---
It had already been five years since Lai arrived in this world.
The afternoon sun bathed the lake in shimmering gold, and the rippling water reflected the bending branches of a great willow tree. Beneath it sat two men across from one another, a simple wooden chessboard balanced on a rock between them.
One was an old man, hair white as snow, back slightly hunched, eyes narrowed as he held a single chess piece in his hand. He frowned deeply, as though the entire world depended on this one move.
The other was a farmer, lounging on the grass with his hands folded behind his head, staring lazily at the drifting clouds. His plain clothes smelled faintly of soil, and his calm, half-sleepy eyes seemed to say he had no business in the struggles of the world.
The old man scowled.
"Mm… I don't understand the strategy of this game."
Lai opened one eye, his voice low and unhurried.
"Think of it like Go. But instead of surrounding your opponent to win, this game lets you attack directly."
"That doesn't make sense," the old man muttered.
Lai chuckled. "The people who invented it fought like that—straightforward, direct. They even had weapons that could kill from beyond sight. For them, strategy wasn't subtlety. It was overwhelming force."
The old man blinked, then shook his head. "Are they stupid?"
"Haha," Lai laughed softly. "Maybe. But everyone has their own taste."
The board remained still for a long time before Lai sat up slightly, tilting his head.
"Say, it's been three years we've played this game, but I never asked—what's your name?"
The old man hesitated. For a brief moment, his calm expression rippled like water struck by a stone. His eyes narrowed dangerously before softening again.
"My name is Ao Guang. But just call me Old Man Ao."
Lai smiled knowingly. "Ao, huh? Suits you. You've lived by this lake for too long. Must be lonely."
Old Man Ao froze, his fingers tightening on the chess piece. His aura stirred faintly, like a storm trapped beneath the surface of calm waters.
"…It seems you know secrets even the heavens have not uncovered."
Lai stretched, yawning. "Mm. Let's continue tomorrow. The sun's setting, and some pests are crawling about. Wouldn't want my cabbages to rot."
Ao Guang looked up at the blood-red sunset. He sighed softly, muttering as Lai walked away.
"Young people these days… courageous… or terrifying."
As the farmer's figure receded down the path, Old Man Ao stared at his back, his gaze heavy.
What a terrifying being…
---
The Demon at Fallen Village
Lai's farm rested a hundred kilometers away, near the borderlands where the fields stretched endlessly toward the horizon. As he approached, he paused, his gaze drifting toward the distant outline of Fallen Village.
"Mm," he murmured. His lips curled faintly.
"Come."
At that moment, Fallen Village was under siege.
A demonic cultivator, robes soaked in dried blood, stood in the center of the village square, blade dripping with dark qi. His face twisted in madness as he raised his weapon high.
"Kneel, mortals! Tremble before me! Your lives, your souls—they are mine!"
In any other place, peasants would scatter, screaming. But here… the villagers merely stared at him with pity.
An old farmer scratched his beard. "Poor lad. He's too young to die."
Another shook his head. "Wasting time on mortals? He should be cultivating."
A woman carrying a basket sighed. "Doesn't he realize whose territory this is?"
The demonic cultivator froze. He had faced countless villages, all of them wailing, begging, and breaking under his presence. But here? Here, they looked at him like a fool.
"What… what are you staring at me for?!" he roared, his voice cracking.
Before he could act, a whisper rippled through the air.
"Come."
His surroundings warped. The village vanished. The next instant, he stood in a quiet field of swaying cabbages. The air smelled of soil and fresh water. A farmer leaned on his hoe, staring at him with half-lidded eyes.
The cultivator's instincts screamed. Run. Run now. Every fiber of his being begged for escape.
But then the farmer spoke again.
"Paralyzed."
The word carried no weight, no visible power—yet the demonic cultivator's body froze instantly. His limbs refused to move, his tongue stiffened, his very soul bound in invisible chains.
He stood trembling as the farmer walked toward him.
"You've slaughtered mortals," Lai said softly, his tone calm as he adjusted the hoe in his hand. "Was it because they were weaker than you? Or because you enjoyed it?"
The man's eyes bulged. He wanted to scream, to beg, but nothing came out.
"Doesn't matter," Lai sighed. His gaze sharpened, voice dropping into steel.
"I hate bullies."
He snapped his fingers.
The cultivator's skin peeled away in long ribbons, flesh unraveling like silk. His blood boiled, veins bursting one by one. His silent screams echoed only in his mind as his bones cracked, his soul was dragged out, twisted, and shredded thread by thread.
Lai let him suffer, watching as despair filled his eyes, until nothing remained but dust drifting on the evening wind.
"Rotten pests," Lai muttered, brushing dirt from his sleeve.
He turned back toward his cabbages, their green leaves swaying peacefully as though nothing had happened.
---
– The White Tiger
Yet deep in the wastelands beyond the Mortal Empire, beneath chains inscribed with blood runes, a white tiger howled. Its fur was matted, its body thin, but its golden eyes burned with unyielding pride.
The chains bit into its flesh, feeding on its blood as black flames scorched its body. Demonic figures laughed in the shadows, tormenting the celestial beast day after day.
"Struggle, little tiger," one jeered. "Your suffering will never end."
The tiger roared weakly, its body trembling. Its spirit flickered on the edge of collapse.
Yet somewhere far away, a mortal farmer had already whispered, "Come."
And soon, their fates would intertwine.
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End of Chapter 1
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