cangnan City's evening rush hour was a chaotic crush—Subway Line 3's exit swarmed with people, exhaust mixing with the warm glow of street shops, a faint hum of urban life hanging in the air. Then, a tearful scream cut through the din, sharp and desperate.
"Robbery! He's robbing me! Give my bag back!" The girl panted, her down jacket hood slipping off, hair tangled and messy. One shoulder was bare, tears streaming down her cheeks as her eyes locked on the tall man in a black hoodie ahead. His cap was pulled low, hiding most of his face, and he clutched a pink backpack, sprinting so fast his shoes crunched over fallen leaves. He was only steps from a narrow, dimly lit alley piled with trash—and once he vanished inside, he'd be gone for good.
The crowd froze, edging back instinctively to form a circle, no one daring to step forward. Some pulled out phones to film, murmuring quietly:
"He's got a knife—see it peeking out?"
"Don't get involved. What if he hurts you?"
"Call the police! Hurry, before he gets away!"
No one wanted to risk their safety. The robber looked mean, and he was armed—no one was willing to be the hero.
Just as the silence stretched, a young man in a gray tracksuit, backpack slung over his shoulder, burst from the crowd. It was Lin Mo, fresh off an overtime shift. Sweat glistened on his forehead, his face haggard from days of long hours, but his eyes were steady, unflinching—not even the murmurs or the robber's menacing glare could shake him.
Lin Mo was twenty-two, a recent graduate from a second-tier college, interning at a small internet company in the city. He squeezed the subway every morning, rushed to meet deadlines every night, and lived on a meager intern's salary—ordinary, unremarkable, just like everyone else. He came from a working-class family; his parents had always told him to be decent, to stand up for those in trouble, even if he was small, even if he got hurt. And he did—standing up for bullied classmates in school, helping neighbors recover stolen electric bikes after work. He'd been teased for being a "busybody," he'd taken hits, but he never regretted it. Justice was in his bones, unshakable.
"Stop! Give the bag back!" Lin Mo shouted, sprinting as fast as he could. The autumn wind stung his cheeks, his heart thudding, legs weak from overtime, breath coming in ragged gasps. He knew he stood no chance—he was under six feet, lean, no fighting skills, and the robber had a knife. But when he thought of the girl's sobs, of the tuition money and ID in that backpack—money she'd probably saved for months, her ticket to school—he couldn't stop. Even if it meant danger, he had to try.
The robber heard him, glancing back with a snarl, his voice rough and vicious: "Mind your own business, punk. You're dead." He stopped running, spinning around, and pulled a silver switchblade from his waist. With a sharp click, the blade snapped open, glinting coldly in the dim light. Before Lin Mo could react, the man lunged, stabbing straight for his chest—fast, brutal, the move of a seasoned criminal.
Lin Mo's stomach dropped, a chill racing up his spine. He dodged on instinct, throwing his right arm up to block, bracing for the slash of the blade. He could almost feel the pain, the warm blood—but he didn't flinch. He had to stop the man, had to get the bag back.
But just as the blade grazed his arm, a strange warmth surged from his gut, spreading through his veins in a rush. In an instant, his arm went rigid, his skin hardening, thickening, turning rough and grayish—like stone, etched with faint lines. In less than a second, his entire right arm had transformed, heavy and cold, unyielding as rock.
Clang!
The blade hit his stone arm with a sharp, metallic ring. It didn't cut—instead, it bounced off, the edge bending and dulling. Lin Mo's arm was unmarked, as if the blade had struck a boulder.
The robber froze, his hand trembling. The knife clattered to the ground. He stared at Lin Mo's arm, eyes wide, lips quivering, repeating the same words over and over: "What… what are you? That's impossible… impossible!" He'd robbed people for years, seen every kind of trick—but never someone who could turn their arm to stone. It was beyond comprehension.
Lin Mo stared too, flexing his stone fingers—heavy, solid, yet flexible. Memories flooded back to the night before: working overtime until eleven, dragging himself home, tripping over a stone outside the abandoned Stone Monkey Temple on the city's edge. His palm had landed on the dusty monkey statue, and in that moment, the statue glowed gold, wrapping around him, a deep, ancient voice echoing in his head:
"I am the Venerable Stone Monkey. I bestow upon you the 72 Transformations. Each midnight, one transformation will unlock at random, lasting twenty-four hours—you cannot choose. Use this power wisely, uphold your virtue, and never abuse it… or suffer the consequences."
At the time, he'd thought it was a hallucination, exhaustion playing tricks. The statue had been abandoned for years—how could it glow? How could it speak? He'd shaken it off and hurried home. But now, staring at his stone arm, feeling the power thrumming in his veins, he knew it was real. He really had the 72 Transformations—and today's random power was the Stone Body.
After a moment of shock, confusion faded, replaced by quiet resolve. All his life, he'd wanted to protect people, but he'd been too ordinary, too weak—only able to act on courage, only able to get hurt. Now he had power. This wasn't luck. It was a responsibility. He wouldn't waste it, wouldn't use it for greed. He'd use it to fight bad guys, to protect the vulnerable, to keep this city safe.
"What I am doesn't matter," Lin Mo said, his voice calm, steady, no longer breathless. "What matters is—you're not getting away." He lifted his stone arm, grabbing the robber's wrist in a grip like iron. The robber screamed, sweat pouring down his face, his wrist going numb as Lin Mo's fingers tightened, nearly crushing it. He struggled, thrashing, but he couldn't break free.
Lin Mo flicked his arm, flinging the robber to the ground. Boom. The man hit the stone pavement hard, curling in pain, the ground trembling slightly, small stones skittering away. He tried to crawl up, but Lin Mo stepped forward, planting a foot on his back—not hard, but enough to pin him down, helpless, whimpering.
The crowd erupted. Fear and hesitation were gone, replaced by cheers and applause:
"Way to go, man!"
"His arm turned to stone! That's insane!"
"Finally, someone had the guts! That's satisfying!"
People crowded around, giving thumbs-up, filming, their faces filled with admiration.
The girl hurried over, wiping her tears, still unsteady, her eyes red but bright with gratitude. She bowed deeply to Lin Mo, her voice trembling: "Thank you… thank you so much. Without you, I'd lose all my tuition, my ID, my bank cards—I don't know what I'd do." Tears fell again, this time of relief. She knew, if that bag was gone, her life would fall apart.
Lin Mo smiled, gentle, lifting his foot. The gray stone faded from his arm, his skin softening back to normal, as if the transformation had never happened. "No need to thank me. Anyone would've done it." He picked up the pink backpack, checked it was intact, and handed it to her, nodding at the robber on the ground. "Call the police. Let them take him—so he can't hurt anyone else."
The girl nodded, hugging the bag tightly, fumbling for her phone to dial the police. She sobbed as she explained the situation, giving the address clearly. The robber lay on the ground, fear and resentment mixing in his eyes. He still couldn't believe he'd been taken down by a regular-looking kid with a weird power. His back ached, his limbs felt weak—he could only lie there, waiting for the police.
Lin Mo stood there, watching the girl's grateful smile, listening to the crowd's cheers. Warmth spread through his chest, wiping away the exhaustion from running, the fear of the knife. He looked down at his hands, still tingling with residual warmth, the Venerable Stone Monkey's words echoing again: "Use this power wisely, uphold your virtue."
One random transformation a day. This was fate's test—and his duty. From today on, he wasn't just an ordinary intern, brave but helpless, getting hurt for doing the right thing. He had power. He had the chance to protect. He'd be the hidden guardian of this city—no fame, no glory, no abuse of power. Every day, with whatever transformation he got, he'd fight evil, help those in need, and guard the quiet, ordinary warmth of Cangnan City.
Lin Mo didn't notice the woman in the black trench coat, leaning in the shadow of a nearby alley. She held a dark phone, her camera trained on him, capturing every second of his arm turning from stone back to flesh. She wore black sunglasses, hiding most of her face, only her sharp jawline and a faint, knowing smile visible. She murmured softly, "72 Transformations? Stone Body? Interesting… it seems Cangnan has a new anomaly." With that, she slipped her phone into her pocket, turned, and vanished into the dark alley—gone without a trace, only a faint scent lingering, carried away by the autumn wind.