Lin Mo spread open his palm, where a straw doll lay quietly, yet it felt like a black hole, continuously exuding a viscous, chilling malice.
His fingertips shimmered with spiritual energy as he swiftly erected a transparent barrier, sealing away the hatred that had nearly taken physical form.
This thing was pure evil.
The system’s explanation flashed through his mind: When ordinary objects absorb enough resentment, they become vessels of malice.
This was a demonic cultivator’s artifact.
All artifacts had passive effects.
Blessed artifacts passively shielded their owners, so naturally, this cursed object would ceaselessly corrode its wielder.
Ordinary people who touched it would invite misfortune.
Those were the system’s exact words.
Of course, for someone like Lin Mo, who could isolate it with spiritual energy, the passive effect wouldn’t activate.
Lin Mo pocketed the straw doll.
His gaze returned to the woman on the sofa, her eyes hollow. He needed to know where this thing had come from—and who had taught her those intricate rituals.
A middle-aged woman, shattered by the loss of her son and husband, would never have devised such a sinister curse on her own.
"Who gave this to you?" Lin Mo’s voice was calm but carried an undeniable authority.
The woman’s lips trembled as she answered in a monotone, "A fortune-teller at the market who sold incense gave it to me. But later, she disappeared."
A fortune-teller?
Lin Mo pressed for more details.
Under the influence of his soul-searching technique, the woman’s fragmented narration still pieced together the full story.
Her name was He Meihua. Her son and husband had died in a car accident.
Grief-stricken, she had sought out the so-called fortune-teller at a nearby market, hoping to perform rites for her lost loved ones and find some peace.
From then on, during holidays, she would visit the fortune-teller’s shop to buy incense and ritual offerings.
Until one day, the fortune-teller handed her a box—inside was the straw doll.
The moment she touched it, He Meihua felt an inexplicable urge to take it home.
Corrupted by the resentment within the doll, her sorrow twisted into an all-consuming envy of anyone who seemed happy.
And so, she began feeding the doll with her own flesh and blood, sustaining it as it devoured her life and sanity.
"I see."
Lin Mo understood now. No grieving mother, no matter how broken, would envy a stranger without reason.
This cursed artifact had warped her mind, turning her into a beast lashing out indiscriminately.
At least no irreversible harm had been done.
He glanced around, then grabbed a black trash bag from the kitchen, tossing the horrifying artifact inside and tying it shut.
As if it weren’t a tool of murderous curses—just ordinary kitchen waste.
If Lin Mo hadn’t intervened, Auntie Zheng might have met a grim fate in a few days.
But then he reconsidered—in his past life, Auntie Zheng had indeed fallen ill around this time.
Yet she hadn’t died.
So what had changed?
Lin Mo’s eyes returned to He Meihua.
At her core, she was a victim too.
Innocent, in a way.
The fortune-teller had likely targeted her precisely because she was alone, using her as a living sacrifice to refine the artifact.
The cursed doll amplified her hatred, turning her into a vessel of indiscriminate malice.
Should she be blamed?
Should she be left to die?
No. She had suffered enough.
Lin Mo stepped forward, a spark of spiritual light gathering at his fingertip as he gently pressed it to He Meihua’s forehead.
Her body shuddered, the emptiness and madness in her eyes fading, replaced by confusion and exhaustion.
Every memory of the straw doll and the fortune-teller had been erased.
Before leaving, Lin Mo placed a trace of his spiritual awareness on her—a triggerable mark.
That fortune-teller hadn’t given He Meihua the doll out of kindness.
To her, He Meihua was just a perfect vessel—a living cauldron to temper the artifact.
So the mastermind behind this would surely return to reclaim it.
The moment she approached, or harbored any ill intent toward He Meihua, the mark would activate.
When the fortune-teller realized He Meihua was no longer under her control, she would strike.
This trap had to be set.
With that, everything fell into place.
—System: The Banner of the Human Emperor is not an evil artifact—
The same night.
A bustling night market roared with life, clinking beer bottles and raucous chatter filling the air.
Under a fisherman’s hat, a man sat amid the lively crowd.
Beside him were a sharp-eyed man and a young Taoist in deep blue robes.
The fisherman-hatted man pointed his chopsticks at a sizzling plate of braised pork intestines and grinned.
"Master Shouzhen, try this—their specialty. They clean it thoroughly."
The young Taoist, Shouzhen, sat rigidly upright, his posture a stark contrast to the relaxed atmosphere around him.
"Master Shouzhen, no need to be so tense. Taoists can eat meat, right? And even marry."
Shouzhen finally looked up, a hint of embarrassment on his face as he shook his head.
"Brother Liu, you misunderstand. This humble disciple follows the Quanzhen sect. We adhere to vegetarianism, abstain from alcohol and relationships—unlike the Zhengyi or Celestial Master sects."
Liu Zheng, the man in the fisherman’s hat, blinked before slapping his forehead with a laugh.
"Ah, my bad! Got too excited about treating you and forgot. Sorry, Master Shouzhen."
He immediately waved to the vendor. "Boss! One Buddha’s delight and a plate of egg-fried noodles—no meat!"
"Many thanks, Brother Liu."
The sharp-eyed man beside them took a swig of beer.
"Master Shouzhen, we really appreciate your help with this case. With Master Chunzhenzi unavailable, we’re glad you stepped in."
At this, Shouzhen’s expression darkened slightly.
"This humble disciple and my master have studied the photos you provided.
"A wooden effigy, tied to a birth chart, pierced by seven iron nails through the heart and skull—this is indeed a curse ritual.
"Curses were not inherently evil. Through objects, one could commune with spirits—to bless or to harm.
"But human greed twisted the art, and now only the darkest remnants remain."
His tone was calm, yet Liu Zheng and the sharp-eyed man sensed his deep disdain for such practices.
"The method in the photo is even more vile than ordinary curses," Shouzhen continued.
"Those seven nails don’t just kill—they trap the soul, severing its path to reincarnation."
Shouzhen’s gaze sharpened, his eyes carrying a resolve beyond his years as he looked at the two men.
"With such wickedness running rampant, it falls upon us to restore balance to this world."
Liu Zheng and the sharp-eyed man exchanged a glance before nodding firmly.
d intelligence to keep the plot moving, and sometimes even the protagonists are forced into absurdly dumb decisions. Why does the A-list celebrity heroine in urban romance novels ditch the top-tier movie star and become a lovestruck fool for a pockmarked male lead? Why do the leads in historical tragedy novels keep dancing between love and death, only for the blind healer to end up suffering the most? And Gu Wei never expected that after finally landing a villain role to stir up trouble, she’d pick the wrong gender! No choice now—she’ll just have to crush the protagonists as a girl!
e bizarre and supernatural had descended. The previous emperor was a thoroughgoing tyrant; no longer satisfied with human women, he had set his sights on a stunningly beautiful supernatural entity. He met his end in his bedchamber, drained of all his vital essence. As the legitimate eldest son and crown prince, Wang Hao was thus hastily enthroned, becoming the young emperor of the Great Zhou Dynasty. No sooner had he awakened the "Imperial Sign-In Intelligence System" than he was assassinated by a Son of Destiny—a classic villain's opening. The Great Zhou, ravaged by the former emperor's excesses, was in national decline. The great families within its borders harbored their own treacherous schemes, martial sects began to defy the imperial court's decrees, and border armies, their pay and provisions in arrears, grumbled incessantly against the central government. Fortunately, the central capital was still held secure by the half-million Imperial Guards and fifty thousand Imperial Forest Army who obeyed the court's orders, along with the royal family's hidden reserves of power, barely managing to suppress the realm. As the Great Zhou's finances worsened and supernatural activities grew ever more frequent, the court sat atop a volcano. Ambitious plotters everywhere dreamed of overthrowing the dynasty, and even some reclusive ancient powers emerged, attempting to sway the tides of the world. At the first grand court assembly, the civil and military officials nearly came to blows, fighting tooth and nail over the allocation of fifty million taels of silver from the summer tax revenues. The spectacle opened Wang Hao's eyes—the Great Zhou's bureaucracy was not only corrupt but also martially proficient, a cabinet of all-rounders. Some officials even had the audacity to suggest the emperor release funds from the imperial privy purse to address the emergency. Wang Hao suddenly felt weary. Let it all burn.
transmigrates into the world as the sect master of the Heavenly Yan Sect, which is on the verge of being wiped out. He binds a system that grants him cultivation power based on the number of disciples he has: for each disciple, he automatically gains a year's worth of cultivation every single day! Take one disciple: every day he gains 1 year of cultivation power. While others struggle through a year of bitter training, he gets the same just by sleeping through a single night. Take ten disciples: every day he gains 10 years of cultivation power. Foundation Establishment, Core Formation, Nascent Soul—he breezes through all bottlenecks without lifting a finger. Take one hundred disciples: every day he gains 100 years of cultivation power. Even a Soul Transformation Venerable before him can’t survive a single blow. Take ten thousand disciples: every day he gains 10,000 years of cultivation power! With a wave of his hand, he topples empires. With a single step, he crushes the sacred grounds of the universe. ... While others fight tooth and nail for secret techniques, Lin Yan casually hands out Nascent Soul-level cultivation manuals as beginner textbooks. While others strain to find talented recruits, Lin Yan opens his doors to anyone—so long as they’re human. In just three short years, the Heavenly Yan Sect went from a backwater sect made up of three crumbling huts to a sacred land that every cultivator under heaven would kill to enter. ... One day, otherworldly demon gods invade, with a million demon soldiers pressing down upon the realm. Lin Yan, yawning, rises from his lounge chair and glances at the system panel: [Current Disciples: 1.28 million] [Daily Cultivation Increase: 1.28 million years] He waves his hand casually, and the countless demon soldiers are reduced to ashes in an instant. “So noisy… interrupting my fishing.”
lanned to earn money steadily and take life at a slower pace. But he never expected... his father's remarriage, and the stepmother bringing along a dependent, would completely disrupt his life's plans...
