"Sir, here's the tea you ordered. And the pork."
The waiter bowed slightly, placing down a steaming teapot and a small platter of sliced roasted pork glazed in a sweet sauce.
The fragrance spread across the wooden table, it felt warm and inviting.
Yuan Zhenzhou only nodded. His hand moved automatically, but he did not even reach for the chopsticks. He sat in silence, his back slightly slouched, his elbow resting against the table as if the weight of the world pressed down on his shoulders.
His gaze drifted toward the open window beside him. From the high floor of the teahouse tower, he had a clear view of the bustling town below.
The streets stretched wide, paved with stone worn smooth by countless footsteps.
Peddlers shouted as they hawked their wares—"Fresh buns, hot buns! Straight from the steamer!"—their voices carried by the warm afternoon air.
A group of children ran past a vendor stall, their laughter ringing like tiny bells, "Haha! Faster, faster!" Somewhere across the street, the sharp clang of hammer against iron echoed from a blacksmith's forge.
The steady clang! clang! clang! mixed with the chatter of townsfolk bargaining over bolts of cloth and jars of herbs.
The town was alive. Lively. Human. Yet for Zhen, it felt unbearably suffocating.
His expression darkened as his thoughts went back to what he had learned.
His younger brother—Yuan Fangzhou. The name itself made his stomach tighten with dread.
"This world really is the same," he muttered under his breath, his lips barely moving. "The same lawless, bloody immortal world…"
His voice was quiet, drowned by the noise outside, but the words tasted bitter on his tongue.
He clenched his hands together on his lap, the faint tremble in his fingers betraying the calm mask on his face.
Panic pressed against his chest, a wild pounding heartbeat that refused to calm. He knew what kind of story this was, what kind of place he had been dropped into.
This wasn't some world where the righteous always triumphed.
This was a realm where schemes cut deeper than swords and where a single careless word could cost him his life.
And he? He was not someone who could scheme.
"I'm just… me," he whispered. "A normal guy. A mortal who stumbled into something I shouldn't."
Yes, his talent in cultivation was decent. Yes, his injuries from yesterday proved he could endure hardship. But when it came to the heart-devouring games of ambition, manipulation, and betrayal?
He was an amateur standing in the den of wolves.
Against people like his younger brother—monsters in human skin—his mind and will were flimsy shields.
"What should I do now? What should I do now?" he mumbled again, his breath quick, his lips trembling as the words spilled like a broken chant.
The more he thought of Fangzhou, the more his skin crawled.
In the story, Yuan Fangzhou wasn't merely talented. He wasn't just another genius of the clan. No, he was something far worse.
In his first life, Fangzhou was not a smoker who desired immortality, glory, everything that men and cultivators usually craved.
He wanted only one thing—to push humanity to its ultimate limit. And to do that, he did not care how much blood had to be spilled. He trained his body, fought beasts, shattered bones, bled in every possible way. He broke himself apart to see just how far a human could go when stripped of divine aids.
Madness. Pure, unyielding madness.
But that was only his first life.
Now, reborn into a second life, Fangzhou had learned. He had realized his solitary madness could never carry him far enough. He'd be crushed just like in his first life.
So, this time, he sought not to test only himself but to forge an entire army of zealots.
Followers who worshipped his vision of ultimate human strength.
An army of fanatics, war-driven and unafraid of death.
And Yuan Zhenzhou knew—he knew it too clearly—that his brother would succeed.
The memories from Earth had warned him.
The novel's plot was unfolding before his very eyes.
Fangzhou had already gained their parents' favor. Soon, he would use their prestige, their wealth, their resources. He would gather people around him, mold them, twist them, and unleash them into this fragile world.
A slow war. A bloody war.
Zhen's palms were slick with sweat. He tried to swallow, but his throat was dry.
What should I do? Leave? Hide? Fight?
Every possibility turned to ash the moment he thought it through. Running? This world was not safe.
A mortal with spiritual roots was already a target, hunted for resources or enslaved as fodder.
Even if he survived, beasts and rogue cultivators prowled the land.
If he tried to fight Fangzhou directly, he would be crushed. And since his younger brother was already here, he probably had a little army behind him already.
If he stayed, sooner or later, Fangzhou and his army would see him as an obstacle—and obstacles were meant to be used and worse, erased.
Despair gnawed at his chest. His vision blurred as though the noisy town below was only a smudge of colors.
And then—
Ding!
The crisp chime rang inside his mind. His head jerked up, startled.
Floating in the air before him, unseen by anyone else, a faint shimmering screen appeared. On it, glowing letters slowly arranged themselves.
[Law Enforcement System Activated!]
For a moment, he only stared. His mind was blank. Then, his lips twitched.
"A system? Now? Really?"
…
Across the town, under the shadow of an ancient wall, Yuan Fangzhou stood.
He was tall, long black hair, his robe immaculate, his posture unbending. His face was calm, too calm, so ethereal that it almost seemed carved from jade.
Behind him, several figures knelt half in shadow, their heads bowed.
"Master Fang," one of them whispered with a rasping voice. "Your older brother is unexpected. His existence will become an obstruction to the plan. Should we… remove him?"
The others nodded. Their eyes glimmered with fanatic fire, hungry and eager for the order.
But Fangzhou did not answer immediately. He kept his gaze forward, expression unreadable. For a long silence, only the wind stirred, carrying the faint cries of the marketplace.
Finally, he spoke. His tone was slow, calm, and chilling in its patience.
"No."
The shadows stirred, confused.
Fangzhou's voice remained steady, not rising, not falling. "We just arrived in this place. To act recklessly now would only draw eyes upon us. First, we observe. We learn. This town will become our foundation. Before we move, we must know its pulse."
He raised his hand slightly, fingers curled as if weaving invisible threads.
"Study the merchants. Which ones control the grain? The iron? Which families hold influence? Who among them has debts, grudges, weaknesses? Watch their habits. When they rise. When they sleep. Every detail is a weapon."
The shadows listened, their breathing heavy, as if drunk on his words.
"Learn the hearts of the townsfolk. Who hungers most? Who despises the ruling clans? Who yearns for strength beyond their grasp? They will become the first stones of our wall. The more desperate they are, the more loyal they shall be once we give them purpose."
His lips curved faintly, but no warmth touched his eyes.
"Build quietly. Take root. Let no one notice until our roots have spread so deep that no one can tear us out. Then, when the time comes, we will ignite them. An army of zealots, born not from force but from their own desires. Their loyalty will be unbreakable because it will not be bought—it will be given."
The shadows trembled, shivering in excitement. One of them whispered hoarsely, "Yes… yes, this is the way…"
Fangzhou let the silence stretch again, then added, his voice softer yet heavier, "As for my elder brother…"
He finally allowed himself to pause, his eyes narrowing.
"He feels different. Not like the others."
For the first time, there was a flicker of something behind his mask. Interest. Curiosity.
"Let me figure him out first."
The wind howled faintly across the alley, and the shadows bowed lower, their whispers vanishing into the air.