Jiangcheng No. 3 High School, Senior Year Faculty Office.
An old air conditioner rumbled with a dull, oppressive hum.
Su Yu stood before the desk, staring in silence at a two-page agreement that head teacher Li Jianguo had slid across to him.
“Su Yu, just sign it.”
Li Jianguo sighed, took a sip from his thermos of goji berry water, and added, “This is the best choice for you.”
The agreement on the desk was only two thin pages.
But its contents were enough to alter the course of Su Yu’s entire life.
He would be giving up the rights to his liberal arts college entrance exam scores.
In compensation, he would receive one million Dragon Coins.
Su Yu didn’t reach for the pen.
Instead, he lifted his head and looked toward the young man sitting on the sofa.
Zhao Ze.
The class’s infamous rich kid. His family ran several large-scale martial arts academies in Jiangcheng, with assets in the hundreds of millions.
Right now, Zhao Ze was scrolling through his phone. Sensing Su Yu’s gaze, he looked up and offered a warm, easy smile.
“Student Su, the terms are still negotiable.”
Zhao Ze’s voice was calm. There was no arrogant aggression—only the composed air of someone who knew he held all the cards.
“One million, cash. It can be wired to your account this afternoon.”
Su Yu took a deep breath.
One million.
In this world—a place overrun by giant beasts where the strong ruled through martial might—the average monthly wage for an ordinary person was only three thousand yuan.
Even if he aced the liberal arts exam, got into a top-tier humanities university, and landed a respectable job paying ten thousand a month—decades of frugal living wouldn’t begin to touch that number without eating or drinking for a hundred years.
But now, all he had to do was sign on the dotted line, and that vast sum would be his.
“Zhao Ze’s liberal arts scores aren’t great,” Li Jianguo chimed in at the right moment. “But his martial arts blood-energy value has already reached 9.8—only a hair away from a perfect score. If he can boost his arts results, he’s a lock for the Great Xia Capital First Martial Arts University.”
“Su Yu, I know your situation too.”
Li Jianguo softened his tone, lacing it with a kind of weary sincerity. “You’re an orphan. You’ve been scraping by on part-time jobs. Your arts scores aren’t bad—top ten in the grade.”
“But what does that get you?”
“Arts school graduates end up as senior clerks at best, or in logistics. This world belongs to martial artists.”
Li Jianguo’s words cut into Su Yu like the dull blade of a knife, one slow slice at a time.
He had been transmigrated to this world for three years now.
No one understood the status of martial artists better than Su Yu.
Beyond the city walls, giant beasts raged. Humanity survived within towering barriers, and only martial artists could face and fight those monsters—enjoying privileges and glory beyond the reach of ordinary people.
He had dreamed of skyrocketing to glory, just like the protagonists in the novels he used to read.
He trained like a madman.
Woke up earlier than the roosters, went to sleep later than the dogs filled every waking moment with the Basic Body Tempering Technique.
And the result?
Three years, and his own blood-energy value had crawled from a pathetic 0.5 to a still-pathetic 0.8.
The passing score for martial arts entrance exams? A blood-energy value of 6.
The perfect score? 10.
At 0.8, he couldn’t even set foot in a martial arts high school, let alone attempt the martial arts exam.
His talent was appalling.
“Student Su, you don’t need to feel wronged.”
Zhao Ze put down his phone, stood up, and walked over until he towered half a head above Su Yu. The pressure of his presence was palpable.
“Martial arts takes money,” Zhao Ze said, looking at Su Yu with something that might have passed for pity. “A poor scholar learns words; a rich man practices martial arts. That saying holds true in any era.”
“What do you eat every day? The cheapest synthetic starch meat in the cafeteria.”
“What do I eat? Rank-one beast meat, century-aged ginseng soup, and I have personal martial arts instructors for monthly massage therapy.”
“Even if I handed this martial arts university spot to you without conditions—could you actually afford to attend?”
Zhao Ze reached out and tapped the agreement on the desk.
“In university, you need money for cultivation techniques, for pills, for weapons—everything costs.”
“You have no background, no resources. Do you think passion and hard work are enough?”
Zhao Ze laughed lightly, shaking his head.
“If hard work was enough, what would be the point of talent and family?”
Every word was a knife to the gut.
Su Yu’s fists clenched so tightly his nails nearly pierced his palms.
He wanted to argue. To ram the agreement back in Zhao Ze’s face, scream something about “thirty years on the east side of the river, thirty on the west.”
But he had no footing.
Zhao Ze was right. Even if he used his arts scores to crawl into some mediocre university, if he somehow got his hands on a better cultivation technique—with that despairing lack of martial talent and his empty wallet—what could he possibly achieve?
That blood-energy value of 0.8 was a mountain, pressing down on his spine, impossible to move.
“Su Yu, don’t be stubborn.”
Li Jianguo, seeing Su Yu’s struggle, pressed his point. “Just take the exam like normal. Do your usual best.”
“Let the Zhao family handle the rest. Your scores will naturally land under Zhao Ze’s name.”
“You walk away with one million. You can live comfortably for the rest of your life—maybe even start a small business, marry a beautiful wife. Isn’t that better than slaving away through a liberal arts university?”
“Just don’t kick up a fuss. It’s a win-win.”
A win-win.
A well-crafted win-win.
Su Yu laughed bitterly inside.
Stealing a decade of someone’s blood, sweat, and tears. Buying up their entire future with cash. Calling it a win-win.
But did he have the power to refuse?
If he said no, the Zhao family had a thousand ways to make sure he couldn’t survive in Jiangcheng anymore. They could even strip away his pitiful arts scores.
He was just an orphan with no connections, no power.
In a world where the strong devoured the weak, the weak didn’t even get the right to choose.
Slowly, Su Yu unclenched his fists.
A wave of exhaustion washed over him.
He glanced at the black pen on the table. He reached for it.
Maybe this was just reality.
Take the money. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about next month’s rent.
Just as his fingertips were about to touch the pen—
A cold, mechanical voice exploded in his mind without warning.
[Detected that host is facing a major life decision. Cash-to-Cultivation System has been activated.]
[System binding in progress...]
[Binding successful.]
Su Yu’s hand froze midair.
His pupils contracted sharply.
A system?
His golden ticket had finally come?!
[This system uses the simplest, most straightforward method to help the host reach the pinnacle of martial arts.]
[Core function: Buy cultivation with money.]
[Current exchange rate: 1 yuan = 1 year of cultivation.]
[Note: “1 year of cultivation” means the results of the host training in a perfect state—without eating, drinking, or sleeping—for one full year.]
Su Yu was stunned.
Even after three years of brutal hard knocks in this world, his mind still short-circuited.
One yuan... bought a year of cultivation?
He paid two yuan for a bottle of water at the corner store!
Two yuan could buy two years of perfect cultivation?!
Su Yu swallowed hard.
He realized something profoundly insane.
If one yuan could buy a year of cultivation...
Then what if he had a million yuan?
A million years of cultivation!
He wouldn’t even need to worry about hitting the passing blood-energy score—with a million years of cultivation, even if he were just a pig, he’d ascend to godhood on the spot!
“Su Yu?”
Li Jianguo looked at Su Yu’s hand suspended in midair and furrowed his brow slightly. “What’s the matter? Not satisfied with the price?”
Zhao Ze also raised an eyebrow. “Student Su, one million is already the limit. You should know when enough is enough—greed is like a snake trying to swallow an elephant.”
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.”
with countless casualties. As a top-tier gamer, Liu Xuan volunteered to join the fight, intending to dominate with his skills, but instead he obtained the hidden class: [Pacifist]. Unable to attack. Unable to use active skills. Fortunately, with each level gained, he acquired a new passive skill. And so, armed with a body full of passives, Liu Xuan slaughtered his way through the battlefield of ten thousand races! [You attacked Liu Xuan] [You gained the debuffs: 'Poison', 'Fear', 'Burning', 'Bleeding', 'Freeze', 'Silence', etc.] [Your attack speed has been reduced by 99%] [Your armor and magic resistance have been reduced by 99%] Warriors of the Ten Thousand Races: How the hell am I supposed to fight this?!
close your eyes and open them again, only to find yourself transmigrated into the role of a villainous male supporting character. Readers familiar with urban wish-fulfillment novels know that it is only through the relentless antics of the villainous male supporting character that the plot between the male and female leads can progress. As the villainous male supporting character, Long Aotian not only has to bully the female lead, harass the second female lead, and flirt with the third female lead, but he also has to go all out to antagonize the male lead. In the end, when his body is discovered, he is still clutching half a moldy fried dough stick in his hand. Fully aware of the plot, Long Aotian is determined to change his fate, starting with the female lead! In the beginning, the female lead lacks confidence: "Big brother, I hope I didn't scare you?" In the middle, the female lead treads carefully: "Brother Long, please don't hit me, okay?" Later on, the female lead becomes coquettishly clingy: "Aotian, it's time to pay the 'public grain' tonight." Long Aotian's legs go weak, and he feels like crying: "I taught you to be thick-skinned, not shameless!"
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?!
