The morning sun rose over the Small Pond Sect, casting long, golden rays that pierced through the morning mist.
Usually, the Outer Sect was filled with the sounds of shouting, sparring, and the rhythmic chanting of disciples practicing their morning breathing exercises. Today, however, there was a different energy in the air.
It was the buzzing, frantic energy of gossip.
"Did you hear? Senior Brother Zhao deserted!"
"I heard he found a map to a Golden Core Cave!"
"No, it was a Foundation Establishment Pill! He stole it from that trash, Li Fan!"
Li Fan sat in the corner of the communal dining hall, nursing a bowl of watery rice porridge. His head was lowered, his shoulders hunched. To the onlookers, he looked like a broken boy mourning the loss of his family fortune.
In reality, Li Fan was counting the grains of rice in his bowl.
One hundred and forty-two, he noted. The kitchen is skimming rations again. In Life 67, I exposed the head chef for selling sect rice to the mortal city. He tried to poison me. Maybe I should pay him a visit later.
"Li Fan."
A shadow fell over his table. Wang and Little Fatty Zhang stood there, holding their trays. They looked at him with a mixture of pity and awe.
"Are you okay?" Wang asked, sitting down. "The Enforcers... they took Zhao's lackeys away for interrogation this morning. They were screaming that they didn't know anything."
Li Fan stirred his porridge slowly. "I hope they tell the truth," he whispered, his voice trembling slightly for the benefit of anyone listening. "I just want this nightmare to be over."
"It is over," Little Fatty Zhang said, patting Li Fan's shoulder aggressively. "Zhao is gone! Even if they don't catch him, he can't come back. We're safe!"
Li Fan looked up, offering a weak, watery smile. "Safe..."
Safe?
He nearly laughed.
In the cultivation world, safety was a myth. Zhao Dahu was just a small wolf. Now that he was gone, the vacuum he left would be filled by other predators. The Small Pond Sect was a cesspool of mediocrity, and mediocrity bred cruelty.
Li Fan finished his porridge in three gulps. "I'm going to the library," he lied. "I need to clear my head."
"Good idea," Wang nodded. "Read some scriptures. Find peace."
Li Fan stood up, leaving his empty bowl. He walked out of the dining hall, feeling the heavy gazes of a dozen disciples burning into his back. They weren't looking at him with respect; they were looking at him like a sheep that had just been sheared, wondering if there was any wool left.
Li Fan didn't go to the library. He returned to his empty dorm room.
He sat cross-legged on his bed and closed his eyes.
It was time to face the harsh reality of his existence.
Status Check.
Cultivation: Qi Condensation Layer 1 (Mid-stage).
Talent: 5th Grade Spirit Root.
In the Five Domains, Spirit Roots were graded from 1st to 9th, with 1st being the Heaven-Defying geniuses and 9th being barely better than a mortal.
A 5th Grade Spirit Root sounded average. It wasn't.
Li Fan placed his hands on his knees and began to circulate the Basic Qi Condensation Manual.
He visualized the spiritual energy in the air. It was like a thick, glowing mist. A genius with a 1st Grade Root would be a vacuum, sucking that mist into their body effortlessly. Their meridians would be wide rivers, allowing the energy to flow and condense into liquid power.
Li Fan tried to pull the mist.
It resisted.
It felt like trying to drink a milkshake through a coffee stirrer.
He strained, his forehead beading with sweat. A tiny wisp of Qi entered his nose, traveled down his throat, and entered his meridians.
Pain.
His meridians were narrow, twisted, and clogged with impurities. The Qi scrapped against the walls of his spiritual veins like sandpaper. It moved sluggishly, losing half its potency before it even reached his dantian.
After an hour of intense, sweating meditation, Li Fan opened his eyes.
He exhaled a breath of turbid air.
"Net gain: 0.01% progress," Li Fan muttered, his voice cold.
He did the math instantly.
At this rate, to reach Qi Condensation Layer 2, I need three years of daily cultivation.
To reach Layer 9? Sixty years.
Foundation Establishment? Impossible. I will die of old age long before I accumulate enough Qi to build the Dao Pillars.
And that wasn't even factoring in the Curse.
He had nineteen years. Maybe less.
If he relied on hard work, he was a dead man walking.
"Hard work is for the talented," Li Fan said to the empty room. "For trash like me, there is only pillaging."
He reached into his robe and pulled out the heavy pouch.
Eighteen Spirit Stones.
To a mortal, this was a fortune. One Spirit Stone could buy a large house in the mortal world.
To a cultivator, it was pocket change.
A single 'Spirit Condensation Pill' costs ten stones. It saves one month of cultivation time.
I need to reach Foundation Establishment in five years.
That means I need to compress sixty years of cultivation into five.
I need approximately... seven hundred pills.
Seven thousand Spirit Stones.
And that was just for the raw energy. He also needed defensive artifacts, weapons, escape talismans, and bribes.
Li Fan stood up, pacing the small room.
He needed a windfall. A massive injection of capital.
He walked to the window and looked south. Beyond the misty peaks of the sect lay the sprawling lands of the Mortal Dust Empire. And closest to the sect was Mortal Dust City.
In Life 999, Li Fan had burned that city to the ground to refine a Blood Sword.
But in Life 340, he had lived there as a physician.
He remembered the City Lord, Su Chang.
He remembered Su Chang's desperation.
And he remembered Su Chang's daughter, Su Ling.
"The girl with the Cold Poison," Li Fan whispered.
In the official timeline, Su Ling would die in three months. Her death would drive the City Lord mad. He would spend his entire fortune hiring a fraud from the Central Domain who would fail to save her.
That fortune—the accumulated tax revenue of a trading hub city—was sitting in a vault, waiting to be wasted.
"Why let a fraud take it?" Li Fan adjusted his gray robes. "When I can put it to better use."
He grabbed his small bundle of belongings. He didn't take much—just a change of clothes, a water skin, and the pouch of stones.
He placed his hand on his dantian, checking the Heaven-Deceiving Copper Coin. It was dormant, but ready.
Li Fan walked out of the dorm.
He didn't sneak out this time. He walked boldly to the Sect Gate.
The South Gate
Two Outer Sect disciples stood guard at the stone archway marking the exit of the Small Pond Sect. They were leaning on their spears, looking bored.
When they saw Li Fan approaching, they straightened up slightly.
"Halt," one guard said lazily. "Outer Disciples need a pass to leave the mountain."
Li Fan stopped. He looked at the guard.
He recognized him. Sun Wei. A gambler who owed money to half the sect.
Li Fan reached into his pouch and pulled out one Spirit Stone. He held it in his palm, hidden from casual view but clearly visible to Sun Wei.
"Senior Brother Sun," Li Fan said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "My mother is sick in the village below. I need to deliver medicine. I'll be back before sunset."
Sun Wei looked at the stone. His eyes lit up.
Strictly speaking, leaving without a pass was against the rules. But for a trash disciple like Li Fan? Who cared? If he ran away, the sect would save on rice.
Sun Wei coughed, his hand moving in a blur to snatch the stone from Li Fan's palm.
"Filial piety is a virtue," Sun Wei said solemnly, pocketing the bribe. "Go quickly. If the Elders ask, I never saw you."
"Thank you, Senior Brother."
Li Fan bowed and walked past them.
As he crossed the threshold of the gate, the spiritual pressure of the sect's protective array washed over him and then faded.
He was out.
The path ahead wound down the mountain, disappearing into a dense forest of green bamboo. Beyond that lay the mortal world.
Li Fan didn't look back.
He began to walk. At first, his pace was normal. But as soon as he was out of sight of the guards, he accelerated.
He channeled his meager Qi into his legs. It wasn't the Formless Ocean Art yet—he didn't have that technique—but he used a breathing rhythm he had learned from a bandit king in Life 150.
Breath in... two steps.
Breath out... three steps.
He moved with a fluid, loping stride that ate up the miles without exhausting his stamina.
Two hours later, the forest thinned.
The smell of pine and damp earth was replaced by the smell of woodsmoke, roasting meat, and unwashed humanity.
Mortal Dust City.
It was a sprawling metropolis built at the intersection of three trade rivers. Massive stone walls, fifty feet high, encircled the city. Banners fluttered from the watchtowers—the Golden Lion of the City Lord, and the Silver Hawk of the Ye Clan.
Li Fan stood on a ridge overlooking the city.
To a mortal, this city was a titan. A place of dreams and wealth.
To Li Fan, it was a chessboard.
He saw the Ye Clan compound in the east—a fortress of arrogance.
He saw the slums in the south—where he could buy cheap labor.
And in the center, rising above the smog, was the City Lord's Manor.
"Su Ling," Li Fan murmured. "I hope you are feeling particularly sick today."
He tapped his dantian.
Buzz.
The Copper Coin activated.
Li Fan's aura shifted. The sharp, albeit weak, edge of a cultivator smoothed out. His skin lost its faint luster. His eyes became duller.
He was no longer Disciple Li Fan of the Small Pond Sect.
He reached into his bag and pulled out a bamboo hat he had stolen from a farmer on the way down. He placed it on his head, shadowing his face.
He walked toward the city gates, merging with a caravan of grain merchants.
The Invisible Demon had arrived.