Zhao Yan lifted his head slightly, pride burning in his eyes as though this were the noblest calling in the world.
"Yes, Immortal Master! Allow me to demonstrate."
Without hesitation, he dropped to the ground, pressing his forehead hard against the earth in full prostration.
His voice rang out clear and desperate:
"Immortal Master, I beg you to spare me a coin!"
A shiver visibly ran through the fat man. He actually stepped back, goosebumps rising along his arms at the absurd sight.
Zhao Yan straightened just enough to flash a sly smile, his tone turning instructional as though he were teaching etiquette.
"Immortal Master, when I beg like this, the proper response is to toss down a coin."
And once again, he bowed deeply, pressing his head to the dirt with exaggerated devotion."Immortal Master, I beg you to grant me a coin!"
The fat man's lips twisted in discomfort, but at last he flicked his wrist.
A single gold coin clinked against the ground between them, glinting faintly in the moonlight.
Zhao Yan's gaze fell on the status window, his heart skipping a beat as the numbers reshaped themselves before his eyes.
Zhao Yan
Age: 15
Cultivation: None (+)
Techniques: None
Revulsion Points: 100
Pity Points: 0
His jaw tightened.
'Revulsion points—up by a full hundred.'
A cold laugh almost escaped his lips, though it tangled with something heavier in his chest.
So this is what it means to beg…
A laugh clawed at his throat because, in that instant, he realized he had gained exactly what he needed—Revulsion Points enough to make the (+) beside the cultivation flicker.
A clear sign he could advance his cultivation whenever he wished.
The power he desired is just a finger's tap away.
Yet the cost of that power struck him like a blade pressed against his throat.
To gain strength, he would have to discard everything that made him a man—his dignity, his pride, even his humanity. The very thing that lifted him from the gutter, he would have to crawl back into, willingly.
His lips trembled with a smile that never fully formed, his chest heavy with a sorrow he couldn't swallow.
Strength at the price of humiliation… Is this really it?
For the first time, Zhao Yan didn't know whether to laugh at the absurdity of it all—or cry for what it demanded of him.
Zhao Yan forced a smile, though his chest burned with a storm he couldn't show.
He bowed deeply, his voice steady despite the tremor in his heart.
"That's the life I've chosen, Immortal Master. I hope you'll understand."
"I have no fate with cultivation, and I'd rather leave the sect and spend my days as a beggar than struggle with a path I cannot walk."
"I truly never knew cultivation would be this difficult."
The fat man studied him for a long moment before letting out a sigh. His eyes, usually sharp and mocking, softened with something Zhao Yan couldn't quite place.
"Very well," the man muttered, his tone strangely weary.
"If that's the life you wish for, I'll see to your departure."
He flicked his wrist, and a pouch heavy with coins landed at Zhao Yan's feet.
"Wait until tomorrow night. Meet me here, and I'll make the arrangements."
Then, as if speaking to himself, the fat man's expression dimmed.
"Alas… there are too few who understand what this technique truly costs."
"I wouldn't even wish it on my enemies."
His shoulders sank beneath a weight unseen, and after a pause, he added, "Still, wait until you've witnessed the founder's secret method."
"Try your luck—perhaps fate isn't as cruel as you think. Either way, I'll send you out tomorrow."
With that, his form blurred, scattering like wind, leaving only silence in his wake.
Zhao Yan stood frozen, eyes shifting from the bag of coins in his hands to the empty space where the fat man had been.
Soon, his gaze drifted back to his status window.
Zhao Yan
Age: 15
Cultivation: None (+)
Techniques: None
Revulsion Points: 100
Pity Points: 13
Zhao Yan lowered his gaze to the flickering numbers on his status window—Pity Points: 13
Slowly, he untied the pouch in his hands and peered inside.
Gold coins gleamed faintly under the moonlight, mixed with a scatter of silver. Thirteen gold coins and two hundred and forty silver in total.
His eyes widened. "System," he muttered, baffled.
"Why do I only have thirteen pity points? He gave me thirteen gold coins—shouldn't that be at least thirteen hundred?"
As if in answer, new words etched themselves beneath the status window:
100 Revulsion Points = 1 Pity Point
1 Pity Point = 100 Revulsion Points
"What's the difference between them?" Zhao Yan asked, his voice a whisper in the stillness.
But the system remained silent and the status window unchanged.
He tilted his head back, staring at the endless night sky. Stars flickered coldly above, indifferent to his confusion.
A sigh slipped past his lips. "How did everything turn out like this?"
With weary steps, he pushed open the dormitory doors.
The stench of sweat and lust hit him at once. Inside, senior menial disciples tangled with some of the newer recruits, rutting shamelessly in the open.
A cluster of fresh disciples sat wide-eyed, watching in morbid fascination, while others simply ignored the debauchery and drifted into sleep as though this depravity had long since become routine.
Zhao Yan kept his head low, slipped past, and found his bed.
Pulling a blanket tightly around himself, he tried to shut out the sounds, the smells, the sheer madness of this place.
Still, he noticed in passing that Shen Hao's bed was empty, as was the young boy's who had approached him earlier.
But he refused to think on it.
Soon, exhaustion dragged at his eyelids, and before long, he let the blanket swallow him, closing his eyes against a world he did not want to see.
...