Lin Feng woke up on the floor.
Face pressed into cold wood, one arm numb, sword still clutched against his chest like it was a childhood blanket. He must have rolled off the bed sometime during the night while dreaming about arrest warrants and laughing demons.
He didn't move for a long moment.
Just stared at the dusty ceiling beams.
Then, slowly, he lifted his head.
The blue panel was still there.
Floating serenely two feet in front of his face.
[6 days, 14 hours, 22 minutes remaining]
He exhaled through his nose. Long. Slow. The kind of breath that carried twenty years of suppressed swearing.
"Ten years of lifespan," he muttered to the empty room, "for failing to recruit one apprentice. That's harsher than the time the Alliance docked my entire month's pay because my paperwork margins were 'insufficiently uniform'."
He sat up.
Tried everything again.
Circulated qi in violent bursts trying to shatter the illusion, nothing.
Drew a basic dispel talisman on the floor with his own blood, nothing.
Even made a fist and punched straight through the glowing text.
His knuckles passed through like it was smoke.
The panel didn't even flicker.
Lin Feng stared at his own hand for several seconds.
Then dropped his forehead against the sword hilt.
"Fine," he croaked. "You win, you glowing piece of shit."
He stayed like that for a while.
Eventually he dragged himself upright, crossed his legs on the filthy floorboards, and actually looked at the thing properly for the first time.
Menus appeared when he focused, crisp, indifferent, faintly condescending.
[Sect: None]
[Disciples: 0]
[Sect Contribution Points: 0]
[Territory: Abandoned Yin Vein Manor – Unstable]
[Host Stats]
→ Cultivation: Peak Foundation Establishment (suppressed)
→ Meridians: Average
→ Trauma Resistance: High
→ Emotional Intelligence: Abysmal
He snorted.
"Accurate."
A small [?] icon blinked in the corner. He tapped it mentally.
A bare-bones FAQ unfolded.
[Q: Can I recruit demonic cultivators?]
[A: Yes. Loyalty matters more than alignment. Good luck.]
[Q: Can I kill the system?]
[A: No. Many have tried. All are dead. Or worse – sect leaders.]
Lin Feng's eye twitched.
The last line was the worst:
[Reminder: The system evaluates 'happiness' and 'growth'. Be nice. Or at least pretend.]
He stared at that sentence for a solid ten seconds.
Then spoke aloud, voice flat:
"I'm fucked."
...
Desperation breeds terrible ideas.
Lin Feng's terrible idea took the form of a warped plank he found behind the collapsed woodshed.
He carved the message with the edge of his sword, strokes clumsy, characters uneven. He was an enforcer, not a calligrapher.
"Seeking Disciples!
Free food. Cultivation guidance. No weird tests. Serious inquiries only."
— Lin Feng, Peak Foundation Establishment"
He jammed the sign into the dirt beside the broken stone lions.
Stepped back.
Folded his arms.
Waited.
Five minutes passed.
A bird landed on the sign, cocked its head, then took off again.
Ten minutes.
The bird came back and shat directly on the word "Disciples".
Lin Feng closed his eyes.
"Of course," he muttered. "Why would fate make this easy?"
...
He spent the rest of the morning sweeping the main courtyard.
Not because he suddenly became domestic.
Mostly because standing still and waiting for death-by-lifespan-deduction was driving him insane.
Broom in hand, he attacked the dust and dead leaves like they personally owed him money.
While sweeping near the cracked fountain, his foot nudged something hard.
A jade slip, cracked, edges blackened.
He picked it up carefully.
A remnant soul sealing technique. Incomplete. But still valuable.
He tucked it into his sleeve.
A few paces later he found something else: a small yin-attributed spirit stone, dark and cold.
The moment his fingers closed around it, his qi recoiled like it had touched acid.
He dropped it immediately.
The entire manor carried that same faint chill, stronger in some corners, weaker in others.
Then, without warning, new text bloomed in his vision.
[Territory Analysis: Yin Vein (Dormant, Suppressed). Potential resource once stabilized.]
[Current stability: 17%. Risk of yin ghost manifestation: Moderate.]
Lin Feng froze mid-sweep.
"Ghost manifestation?"
Right on cue, the sound returned.
That same soft, broken crying.
Only now it was coming from the east wing.
And it was clearer.
Almost… human.
...
He didn't go unarmed.
His sword at his waist.
Three defensive talismans stuck to his inner robe.
One explosive talisman between his fingers.
It was old habits.
The east wing was worse than the rest of the manor.
Roof partially collapsed. Moonlight speared through jagged holes. Spider webs hung like ruined curtains.
The crying led him to a half-destroyed seclusion chamber.
Stone door ajar.
There was a girl inside.
Curled in the far corner, knees drawn to chest, long black hair completely hiding her face.
Ragged white robes, styles like centuries out of date.
Skin so pale it looked almost translucent under the moonlight.
The air around her was freezing.
Thick yin qi rolled off her in waves, enough to make his breath fog.
Lin Feng stopped in the doorway.
Old enforcer instincts kicked in.
Threat assessment.
No killing intent.
Cultivation… impossible to read clearly. Sealed? Injured? Something worse?
He kept his voice low. Careful.
"Hey. Kid. You alive?"
No answer.
Just quiet, hiccupping sobs.
He took one step inside.
Then another.
Her head snapped up.
Eyes completely white. No pupils. No iris. Just blank milky voids.
Voice came out layered, two people speaking at once, one adult, one child.
"Leave… this place… devours… righteous dogs…"
Then she collapsed forward again, curling tighter, crying harder.
Lin Feng's grip on his sword tightened until his knuckles ached.
He didn't move.
Neither did she.
After several long heartbeats, new text appeared directly in his vision.
[Anomaly detected within sect territory]
[Entity classification: Yin-Remnant Soul (Partial Sentience)]
[Potential: Sealed Disciple Candidate – Grade: Unknown]
[Time remaining on mission: 6 days, 8 hours, 41 minutes]
[Recommendation: Establish trust. Or subdue.]
The girl's head slowly lifted again.
This time her voice was different.
Smaller.
Softer.
Almost childlike.
"…hungry…"
Lin Feng stared at the crying ghost girl.
Then at the mission timer ticking down.
Then back at her.
He exhaled through his teeth.
Half-exasperated.
Half-resigned.
"You've got to be kidding me. My first disciple… is a ghost?"