At once, the number sank to zero, vanishing without hesitation.
Then came the detonation.
A silent eruption within his body—like a divine hammer striking marrow, like unseen chains cracking apart. Lightless, soundless, yet violent beyond words.
His tiny body stiffened as if lightning coursed through every vein. Every fine hair bristled upright, pores locked shut, his mind pulled taut until it felt like a bowstring about to snap.
Then, release.
His thoughts dissolved into a blinding emptiness.
His body went weightless, sinking as though into clouds. His heartbeat slowed, soft, serene. The hairs on his body fell flat, pores opened, and a thin sheen of sweat glazed his skin.
It lasted only moments, yet in that fleeting breath it felt like he had crossed eternity.
When his awareness returned, his gaze sharpened. He turned inward, probing beneath the surface of flesh and bone.
And there—between his kidneys, below his navel—something had been born.
An aperture.
His lips parted as he whispered, "So this is it…"
It was a world within the body, paradoxical in nature: infinite yet confined, vast yet fragile. With a single thought, he gazed upon it.
The aperture was spherical, its surface veiled in flowing white radiance, a thin membrane of light that quivered like divine silk. It was this film alone that kept the structure from collapsing into ruin.
Inside it churned a sea. The Primeval Sea.
Its waters gleamed a glassy green-blue, as smooth as polished mirrors, yet dense, their copper luster betraying their weight. A living ocean, condensed into essence, brimming with potential.
Fang Yuan let out a long breath. His tone was steady, but the faint tremor beneath it betrayed disbelief.
"Rank one Gu Master…" The words hung in the air, tone full of pride.
He looked inward again, and his heart sank.
"What the hell…" he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of confusion.
Inside his aperture, the Primeval Sea churned weakly. The surface glimmered faintly, its waters barely covering a fifth of the sphere — a meager twenty-one percent.
Each drop still pulsed with pure primeval essence, but it didn't matter. The numbers said everything.
D-grade.
His pupils shrank. "D-grade?"
A cold dread coiled in his gut. His thoughts raced, frantic.
"Why?!" he shouted. "I should've been C-grade! It should be Forty-four percent!"
"Not this—" His voice broke into a hoarse whisper.
From the floor, Fang Zheng stirred. The faint sound of a moan snapped Fang Yuan's mouth shut.
His breath hitched as guilt and terror twisted together in his chest.
For the first time since coming to this world, he felt a genuine urge to cry.
'Why? Why am I D-grade?' he thought bitterly, nails digging into his palms.
'If this world is truly like the novel… I was supposed to be mediocre, not worthless!'
His vision blurred with helpless tears — or perhaps fury.
Grinding his teeth, he forced his shaking hands to open the translucent panel before him.
The familiar cold glow of the system flickered into view.
"System," he said in a low, trembling tone, "explain this."
He didn't care about the cost. He didn't care about the primeval stones vanishing from his hand.
He just needed an answer.
Host's Tasks:
Task 1: System, why is my talent D-grade?
Task 2:If this truly is the world of Reverend Insanity, and I am Fang Yuan—shouldn't I possess C-grade talent?
Task 3:Or… is this a parallel world? Like the multiversal theories in those movies — Marvel, comics, the cinematic universe?
The panel flickered with an eerie hum.
A chill swept across the room as the translucent screen began to pulse.
Result 1:Every drop of your Primeval Sea is the crystallization of essence, vitality, and soul — the sum of your life's potential since rebirth. Four years of mortal existence… this is all the potential you have managed to gather.
Result 2:The measure of your aptitude is not bound by fate's name or the script of a novel. It is the reflection of your essence — flawed, fractured, incomplete.
Result 3:Multiverses. Variations. Realities layered atop realities… These are not your concern, Host. We exist to complete the Main Task — nothing more, nothing less.
Fang Yuan's breath came ragged, his chest rising and falling like a storm-tossed sea.
The answers had gutted him. His talent—his very foundation—wasn't fate's cruelty or the world's injustice.
"So… it's my fault," he whispered.
A hollow laugh escaped his lips, twisted and broken.
The next moment, that laugh warped into a snarl. "Damn it all!"
He clawed at his hair, eyes bloodshot, veins snaking along his temple.
Rage. Sorrow. Hatred. Every emotion bled together into a whirlpool of despair aimed squarely at himself.
After a long silence, a thought flickered through his chaos. A desperate, venomous spark of logic.
He straightened, trembling, and summoned the transparent panel.
"Fine," he hissed through gritted teeth. "Let's see if you're as omnipotent as you claim."
Host's Tasks:
Task 1:System, can you unawaken my aperture?
Task 2:If not, can you conceal my cultivation from my parents? What's the cost?
Task 3:Tell me—what's the fastest way to increase my aptitude?
The room dimmed. The air vibrated as though reality itself was listening.
Then, the answers carved themselves onto the glowing panel in cold, metallic script.
Result 1:Theoretically possible, but practically inefficient.Cost: 100 Immortal Essence Stones to unseal your aperture and allow your life potential to accumulate anew.
Result 2: Concealing your Cultivation is a viable option.Cost: 10 Primeval Stones per day.
Result 3: There are two paths to raise aptitude.First — accumulate EXP through completed tasks.Second — retrieve the Blood Skull Gu from your clan's ancestor... and feed it with the blood of your kin.
Fang Yuan's eyes lingered on the glowing panel, his expression caught between bitterness and faint relief.
"So that's how it is…" he muttered under his breath, lips curling into a faint, hollow smile.
Without hesitation, he spoke softly but firmly, "Take them. All of them."
"Every primeval stone I have—use them to hide my cultivation for as long as possible."
The words left his lips like an oath.
In the next instant, the pouch by his side shimmered, and more than a hundred primeval stones dissolved into the air—drawn into the unseen will of the system.
A wave of faint energy rippled through him.
The faint flicker of primeval essence that once radiated from his body began to dim, fading layer by layer until it vanished completely. His presence became hollow—lifeless, as though he was nothing more than an ordinary child again.
Fang Yuan exhaled, a low and weary sigh escaping him.
"I'm such a fool…" he whispered.
His gaze then shifted to the small form beside him—Fang Zheng, unconscious and still, his breathing shallow.
Fang Yuan's eyes softened for a moment, yet behind that softness flickered something else—something cold, calculating, almost cruel.
"Fang Zheng…" he murmured quietly, his tone strangely tender and chilling all at once.
"You'll be my trump card in the future."
The room fell silent.
A dull throb struck his head, and the world began to blur.
His vision swam as exhaustion crept in, heavy and unrelenting.
As his eyelids drooped, Fang Yuan leaned against his brother's side, their small figures lying close together—two children lost in slumber, one innocent, the other already walking the path of deceit.
And under that peaceful facade… a storm of ambition silently took root.