Li Pan opened his eyes to see rolling black clouds above him, pressing down like a collapsing city wall.
What the hell…?
Before he could react, a bolt of lightning came crashing straight down, striking him on the forehead with a deafening boom, flipping him head over heels.
"Oww—dammit… what the hell is going on!?"
Clutching his head, he rolled on the ground, sparks dancing in his eyes as he staggered upright. His mouth and nose spewed fire—no, not figuratively. Real blue lightning-flame burst from his nostrils with every breath. The thunderbolt had poured into his crown, flooding through his eight extraordinary meridians, electrifying him until he almost enjoyed it.
All around him, thunder crackled and flashed. Lightning bolts rained down like artillery, plasma orbs like hailstones, pelting the ground in fiery explosions. Li Pan scrambled to cover his head, running in circles like a rat in a storm.
Then came a colossal crash, as if a waterfall of lightning poured from the heavens, hammering him with brutal force. His entire body trembled as though scrubbed by an iron brush, his teeth clattering uncontrollably, even his liver quivering.
Thankfully, the storm passed quickly. After only a few heartbeats, the dark clouds dispersed, revealing a violet starry sky.
"Whew… what kind of monster…?"
Smoke puffed from his nostrils as his tongue went numb.
At that moment, a plump-faced boy appeared, dressed in a black Daoist robe embroidered with constellations and hexagrams, a huge black gourd strapped to his back. His hair was loose, tied in a bun with a pearwood pin.
"Five thousand taels," the boy said.
"…Huh?" Li Pan was still smoking from the mouth.
"Hey, the thunder's done. That'll be five thousand."
He waved an iron command token inscribed with a yellow talisman. The vermillion script read things like 'Nine Heavens Primordial Thunder' and 'Thirty-Six Celestial Bolts of the Supreme'. As the boy waved it, faint thunder rumbled across the sky.
Li Pan gawked.
"…So you called down the lightning on me… and you still want me to pay?"
The boy looked just as exasperated.
"You bought the tribulation lightning for marrow cleansing. Who else should pay?"
Li Pan paused. "…Buy my ass—oh, wait. Right. I did."
Memory came rushing back.
This wasn't Goldshine Academy. This was Shangzhen Monastery.
He was seated at the center of a compass-shaped altar, in front of the master's pill furnace.
And he wasn't Li Pan anymore. He was Li Qingyun.
The memories washed over him like tidewater: months of isolation in Shangzhen Monastery, endless cultivation, bitter study, pills and breakthroughs. His dao had advanced tremendously—he had reached the point of transformation.
In Nine Yin Manual terms, he had reached the sixth turn of body refinement, on the verge of shedding skin and taking a new form. By the standards of the Void Star Sea, it was mid-stage Qi-to-Spirit. In Shangzhen Monastery's system, early-stage Nascent Soul.
In other words—time to endure his first thunder tribulation.
But the Void Star Sea had no clouds, no storms. Where would the tribulation come from?
So Master Xian had hired a priest from the Grand Dao to call thunder down on his behalf.
Why not strike himself? Because if he did, Li Qingyun would be a corpse.
"Five thousand taels… how much is that again?"
He fumbled in his robe and produced a small restorative pill, handing it to the boy.
The boy sniffed it.
"Oh, eighth-grade. I'll need five."
Fine. Five it was. He had plenty anyway.
"Kid, what sect are you from? You're not from Shangzhen Monastery, right?"
The boy frowned. "Didn't I just tell you?"
Li Qingyun scratched his head and offered another pill.
"Sorry, the lightning fried my brain. Say it again."
The boy casually tossed the pill into his gourd.
"Zheng Jian. Disciple of the Star-Picking Temple of Grand Dao. Sent by order of the Patriarch to help you through your tribulation."
"Zheng… Jian?"
The boy drew a sigil in midair with crackling lightning, chanting:
"The Gradual Hexagram: the bird escapes the cage, misfortune becomes fortune, success arrives slowly. Rushing leads nowhere—step by step, with patience, blessings accumulate and merit will blossom."
As Zheng Jian spoke, Li Qingyun's memories aligned. It was an explanation of the Jian (Gradual Progress) hexagram. Steady progress, rooted growth, eventual success. A most auspicious omen.
Damn. Even his name had flair. Compared to that, "Qingyun" sounded painfully tacky.
He also realized—though the boy looked young, he was actually mid-stage Nascent Soul, stronger than Li Qingyun himself. Otherwise, summoning thunder wouldn't have been so effortless.
"Honored Brother Zheng, where exactly is your Star-Picking Temple? Far from the Void Star Sea? I'd like to visit someday."
Months in isolation had left Li Qingyun desperate for company.
The boy smiled mysteriously.
"Our Dao is everywhere. The heavens, the six realms, all roads are ours. But I fear the miasma of this world is too heavy for you. If your form falters, your masters would blame me."
Still, he produced a talisman.
"With this, light incense at the full moon, kindle it with heart-fire, and in three sticks' time your spirit may travel to our temple."
Li Qingyun's eyes lit up. He reached for it—only for Zheng Jian to extend his palm.
"Three more pills."
"Seriously? Can't you people keep the immortal vibe for once?"
But the boy only shrugged. "Everything has a price. Unless you prefer to rob me with a sword."
"…Fine. Take them."
The boy then produced an iron sparrow, feathers etched in detail.
"A mechanical divine sparrow, forged from meteoric iron. Infuse it with a thought and it can roam the world, while your body stays safe. Just one pill."
Li Qingyun examined it. Pretty clever. Though being treated like a guard dog stung.
Then the boy whipped out a bamboo scroll.
"And this—Spring Palace diagrams. One pill."
Li Qingyun's eyes widened.
"You little brat! Already walking the crooked path!? What's on it?"
"Not crooked. Yin and yang are Dao itself. This is a record of a celestial maiden subduing a divine beast—by the dual cultivation method. Could inspire enlightenment if you're clever."
"…What the—straight to beast play!? Heavy taste, kid. Fine, fine, just give me the human ones."
The boy grinned. "Next time, then."
Before Li Qingyun could protest, Zheng Jian raised his hand, shouting:
"Vacuum Spirit-Crossing! Heaven Beyond Heaven!"
Black clouds poured from his gourd, wrapping him in lightning. Then a thunderbolt shot skyward, the clouds twisting into a black dragon soaring across the stars. In a flash, he was gone.
Li Qingyun stared, jaw slack.
"…Damn. Why don't I ever travel like that?!"
He glanced down at the sparrow and scroll in his hands, only for Master Xian's voice to cut in sharply:
"Put those away. Useless distractions. Come to the pill yard."
Like a student caught with porn by the headmaster, Li Qingyun stuffed them into his robe and hurried off.
Master Xian was drawing pure green light from the pill furnace into a jade gourd, then demonstrating artifacts: a jade bottle, a fire-fan, an iron whisk.
"The batch of restorative pills is complete. When the flames die, clean the furnace. Wash it with spirit broth, then simmer it with true fire one hundred and forty times. No less. Only then will it be ready for the next batch."
Li Qingyun gulped. "Yes, Master."
"Show me the technique I taught you."
Ah, the fish-blasting move.
He thrust out his palm, qi coiling into a dragon-shaped gale. The roaring wind tore across the yard, soared into the sea, and detonated into a geyser of dead fish.
Master Xian only said, "Can you retract it?"
"…Retract?"
He demonstrated—forming a black ice spear, compressing it into a thin shard between his fingers, and stabbing rapid strikes into Li Qingyun's vital points, each stopping just short.
This was no honorable duelist's style. It was assassination—strikes hidden in hand, sleeve, even beard. No tells, no warning. Pure lethal intent.
"This is the Star-Picking Temple's secret art—Star-Plucking Fingers. Remember: there is no righteousness or heresy. Only survival."
Li Qingyun shivered. So even that chubby Zheng kid could've skewered him at any time.
He sighed, resigned to scrubbing the furnace.
Hours later, after inhaling countless clouds of alchemical broth, his body itched. He shed his robe—and purple scales spread across his skin as his flesh swelled, bones crackling, blood and tissue seeping from his pores.
The tribulation and the elixirs together had pushed him to his second molt—another step in his monstrous evolution.
.
.
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⚠️ 30 CHAPTERS AHEAD — I'm Not a Cyberpsycho ⚠️
The system says: Kill.Mercs obey. Corporates obey. Monsters obey.One man didn't.
🧠💀 "I'm not a cyberpsycho. I just think... differently."
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