Ling Chen's legs screamed for him to run, but his feet stayed glued to the muddy courtyard.
The inner disciple's cold eyes pinned him like a bug under a magnifying glass.
The guy's hand rested on his jade-hilted sword, and the air crackled with a pressure that made Ling's new qi buzz nervously in his chest.
Behind him, Wei Gang—the bully he'd just face-planted into the mud—smirked like he'd won the lottery.
"Jian Hao wants me gone?" Ling said, forcing his voice to stay steady. His gamer brain was yelling abort mission, but he'd played enough RPGs to know running from a boss fight only delayed the inevitable. "What's his deal? I didn't even do anything."
The inner disciple snorted, his blue robes fluttering in the night breeze. "You exist, Ling Chen. That's enough for the sect's golden prodigy to want you erased." He stepped closer, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Consider this a warning. Stay out of his way, or I'll bury you myself."
Ling's mouth went dry. He clutched the rusted dagger in his belt, but against this guy? It'd be like fighting a tank with a toothpick. Before he could muster a comeback, the disciple turned and vanished into the shadows, leaving Wei Gang and his goons snickering.
"Crawl back to your hut, trash," Wei spat, limping away with his buddies. "Next time, you won't be so lucky."
Ling let out a shaky breath, his heart still racing. "Yeah, screw you too," he muttered, but his bravado was paper-thin.
Jian Hao, the novel's hero, was already gunning for him, and now inner disciples were throwing around death threats? This world was a death trap, and he was the squishiest target in it.
He stumbled to his tiny hut, a glorified shack with a straw mat and a leaky roof. Collapsing onto the mat, he stared at the ceiling, trying to wrap his head around his situation.
He was stuck in Sword of the Heavenly King, a Xianxia novel where Jian Hao was the untouchable star—genius cultivator, sect darling, and engaged to some fairy-princess type who'd gotten "original Ling Chen" killed for daring to flirt. Ling, the modern gamer, hadn't even met the girl, but apparently, he was still public enemy number one.
[System alert: New mission: Sabotage Jian Hao's training session. Spread rumors to disrupt his focus and earn 150 Villain Points. Reward: Minor Technique Scroll. Failure: Loss of 100 Villain Points.]
Ling sat up, the blue system screen glowing in the dark. "Sabotage the hero? Are you trying to get me killed?" he hissed.
The system, as usual, didn't care about his whining. But 150 Villain Points sounded like a big deal, and that technique scroll might give him an edge. Plus, screwing with Jian Hao?
Kinda tempting.
"Okay, fine," he muttered, rubbing his face. "But I'm not storming his training session like some idiot. Gotta be smart."
Back on Earth, he'd been a pro at trolling forums and rigging in-game auctions. Spreading rumors? Child's play.
By morning, Ling had a plan. The outer disciple quarters were buzzing with gossip—perfect for planting seeds.
He slipped into the communal mess hall, a cramped room smelling of stale rice and boiled herbs. Disciples crowded around wooden tables, griping about chores or bragging about their cultivation.
Ling grabbed a bowl of gray slop and sidled up to a group of loudmouths.
"Heard Jian Hao's been slacking," Ling said casually, keeping his voice low but clear. "They say he's so busy chasing girls, his qi's stagnating. Might bomb his next training session."
The disciples paused, then smirked. "Yeah, right," one said, but his eyes gleamed with interest. "Golden boy? No way."
Ling shrugged, taking a bite of the slop and nearly gagging. "Just what I heard. Bet he's not even ready for the sect trials."
He moved to another table, dropping similar hints, each one tweaked to sound juicier.
By lunch, the rumors were spreading like wildfire—Jian Hao was distracted, Jian Hao was overrated, Jian Hao might lose his spot as top disciple.
Ling grinned, feeling a rush. Trolling in real life was way more fun than online.
The system chimed.
[Mission progress: Rumors spread. 50% complete. Continue to disrupt Jian Hao's training.]
"Halfway there," Ling whispered, heading toward the training grounds. He needed to see if his plan was working.
The grounds were a wide plaza surrounded by stone pillars, where disciples practiced forms under the watchful eyes of elders.
Jian Hao was there, of course, looking like a movie star in his white robes, his sword flashing through precise strikes.
A crowd of disciples watched, some cheering, others whispering Ling's rumors.
Ling stayed at the edge, blending in. Jian's moves were flawless, but his jaw was tight, his eyes flicking to the crowd. Gotcha, Ling thought.
The guy was rattled. Time to push harder. Ling caught the eye of a chatty disciple nearby and leaned in.
"Bet Jian's nervous about the trials," Ling said. "Heard he's been skipping meditation to impress that fiancée of his."
The disciple laughed, passing it on. The whispers grew louder, and Jian's sword faltered mid-strike, just for a second. Ling's grin widened. This was too easy.
[Mission progress: 80%. Approach Jian Hao to complete sabotage.]
Ling's grin vanished. "Approach him? Are you nuts?" he hissed at the system. Jian was the last person he wanted to face, especially after last night's alley fiasco.
But losing 100 Villain Points would sting, and he needed that technique scroll to survive this death-trap sect.
Steeling himself, Ling edged closer to the training area, sticking to the crowd. Jian finished his form, sheathing his sword with a flourish.
The elders nodded approvingly, but the whispers were getting to him—his fists clenched, his eyes scanning for the source.
Ling took a deep breath and stepped forward, heart pounding.
"Nice moves, Jian Hao," he called, loud enough for the crowd to hear. "But I heard you're slipping. Too much time with the ladies?"
The plaza went dead silent. Jian's head snapped toward him, eyes blazing with fury.
Ling's stomach dropped, but he kept his gamer smirk plastered on. Troll mode: fully activated.
"You," Jian growled, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. "Ling Chen, you dare show your face?" He stepped closer, the crowd parting like water. "Spreading lies about me? I should've killed you in that alley."
Ling's knees wobbled, but he held his ground.
"Lies? Just repeating what everyone's saying." He gestured to the crowd, who murmured nervously. "Maybe you're not as perfect as you think."
Jian's face twisted, and his hand shot to his sword.
The elders frowned, one stepping forward, but before anyone could intervene,
Jian pointed at Ling, his voice booming.
"You stole from the sect's garden last night, didn't you? A Low-Grade Spirit Herb, gone missing! Admit it, thief!"
Ling's blood ran cold. The crowd gasped, eyes turning to him.
The system screen flickered, silent. How the hell did Jian know? Was it that girl from the garden? Or just a lucky guess? Either way, Ling was cornered, accused in front of the whole sect, with Jian's sword itching to end him