My Superpower Is Kind of Cute

Chapter 1: The Ancient Teapot

It was late June, and the weather was fairly sunny, with a hint of restlessness in the air, signaling the imminent arrival of summer. But none of that really had much to do with me. At that moment, I was aimlessly wandering through a vast museum—not because I was having fun or was bored, but mainly because I’d been assigned to come here to complete a task. By the way, there really wasn’t much to see here;All those so-called artifacts were displayed all around—each one looking quite presentable, with labels beneath them solemnly detailing the item’s origin and value. If I hadn’t noticed the words “Made in Country Z” engraved on the rim of the very first one I looked at, I might have lingered a bit longer… “Young Master Chen, what do you think?” A middle-aged, portly man with a greasy face approached me with a grin and asked. I paused for a moment and looked around. I was the only person in the entire museum, so I couldn’t help but ask, “Are you talking to me?” “Of course,” the man said, rubbing his hands together and muttering softly, somewhat awkwardly, “It’s just you here.” I waved my hand and said, “Don’t call me that, though. It feels a bit odd.” “What do you think, Young Master Chen? Is this place okay?” The man moved closer to me, winking and making faces. “Coming here for a vacation and to clear your head is definitely worth every penny.” I replied nonchalantly, “If it were really worth the money, I wouldn’t be the only one here.” The chubby guy immediately deflated and said timidly, “It’s still under development, you know. One day it’ll be packed with people.” “Unless there’s a gold mine down here, no sucker’s going to show up here even if they wait until they die,” I couldn’t help but joke under my breath. Suddenly, it struck me as a bit funny—come to think of it, my dad was that sucker. The fat guy looked at me blankly, not understanding what I meant. He gritted his teeth and said, “Here’s the deal: when your company’s people come, I’ll give you a 20 percent discount. Besides this museum, there’s also a farmstay where you can fish, catch chickens, and pick fruit—I guarantee you and your employees will have plenty to eat, drink, and do.” I nodded. “Now that sounds more reasonable. No one’s going to come just to look at a bunch of fakes, and besides, that’s not my company.” “It belongs to your father, right? Sooner or later, it’ll be Mr. Chen’s.” Hearing my agreement, the fat man’s eyes lit up—he looked like he wanted to plant a kiss on my cheek. “Then it’s a deal, Mr. Chen. Remember to put in a good word for me with Mr. Chen. I’m waiting for your good news.” I gave him a puzzled look but nodded anyway, thinking to myself, “Is it really that big of a deal? It’s just a day trip with the company’s employees to enjoy the spring scenery. The economic benefit is at most a few ten thousand. Why go out of your way to fawn over me like this?” To be honest, my task today was just to come over and keep an eye on things for the old man, but the moment I stepped into this museum, I’d already lost all interest in looking any further. After finishing my conversation with the fat guy, I got ready to leave. This museum is located in a village on the very outskirts of the city. The village is called Yadou Village. It used to be quite underdeveloped, but later, with the rise of agritourism, it became a bit more lively. Then, apparently, they unearthed some artifacts. I have no idea which idiot suggested building a museum, but they actually spent three to five years constructing it. When they did the math later, they realized the cost of building the museum was actually more than what they’d earned from running the agritourism business over those years…It was because of the museum that my old man took an interest in this place. He decided to spend a day coming over to check it out. Not content with just coming himself, he had to rally people from the company to come on a tour, under the pretext of giving them a day off to rest. Just talking about this makes me want to vent:Which employee would actually want to spend an hour or two driving out here just to look at these pots and jars—and every single one of them is made in China, for crying out loud? If he really wanted to make his employees happy, he’d be better off just handing out bonuses—then I wouldn’t have to go through the hassle of coming all this way just to see such a headache of a place in advance. Seeing that I was about to leave, the fat guy hurried to follow me out. He casually pulled a ancient pot—so tacky it was cringeworthy—from the display stand and shoved it into my hand, fawning, “You’ve come all this way, and I don’t have much to offer you, so consider this a welcome gift.” I glanced at the display description—it was supposedly from the Western Zhou Dynasty, but the texture in my hand felt exactly like last week’s… “Isn’t this way too valuable?” I stared at the Fat Guy with a blank expression, hoping he’d get the hint and take the ancient pot back on his own. I’m not about to lug some junk home just for the sake of it—it’d be an eyesore even as a display piece. The Fat Guy clearly didn’t get my hint. He patted me on the back with a hearty laugh. “Come on, Brother Chen, don’t be so formal. Sure, this thing is valuable, but how does that compare to the bond between us?” I shot him a withering glance. Just a moment ago he was calling me “Young Master,” and now he’s suddenly “Brother Chen”—that’s quite a drop in status. Does he really think a lousy old pot is enough to win me over? I didn’t know if the Fat Guy was genuinely clueless or just putting on an act, but he enthusiastically leaned against me as we walked out the museum gates together. “Should I hail a cab for you?” “Go on with your business.” I waved him off, instinctively rolling my eyes at him again. In this godforsaken backwater, where would you even find a taxi? Even the bus only comes once every forty minutes, and you have to walk a kilometer or two just to get to the stop. The fat guy had been trying to stick close to me, but when he saw I wasn’t paying him any attention, he sheepishly gave up, waving at me from behind as I walked away. “Take care, buddy. Come visit sometime.” And so, carrying a teapot in my hand, I walked along the country path. Before I knew it, it was already noon, and the sun was beating down even harder. I raised the teapot to shield myself from the sun, but I hadn’t realized it wasn’t clean—it left my head covered in sand. “Damn it,” I muttered under my breath as I shook the fine sand from my hair. I felt an urge to just toss it aside, but I held back in the end—after all, you can’t just litter, even if it’s trash, right? With still a ways to go to the bus stop, I decided to pull out my phone and scroll through it while walking. To my dismay, I discovered there was hardly any signal here; it took several minutes just to load a single webpage. Suddenly, a gust of wind swept past me. Everything went blurry for a moment, and the next second, the phone I’d been holding securely in my hand had vanished into thin air. A motorcycle appeared before my eyes, speeding away at breakneck speed. I froze for a moment before it dawned on me—damn it, I’d just been mugged. I couldn’t help but get a little angry. I’d had that phone for three or four years; I’d grown attached to it, even if it was just a no-name brand… But looking at it another way, what kind of future could a mugger who’d go so far as to steal a phone like this possibly have? If he’d been driving a three-wheeler, I would’ve jumped on and slapped him across the face a couple of times. But the problem was, he was on a motorcycle—there was no way I could catch up just by running, and the distance was only getting bigger. “Damn it.” I blurted out that word instinctively, and at the same time, I noticed the beat-up teapot I was holding in my right hand. Wasn’t that the perfect weapon? Sure, it was a one-time-use item, and I only had one shot—this was going to test my throwing accuracy. Luckily, I’d been practicing since I was a kid: throwing erasers in elementary school, chalk in middle school, and smashing chairs in high school… Ahem, anyway, I’ve never been afraid of anything involving throwing things. No sooner said than done. Just as the robber was riding his motorcycle out of my maximum throwing range, I didn’t hesitate—I lifted the battered teapot and flung it straight out. It traced a perfect arc through the air, and luckily, it hit the guy right on the head. He let out a blood-curdling scream, and both he and his bike crashed to the ground, where he lay moaning in agony. I breathed a sigh of relief and strode triumphantly up to him. That’s why they say you have to wear a helmet when riding a motorcycle—it’s not without reason. If he’d been wearing a helmet just now, I’d be the one moaning in pain right here.