As night fell, several shadowy figures slipped out of the city under the cover of darkness, gradually vanishing into the black expanse.
Two days later, the siege resumed. This time, even Fang Zhiyi took to the battlefield personally. There was no other choice—the rebel forces fought like men possessed, fearless of death. Rumor had it these rebels had evolved from a folk religious sect, fervently believing themselves invulnerable to blades and bullets, and that death would transport them to paradise.
The city walls were nearly overrun at one point, but Fang Zhiyi, leading from the front, rallied his men and reclaimed their defenses.
Inside the capital, the nobility and officials grew increasingly anxious. Some contemplated pledging loyalty to the rebels in secret letters, while others plotted to flee the chaos. But they had all underestimated the Surveillance Bureau—originally established to suppress political rivals—as heads piled higher in the execution grounds of Cai Shi Kou.
When aggrieved aristocrats sought to complain to the emperor, they were told Emperor Shunying was resting in the inner palace and would see no one.
Elderly ministers slapped their thighs, lamenting that the Wei Wu dynasty was doomed—only to be swiftly arrested and thrown into prison.
Covered in blood and grime, Fang Zhiyi listened to Gao Liang’s report and nodded in satisfaction. "You’re far more capable than that Cao Ji."
Gao Liang, staring at the battle-hardened man before him, dropped to his knees in haste. "Thank you for your praise, General! I am but your loyal hound!"
Fang Zhiyi frowned and pulled him up. "A hound? No. I want you to be a hawk, not a dog. Stand straight!" He understood all too well the value of a secret police force in times like these—without it, those treacherous officials would have sold out both him and Emperor Shunying without hesitation.
Gao Liang slowly straightened his posture. Fang Zhiyi’s words echoed in his mind. If before he had acted out of fear, now he was truly awed. This man—General Fang, no, perhaps more than just a general in the future, maybe even... Gao Liang didn’t dare finish the thought.
After half a month under siege, the capital’s civilians had been mobilized in shifts to man the walls, repelling wave after wave of attacks. Even Fang Zhiyi was nearing his limit. Then, on this very night, he finally received a secret missive.
Reading its contents, Fang Zhiyi smiled—a smile that unsettled the other defending officers. Over the past fortnight, they had witnessed his ruthless efficiency in battle, leaving them both awed and fearful.
"Give the order," he declared. "All wounded rebel prisoners who have recovered are to be given travel funds and a pardon—stamped with the emperor’s seal! Then release them."
The room erupted in shock.
Releasing prisoners was one thing, but a pardon? With the emperor’s seal? General, have you lost your mind? How could the emperor ever forgive these rebels?
In truth, Fang Zhiyi had sent a messenger to Emperor Shunying, who had generously handed over the imperial seal without question.
The officers were stunned. They had heard of the emperor’s trust in the general, but this much? Handing over the seal? With that, one could even declare oneself the rightful ruler!
But Fang Zhiyi ignored their astonishment. The situation was urgent, and he had to act.
Over the following days, batches of prisoners were released—some even personally escorted by Fang Zhiyi.
Watching them march back toward the rebel camp, the defending officers sighed. General, isn’t this setting tigers free in the mountains? Healing their wounds, giving them money, just so they can return to fight us again?
Rumors spread like wildfire through the ranks.
Yet Fang Zhiyi offered no explanation. That night, scouts reported chaos in the rebel camp.
"I infiltrated their ranks," a spy reported. "Their so-called 'Heavenly King' tried to behead several prisoners we’d released, but their fellow villagers resisted. A brawl broke out! By the time I left, small groups were already deserting."
Fang Zhiyi grinned. "Officers, heed my command!" The stunned officers reflexively snapped to attention.
"Assemble the troops. We ride out tonight to raid the rebel camp!"
"General! This is madness!"
"General! It’s just a minor skirmish. The rebels outnumber us several times over. Think carefully!"
Fang Zhiyi tossed a letter onto the table. "Read this."
It was a secret report. Two weeks prior, Fang Zhiyi had dispatched envoys to several rebel leaders, offering not only pardons but also land and noble titles. Some had already written back, swearing allegiance to the emperor and pledging to serve as the vanguard against the rebellion.
"But... how?" one officer muttered in confusion.
Fang Zhiyi explained, "Rebellions don’t happen unless officials are cruel and people starve. But if rebelling brings not just pardon but a chance to rise—who would keep risking their lives for an uncertain future?"
His letters had detailed each rebel group’s grievances and their leaders’ ambitions. If you overthrow the emperor, who takes his place? Would your new ruler later execute you as threats? The emperor’s thoughts are unknown, but you know me—Fang Zhiyi. If I pardon you, it stands. The emperor won’t object. I recognize your talents and will elevate you—granting titles and land to help govern this realm. If you keep fighting, how many will die? The court can always retreat south and continue the war. Are you so sure you’ll survive?
To ensure credibility, Fang Zhiyi had even stamped the letters with his personal seal.
The simple-minded rebels took his words to heart. They had risen against tyranny, corruption, and starvation—but now Fang Zhiyi was offering them governance of their own homelands. Thoughts of their families made them waver. And the Heavenly King’s character? His history of seizing wives and daughters proved he was no just ruler.
Rebel factions meant to join the Heavenly King’s forces now camped nearby but kept their distance. Smaller groups had already begun deserting his camp.
The city gates swung open, battle cries piercing the night. Fang Zhiyi assured his men this was no reckless assault—it was a show of force.
True enough, the rebel camp descended into chaos, unable to mount a proper defense.
Fang Zhiyi didn’t charge in. Instead, he reined his horse to a halt before the camp. The Heavenly King, spear in hand, emerged in confusion. What was this?
"Fellow countrymen!" Fang Zhiyi dismounted and bowed deeply to the hastily assembled rebels. "On behalf of the court, I apologize for your suffering."
The armed rebels hesitated, unsure of the court’s intentions.
"Today, I swear this to you all: henceforth, under Wei Wu’s rule, every man shall have food to eat and land to till!" He paused. "I will select capable men among you to govern your own hometowns—free from corrupt officials! And your rebellion? The court will not punish it."
The words struck the illiterate rebels dumb. No punishment? Even official posts?
The Heavenly King, recovering, thrust his spear forward. "Don’t listen to this snake-tongued official’s lies! He’s deceiving you!"
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."
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.
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.”
