Lin Yuan left Broken Cloud Mountain before sunrise.
He didn't look back.
There was nothing to hesitate over. He already knew the truth—Broken Cloud Mountain was valuable, but claiming it now would be suicide. A low-grade spirit vein attracted trouble, and he didn't yet have the strength to deal with it.
He was still a mortal.
That fact didn't frustrate him. It simply defined how careful he had to be.
The descent was faster than the climb, but he remained cautious. Lin Yuan avoided the main paths, moving through brush and uneven ground instead. Twice, he felt faint waves of Qi pressure pass through the area. Cultivators.
Each time, he stopped, waited, and stayed hidden.
By the time Ridgefall City came into view, the sun was already high.
The noise returned immediately.
Merchants shouted. Carts rolled across stone roads. Guards stood at their posts, alert but relaxed. Cultivators walked openly, and ordinary people instinctively made way for them.
Lin Yuan blended in without effort.
He didn't go straight back to his estate. Instead, he walked through the commercial district first, observing quietly. Prices were stable. Trade routes were intact. There were no signs of large conflicts nearby.
Good.
Only then did he return home.
The estate felt unchanged—clean, empty, temporary.
Lin Yuan closed the gate and summoned the system.
The interface appeared.
He didn't browse this time. He went straight to the locked functions.
Establish Sect — LOCKED (Location Under Evaluation)
Recruit Earth Disciples — LOCKED
Assign Construction Tasks — LOCKED
Nothing new.
Then he scrolled further, deeper into the system details.
A single line caught his attention.
Initial Earth Entry Slots: 150
Lin Yuan stared at the number.
Only one hundred and fifty.
No explanation. No way to increase it. No mention of when it could change.
He smiled faintly.
"Smart," he murmured.
Letting thousands of people loose in an unstable area would be chaos. Even if they couldn't truly die, the damage they could cause—attention, destruction, imbalance—would be impossible to control.
One hundred and fifty was enough to matter.
But not enough to spiral out of control.
He closed the system.
It wasn't trying to help him win quickly.
It was trying to make sure he survived long enough to build something real.
That afternoon, Lin Yuan began selling the remnants of his old life.
He didn't rush. Panic selling attracted vultures. Instead, he met brokers he had known for years—people who still respected the Lin name, even if its influence had faded.
Land deeds were transferred quietly.
Warehouses were liquidated at fair prices.
Trade rights were sold cleanly, in full packages.
Word spread anyway.
"The Lin heir is selling everything."
Some said it with pity.
Some with curiosity.
Some with barely hidden greed.
Lin Yuan ignored them all.
By evening, most of his wealth had changed form.
Coins became tools.
Tools became materials.
Materials were stored, counted, and prepared for transport.
Mining picks.
Hammers.
Saws.
Nails.
Rope.
Carts.
Storage crates.
Nothing impressive.
Everything essential.
As night fell, Lin Yuan sat alone in the courtyard and reviewed his ledgers one last time. What remained was enough—not to dominate, but to begin.
That was all he needed.
On Earth, the internet was noisy.
Not everywhere, but in the right places.
Gaming forums, VR groups, private Discord servers—one topic kept resurfacing.
The closed beta cultivation game.
The registration number had quietly passed three thousand.
Then someone posted a screenshot.
NOTICE:
Closed Beta Entry Limit — 150 Players
Access granted on a first-come, first-served basis.
The reaction was instant.
"Only 150?"
"That's brutal."
"Early birds eating good."
Some laughed it off. Others were furious.
"I thought it was fake, that's why I didn't sign up."
"So we're just locked out?"
"Watch them sell founder access next."
Memes followed immediately.
A gate slamming shut.
Caption: Should've registered faster.
Speculation exploded.
"Invite waves?"
"Streamer priority?"
"No way it's actually first-come."
Nobody thought it was real life.
They thought it was marketing.
Scarcity tactics. Closed beta hype. Artificial exclusivity.
People refreshed their inboxes obsessively. Others checked their registration timestamps down to the second.
Unboxing videos continued.
Helmets lined up on desks. Turned over. Examined closely.
Tech threads popped up everywhere.
"No visible ports."
"No cooling vents."
"How is it powered?"
One theory post gained traction.
Theory:
It's not full-dive. It's predictive sensory mapping with AI assistance. Your brain fills in the gaps.
The replies loved it.
"That makes sense."
"Bro, if this works, VR is dead."
"I just wanna know if crafting matters."
Build planners started spreadsheets.
Tank roles.
DPS paths.
Crafting mains.
Someone joked, "What if building is the real endgame?"
Nobody dismissed it.
Back in Ridgefall City, Lin Yuan opened the system again late at night.
At first glance, nothing looked different.
Then he checked the website portal.
One line had changed.
Open Website Portal — READY (Initial Entry Cap: 150)
Lin Yuan leaned back and stared at it.
This was the line he couldn't undo.
Everything before this had been preparation.
Once he activated it, one hundred and fifty people would enter Tianyuan World for the first time.
They would die.
Respawn.
Explore.
Build.
Break things.
Argue.
Make mistakes.
They would treat this world like a game.
And that was exactly why it would work.
Lin Yuan didn't activate it.
Not yet.
He closed the system and looked up at the night sky. The stars were faint above Ridgefall City, dulled by lantern light and smoke. Far beyond the walls, Broken Cloud Mountain waited in silence.
"Soon," he said softly.
Tomorrow, he would move the tools.
Tomorrow, he would arrange transport.
Tomorrow, he would make sure the first arrivals wouldn't step into chaos.
He turned and went inside.
The game was ready.
The world still needed preparation.