Fang Yunhe's first thought was that his father had won money gambling yesterday—but no, when he won, he usually just gave him a few bucks to buy food outside.
"What are you spacing out for? Think I poisoned it?" Fang Zhiyi rapped his knuckles on the table. Fang Yunhe cautiously sat down and started eating the noodles. They tasted surprisingly good.
Silence settled over the living room.
Just as Fang Yunhe was about to finish his meal, Fang Zhiyi suddenly spoke up: "Been thinking—maybe I should quit gambling. My luck's been getting worse. Guess I'm just not cut out for it."
Fang Yunhe froze for a second before mechanically slurping up the last few strands in his bowl. His father had said this before—multiple times—and never meant it.
Then, a hundred-yuan bill landed in front of him.
"Here, take it. Buy whatever you need." Fang Yunhe stared in disbelief. His father had never given him this much money before.
"What? Scared of being late? Hurry up. I’m in the mood to walk you today." Fang Zhiyi felt a pang of discomfort under his son’s gaze.
The two walked out in silence. Watching Fang Yunhe shrink into himself with every step, Fang Zhiyi sighed inwardly.
"Hey, Xiao Hei, be honest—are you some kind of 'dad system'? Why do I keep getting stuck playing parent?"
"Just a coincidence. Really."
"Seriously, if I have to be a dad, can’t I at least be some kind of emperor? Y’know, untouchable, no responsibilities, living in luxury?"
"You think someone like that would need to change anything?"
"Damn."
Only after seeing Fang Yunhe enter the school gates did Fang Zhiyi start wandering aimlessly.
Get a job? Not in this lifetime.
After spending the whole day roaming the city, he finally drifted back toward the school—just in time to see his son being dragged into an alley.
"Fang Yunhe, acting tough today, huh? Couldn’t even let me copy your test answers?" The student sneered. "What, relieved Murong Ke isn’t here?"
"I didn’t—the teacher was watching—"
"Shut up!"
Fang Yunhe braced for the slap, but the pain never came.
When he opened his eyes, Fang Zhiyi’s hand was clamped around the other boy’s wrist.
"Kid, what do you think you’re doing to my son?"
The lackeys froze. Fang Yunhe had a dad? Not that they could be blamed—he always kept to himself, and rumors said he had no parents.
They were used to following Murong Ke around, bullying kids like Fang Yunhe without consequence.
"Tch. Just messing around." The boy tried to yank his hand free, still glaring at Fang Yunhe. Just some poor kid and his broke dad—why should he be scared?
But Fang Zhiyi didn’t let go. Instead, he pulled back Fang Yunhe’s collar, revealing bruises. "You did this too, right?"
"Who says? Let go!" Wang Zihan’s bravado wavered as pain shot through his wrist. The man’s expression was unsettling. Sure, he wasn’t afraid—but what if this guy actually hit him?
To his surprise, Fang Zhiyi released him, then studied him with narrowed eyes.
Disheveled hair, bloodshot eyes, hollow cheeks—he looked like a fugitive.
Fang Zhiyi gestured for them to leave. The group hesitated but finally shuffled off. As Wang Zihan passed Fang Yunhe, he hissed, "You’re dead."
Fang Zhiyi turned to his son. "Still got the money?"
Fang Yunhe nodded. He’d hidden it in his pencil case, too reluctant to spend it.
"Go home. I’ve got things to do." Fang Zhiyi walked off without another word. Fang Yunhe stared after him, stunned. Why had his father been at the school? For him? And he knew about the bruises? For the first time, he felt a flicker of safety.
But then again—maybe it was just a coincidence. And "things to do" probably meant gambling. The thought of facing Wang Zihan tomorrow filled him with dread.
Wang Zihan and his friends had planned to hang out longer, but the encounter killed the mood. They split up early.
Grumbling, Wang Zihan kicked at pebbles—until a glance over his shoulder sent a chill down his spine.
Fang Yunhe’s dad was following him, keeping a casual distance. When their eyes met, the man smiled. It wasn’t reassuring.
Wang Zihan sped up, desperate to get home. Was this really happening? Over a few beatings?
Luckily, his house wasn’t far. Once inside the gated community, he exhaled in relief. Across the street, Fang Yunhe’s father stood watching him with an eerie stare.
Hah. You can’t get in here. This is a high-end neighborhood.
He didn’t know his nightmare was just beginning.
At dinner, Wang Zihan was playing the obedient son when the doorbell rang. His father answered—and there he was. The man wore a baseball cap (where’d he get that?) and locked eyes with Wang Zihan.
"Can I help you?" Wang Zihan’s father asked.
"Plumbing check. Upstairs neighbor reported a leak. Just need to take a look."
Wang Zihan’s dad let him in. Wang Zihan shoveled food into his mouth, stealing glances. The man smirked back.
Dread coiled in his gut.
Fang Zhiyi only inspected the bathroom before leaving with a polite "Sorry for the trouble." As he went, he waved at Wang Zihan—a gesture that made his blood run cold.
Wang Zihan bolted to his room after dinner. On impulse, he peeked out the window.
The man was crouched outside, tools laid out beside him—hammer, wrench, saw. He looked up, grinning.
Wang Zihan yanked the curtains shut.
He’s here for me. Horrific scenarios flooded his mind. Fear consumed him.
Even when his parents asked him to join their evening walk, he refused.
Then, as the house fell quiet—knocking.
Wang Zihan’s stomach dropped.
nd fell into a coma while saving his younger sister from an out-of-control car. He became a vegetable. No one knew that his consciousness had crossed into a world of cultivation. Over the course of sixty years, he began as the lowest kind of mine slave, struggling to survive amid mountains of corpses and seas of blood. By sheer chance, he eventually obtained the complete memories of a fallen Immortal King. Alchemy, medicine, formations, feng shui, physiognomy, artifact forging… Every great inheritance of the cultivation world was now his. But when he opened his eyes again, he discovered that ten full years had passed in the modern world. To pay for his treatment, his father had sold the family’s shop and house, leaving himself covered in lasting injuries and illness. His mother had cared for him day and night, and more than half of her hair had already turned white. His younger sister, who had been only fifteen back then, was now twenty-five. To help repay the family’s debts, she had been forced to lower her head and put on a smiling face in places of glittering lights and endless revelry. Only then did Chen Xuan understand that what he had lost was not merely ten years. He had lost the life his entire family was meant to have. The good news was that he had brought back the memories of an Immortal King’s entire lifetime. The bad news was that his soul had returned alone—his cultivation had not come with him. Spiritual energy was scarce, resources were depleted, and the modern world still had firearms, surveillance, capital, and laws. If he wanted to protect his family, break free from everyone’s control, and become truly invincible beneath the heavens, he would have to start all over again.
ing gift was a patch of barren land, and disciples were all picked up along the way. He spent fifty years diligently building three "ramshackle little sects," thinking he could finally live a carefree life relying on his disciples. But right at the fifty-year mark, he was suddenly swept away by a spatial rift and exiled to the Chaos Desolation, the Disorderly Ruins. There was no spiritual energy there, only slaughter. Relying on the cultivation feedback from his disciples, Gu Changyuan hacked his way through a sea of blood for eleven hundred years. When the system finally fished him back out, he discovered the ramshackle little sects he'd built back then had developed a rather... unusual style. Hold on... I vanished for a thousand years, so how did my ramshackle little sects become holy lands?!
s the Eldest Princess, renowned for her cold and aloof detachment, became the most docile of lambs, obeying his every command without question. But when the final move was played on the chessboard, as Gu Chenghan seized everything and ascended on the verge of apotheosis, that very Princess suddenly embraced him from behind, her tone carrying a dependence never heard before: "Wait... you haven't yet... commanded me to love you forever." Gu Chenghan froze abruptly. She... hadn't been hypnotized?! ... [The Eldest Princess's Diary] [When my soul was extracted, becoming the sole spectator outside my own shell] [At first, there was overwhelming fury, until I saw] [How he used my sword to effortlessly shatter my inescapable doom] [How he wielded my authority to eradicate fatal conspiracies I had never even detected] [Like a deity, he rescued me from the deep mire I was trapped in] [If not for those annoying vixens, he and I would be a match made in heaven] [I think I am ill, gravely ill] [My deity should belong to me alone] ... "Hypnosis? Oh, it succeeded, my dear Master." "Only this time, it's my turn to hypnotize you."
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.”
