With the experience Lin Huang once possessed, absorbing atmospheric qi shouldn't have been difficult.
He inhaled deeply, willed the energy to flow — expecting that familiar warmth to ripple through his meridians.
But instead of movement, he felt pressure — suffocating, dense pressure that refused to yield. It was like trying to force a raging river through a blocked dam.
His breath caught. His skin prickled as if the air itself had turned hostile.
And then the warmth turned cold.
Dead cold.
The qi inside his body scattered like frightened birds, crashing uselessly against blocked meridians. Every pulse of effort only worsened the resistance until he felt as though his chest would burst.
Lin Huang bit his lip, tasting blood — but he didn't stop.
He refused to stop.
The pain built, wave after wave, until his mind blurred and consciousness began to drift. He didn't even realize when he got lost in the darkness — when memories began to creep in uninvited.
Unbidden, a voice — no, a memory — surfaced.
Her laughter.
Soft, melodic. Once, it had melted his heart like sunlight through frost.
Now it cut through his mind like a blade dipped in honey.
The same lips that had once whispered promises now curved in cruel amusement, mocking the ruin he'd become.
Although he had no proof, Lin Huang knew.
He didn't need any.
His blocked meridians… it had to be her doing. Ying Yue. His childhood sweetheart. The girl who smiled as she watched him fall.
"No wonder she left me to die," he whispered, voice trembling. "If I couldn't even cultivate… she had nothing to worry about."
Despair welled up like black ink in his chest. He clenched his fists until his nails drew blood, his mind screaming one question:
Is this the end?
But even before he could answer, he already knew.
The silence of the dojo thickened, stretching like the weight of eternity.
From the shadows, Wang Chen watched quietly, a cup of tea cooling between his fingers. His gaze was calm — almost detached — but somewhere deep within those still eyes flickered the faintest ember of interest.
Only when Lin Huang's shoulders finally slumped — his will flickering like a dying candle — did Wang Chen speak.
"Don't give up so easily, young man."
His voice broke the silence like sunlight through mist — gentle, yet carrying an authority that brooked no refusal.
Lin Huang looked up, dazed.
Wang Chen continued, his tone steady. "These past few days, I've been observing you. Your dedication impressed me."
He paused, then added lightly, "As such, I've decided to give you a chance. Tell me, young man — are you willing to become my disciple?"
The words struck Lin Huang harder than any physical blow.
For a heartbeat, he stared blankly, unable to comprehend what he'd just heard. Then instinct took over before thought could interfere.
Thud!
He fell to his knees, forehead striking the ground.
"Disciple Lin Huang greets Master!"
His voice trembled, but the conviction in it was real.
He had a thousand questions — why me, how, what for — but none of them mattered. If someone believed he was worth teaching, even after losing everything, he had no right to reject that kindness.
Across from him, Wang Chen lifted the teacup again, a quiet satisfaction flickering in his eyes.
But it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by solemn calm. Lin Huang didn't notice the shift.
"Little Huang," Wang Chen began, his voice slower now, measured. "Although this teacher helped you once, remember — you must fight your own battles. I can only ensure no senior bullies the junior."
He set the cup down with a faint clink.
"The Blood Fang Gang has been searching the Imperial City. It's only a matter of time before they find us. And right now…"
He met Lin Huang's gaze. "You are far too weak to face them."
Lin Huang's heart sank, shame burning across his face. But before he could sink deeper into self-pity, Wang Chen's tone shifted.
"From today onward, every morning, you will do three things."
He raised three fingers.
"Ten kilometers. A hundred push-ups. A hundred sit-ups."
Each word landed like a hammer on Lin Huang's fragile pride.
He blinked, certain he'd misheard. "Master, is this… training or punishment?"
Wang Chen sipped his tea, unhurried. His lips twitched.
"Both."
The corner of Lin Huang's mouth twitched, but he bowed his head without protest. A disciple obeys. A teacher's word is law.
After all — as the old saying went — a teacher for a day, a father for a lifetime.
Wang Chen chuckled softly to himself. "Underestimating the effectiveness of this divine workout… you're not the first one, little one."
He set down the cup, his face straightening once more.
"Not just that," he continued, "after you finish cleaning, you'll start reading the books in the library. Begin with the first shelf."
Lin Huang nodded firmly, determination already flickering in his eyes.
Satisfied, Wang Chen closed his eyes and resumed meditation, saying no more. Lin Huang bowed deeply before leaving the hall, his steps lighter than before.
Outside, he found a quiet spot beneath the Bodhi tree in the courtyard and sat cross-legged. He didn't know what kind of tree it was, but somehow, whenever he sat beneath it, the noise in his mind faded.
Peace — fleeting, but real — wrapped around him.
---
Meanwhile, inside the dojo, Wang Chen's expression turned grim.
He could sense it now — the Blood Fang Gang's presence growing stronger day by day.
They had already narrowed his location. The net was closing.
"One or two days," he muttered. "That's all I've got."
He straightened his posture, expression hardening. "I'll have to work double-time if I want to act freely."
As silence reclaimed the room, Wang Chen exhaled and allowed his consciousness to sink inward. The world faded. His breath slowed until it became indistinguishable from the air itself.
Then came the voice — calm, mechanical, divine.
[Welcome to the First Floor of the Tower of Infinite Enlightenment.]
[Respected Master, you have already cleared the first floor. Would you like to proceed to the next?]
Wang Chen's eyes snapped open for a fraction of a second before narrowing again.
"Hell no," he muttered.
He pressed NO without hesitation.
The Tower of Infinite Enlightenment — his greatest treasure, and his greatest torment.
He'd discovered it in his eleventh life, but only after refining his soul to near-perfection had he been able to enter it. And once inside, he had learned the truth: every floor was a crucible of madness, designed to break even the strongest.
Only he knew the price he'd paid to clear the first floor.
If he dared to enter the second, he'd be obliterated before he could even scream.
The tower's text vanished, leaving him in silence. Wang Chen didn't mind. He cleared his throat and spoke aloud, respectful despite the titles.
"I would like to speedrun the first floor again. To break my own record."
His tone was steady — almost humble.
He'd discovered the feature by accident once before: each time he surpassed his previous completion record, new functions unlocked. The first time, the tower had granted him permission to allow disciples to enter — even to control their experience within.
That discovery alone had changed everything.
A new line of glowing text appeared before his inner eye:
[Your current personal record is 1 year and 3 months.]
[Would you like to begin the challenge now?]
"Begin."
The moment he answered, the air around him vibrated.
[Creating Avatar… Creation Completed.]
[Resetting World.]
[Warning: The time flow inside the first floor differs from your reality. Discomfort may occur.]
Wang Chen snorted. "Discomfort, my ass. Just call it torture."
He braced himself.
A heartbeat later, his vision shattered like glass — then reformed.
When he opened his eyes, the world was no longer the dojo.
It was ash.
The sky sagged under layers of choking smoke. The ground below was cracked and molten, glowing faintly like a dying ember. Screams echoed across the plains — not of pain, but of hunger.
Somewhere in the distance, something massive roared.
Wang Chen's expression didn't change.
He'd seen this before. The first five minutes were always safe — a small mercy before the storm began. After that, the monsters would come. Endless, tireless, devouring everything in their path.
He ignored the system prompts and focused instead on confirming his suspicions.
His lips curved slightly, anticipation glinting in his eyes.
"Status."