3 Feet Tall but I’m the Dragon God

Chapter 2- The bloodline

The abandoned meatpacking warehouse on the edge of the docks smelled like rust, bleach, and old blood.

It was a familiar scent, one that usually brought Lin Fan a strange sense of comfort, but tonight, it just smelled like betrayal.

In the center of the room, strapped to a heavy steel chair with industrial zip-ties, was Vice-Commander Chen.

The man was sweating profusely, his eyes darting around the dimly lit space until they finally locked onto the figure stepping out of the shadows.

Lin Fan walked in slowly, his cheap canvas shoes scuffing against the concrete. Because of his three-foot-four stature, he had to pull up a wooden milk crate just to be at eye level with the tied-up traitor.

It was a comical sight, really—the supreme ruler of the underground needing a step-stool to interrogate a man—but nobody in the room was laughing. Especially not Chen.

"Boss," Chen stammered, his voice trembling as Lin Fan hopped onto the crate. "Please, listen to me. The Zhao family... they approached me. They offered me fifty million to leak the shipping routes. I was weak, I—"

"Fifty million," Lin Fan interrupted, his voice soft, almost conversational. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver Zippo lighter, flicking it open and closed with a rhythmic *clink-clink*. "That’s cute. But you didn't just sell shipping routes, Chen. You sold the location of the Su family’s ancestral mountain plot to Zhao Feng’s father. Why?"

Chen’s face went completely pale. "I... I didn't know it was important! They just said they wanted the land for a resort!"

Lin Fan sighed, snapping the lighter shut. He didn't yell. He didn't throw a tantrum. Instead, he just reached out and casually placed his small hand on Chen’s knee.

"You know, Chen, people always look at me and see a defect," Lin Fan said, his tone shifting into something deeply reflective, almost like he was telling a bedtime story. "They see a dwarf. A genetic mistake. Even my own wife looks at me and wonders why I stopped growing when I was eight years old."

Lin Fan’s fingers tightened slightly. There was no dramatic buildup, no glowing martial arts aura. Just a sudden, sickening *CRACK* as Chen’s kneecap shattered into powder under the grip of a hand the size of a child's.

Chen’s scream tore through the warehouse, a raw, guttural sound of pure agony. He thrashed against the zip-ties, spit flying from his mouth, but Lin Fan’s grip was like a hydraulic press.

"What they don't know," Lin Fan continued, completely ignoring the man's shrieks, "is that my bloodline isn't defective. It’s the Primordial Asura Physique. An ancient, cursed mutation that hasn't been seen in four hundred years. My body didn't stop growing, Chen. It just grew *inward*."

Lin Fan leaned in closer, his dark eyes devoid of any pity. "My bones are denser than titanium. My muscles are compressed to the point where I weigh nearly three hundred and eighty pounds. Every inch of my body is a condensed engine of violence. My master found me in the slums when I was seven, burning alive from the inside out as my physique awakened. He spent his entire fortune on rare medicinal baths just to keep my heart from exploding."

Chen was sobbing now, his face contorted in pain, but he forced himself to listen, terrified that if he interrupted again, the little monster would crush his other knee.

"When I was twelve, my master was ambushed by the rival Blood Moon Sect," Lin Fan said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "He was dying. But before he passed, he dragged me to the Su family estate. The late Patriarch Su, Su Qing’s grandfather, was an old friend of his. Patriarch Su didn't care that I looked like a deformed child. He gave me a piece of his own heart-blood ginseng to stabilize my awakening, and he hid me in his cellar while the Blood Moon Sect scoured the city."

Lin Fan hopped down from the milk crate, his heavy shoes hitting the concrete with a dull, unnaturally loud *thud* that vibrated through the floorboards.

"I made a blood oath to Patriarch Su," Lin Fan said, pacing slowly in front of the weeping traitor. "I swore to protect his granddaughter, Su Qing, and keep the Su family from falling into ruin for three years. That’s why I’m playing the useless son-in-law. That’s why I let that venomous bitch of a mother-in-law spit on me. But you, Chen... you tried to hand over the very mountain plot where Patriarch Su is buried. The land that holds the final medicinal vein I need to break through to the next realm."

Lin Fan stopped pacing and looked up at Kui Gang, who was standing silently by the door like a massive, scarred gargoyle.

"He’s given us what we need," Lin Fan said coldly. "The Zhao family isn't just trying to bankrupt the Su Group. They’re trying to steal the ancestral land. Break his arms, cut out his tongue, and dump him in the river. Make sure he doesn't die until he hits the water."

"Yes, Boss," Kui Gang rumbled, stepping forward and pulling a heavy machete from his coat.

Lin Fan didn't stick around to watch. He walked out of the warehouse, the muffled screams and the wet sound of tearing flesh fading behind him as the heavy steel doors swung shut.

Out in the cool night air, Lin Fan pulled out his phone and checked the time. It was 2:00 AM. If he didn't get back to the villa soon, Madam Su would wake up and use his "late night wandering" as an excuse to dock his meager monthly allowance of two hundred dollars. It was hilarious, really. He had billions in offshore accounts, but he still had to play the part of the broke, scolded husband to keep his cover intact and honor his oath.

He climbed into the passenger seat of his wife’s Porsche, which Kui Gang had driven back to the warehouse earlier. As he drove back to the villa, his mind raced. The Zhao family was making a move on the ancestral mountain plot. If they succeeded, not only would the Su family lose their last valuable asset, but Lin Fan would lose the medicinal vein he needed to fully master his Asura Physique.

He parked the car in the garage and quietly slipped into the house. The living room was dark, but as he tiptoed toward the guest room where he slept, the lights suddenly flicked on.

Su Qing was sitting on the couch, still in her work clothes, a stack of financial reports on the coffee table. She looked exhausted, her beautiful face pale under the harsh living room lights. She stared at him, her eyes narrowing as she took in his slightly disheveled clothes and the faint, metallic smell of blood that he hadn't quite managed to wash off.

"Where were you, Lin Fan?" she asked, her voice tight, hovering somewhere between suspicion and sheer exhaustion. "And why do you smell like a slaughterhouse?"