Baal clicked his tongue in Chen Guan’s mind and delivered his harsh verdict: “With the strength you have now, if you go up against Liu Xiao after he’s been blessed by Astaroth, your odds of winning are less than one in ten.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you still going?”
“Didn’t you say you wanted to watch the show? An audience member doesn’t speak.”
Baal let out a strange laugh. “Very well. Lord Bael will remain silent. But I’ll give you one last hint.”
“Raging flames can’t burn through that defense, but emotions can.”
“What Astaroth fears most has never been power itself.”
After saying this, Baal fell silent. He believed that his clever little friend would surely understand what he meant.
And if he didn’t? Heh heh heh… then he could just hand his body over to Lord Bael to deal with everything.
Chen Guan’s grip tightened slightly around the scythe.
He raised his head. The six-winged phantom was taking shape faster now, and there wasn’t much time left.
“Move.”
An Changqing’s voice fell.
Long Ao was the first to charge. The ground beneath his feet cracked like a spiderweb as his figure tore through the invisible shackles formed by the divine might. With an indomitable roar, he charged straight at Liu Xiao, who was still kneeling.
Hong Yuan followed close behind, her massive axe scraping across the ground and throwing off a trail of sparks as she moved to flank him from another direction.
Liu Feiyu formed hand seals, water vapor gathering around his body.
Liu Chengjun bit through the blood inside his mouth. Flames spread from his fingertips and licked toward the crimson runes beneath his feet.
As for Chen Guan, gripping his scythe, he silently vanished from everyone’s sight.
High above, the gaze of the six-winged phantom descended once more.
This time, what it saw was not the submission of ants.
It was the attack of ants.
Courageous, perhaps—but nothing more.
Long Ao’s fist slammed into the invisible barrier. The shockwave shattered the ground beneath him, yet the faint purple screen did not even ripple.
Liu Xiao rose from his kneeling position, both hands in his pockets and a superior smile on his face.
“Come on, Long Ao. That punch of yours isn’t even enough to scratch an itch.”
Hong Yuan’s massive axe cleaved in from the side, its edge sharp enough to cut through steel bars. Yet three feet from Liu Xiao, it was knocked away by a forceful repulsion. The tremendous backlash left both her arms numb, and she staggered backward.
Long Ao exploded into motion once more. This time, relying solely on the strength and speed of his physical body, he unleashed a dense barrage of phantom fists beside Liu Xiao.
Every punch carried the sound of bones cracking. Every punch was infused with all of his fury.
The wind from his fists whipped at Liu Xiao’s clothes, but never managed to touch his body.
“Useless.”
A wave of purple energy shot from Liu Xiao’s fingertip and struck Long Ao squarely in the chest.
Long Ao was sent flying. He crashed through two ruined maze walls behind him, the dull sound of breaking stone echoing through the theater.
“Long Ao!”
Hong Yuan cried out anxiously, but she did not dare let herself be distracted, because Liu Xiao’s gaze had already shifted toward her.
“No need to rush. We’ll take you one at a time.”
Liu Xiao drew a circle in the air with his finger. The purple barrier expanded outward, pushing Hong Yuan even farther away as she approached.
“The angrier you get, the faster the one above us takes shape. I’ve explained this several times already. Why won’t you listen?”
“Because they don’t need to listen to you.”
Liu Feiyu’s voice came from behind. His hands remained locked in their seal, while white frost spread across the bloody formation on the ground.
The crimson runes flickered uncertainly beneath the frost’s corrosion. Above them, the six-winged phantom’s condensation visibly slowed.
At last, Liu Xiao turned around and looked at his younger brother. The smile on his face faded somewhat.
“Feiyu, you’re wasting your time.”
“Whether it’s a waste of time or not, we’ll only know after we try.”
Sweat covered Liu Feiyu’s forehead. Maintaining the technique consumed far more energy than he could bear, but he did not stop.
“Second Brother, do you remember how you taught me to fold paper airplanes when we were little?”
Liu Xiao’s movements paused for an instant.
“You said back then that the reason I was named Feiyu was because you hoped I would fly high and far.”
“Shut up.”
Liu Xiao’s voice was no longer calm and mocking. A trace of irritation seeped into it.
Liu Chengjun’s voice came from another direction. “Second—”
“You shut up too.”
Liu Xiao’s brows knitted together, and the purple light of the barrier grew even more intense.
“Father, brother, younger brother… Those words are nothing but shackles to me. Lord Astaroth has shown me the true nature of everything.”
“Blood ties are merely a biological coincidence. Affection is nothing more than an illusion created by the weak to keep each other warm.”
He raised his head and gazed at the six-winged phantom taking shape above him, murmuring, “Let all of this end.”
“The warmth, the ugliness—everything. Let it all end.”
At that very moment, the abandoned Cathay Grand Theatre, deserted for many years, suddenly underwent a transformation.
Something seeped from its walls. Something surged through the cracks in the floor. Something filled the air.
It was resentment.
Hatred.
All the unwillingness and suffering that had accumulated here over several decades.
The fanaticism on Liu Xiao’s face vanished for the first time.
He lowered his head and looked at the black mist spreading beneath his feet. His pupils contracted sharply.
The source of the black mist was the corner of the stage.
Chen Guan had appeared there at some point, holding a black scythe in one hand. Visible black currents coiled around its blade, countless distorted faces mixed within them, every one of those faces silently screaming.
The Lingering Grudge.
“What are you doing?!”
For the first time, Liu Xiao’s voice lost its composure. He could sense the nature of that power.
It was entirely different from supernatural abilities—a form of energy he could not absorb or transform.
It was raw emotion, the most fundamental negative emotion of humanity.
Chen Guan spoke. “This theater was built in the twelfth year of the Republic of China. It survived war and catastrophe. People died here. Bodies were buried here.”
“Decades of accumulated resentment should be enough to give you a taste of hell.”
Baal’s reminder was what had led Chen Guan to activate this skill, one he had never used before.
As the Lingering Grudge awakened, those negative emotions surged madly into his consciousness.
Someone wept in his ear. Someone roared behind him.
Once upon a time, people had died in fires here. Some had fallen beneath the sound of gunfire. Some had starved to death in the storage room beneath the stage.
Every one of those past sufferings tried to assimilate his mind.
His sanity was being devoured, yet he did not stop. He raised the scythe high, and the black currents condensed along its blade into a crescent-shaped slash that descended toward Liu Xiao.
Liu Xiao instinctively activated his barrier.
The indestructible purple wall let out a shrill hiss the instant the black slash touched it.
“Impossible!”
Liu Xiao took a step back, staring in disbelief at the clear crack that had appeared across the barrier.
Above them, the gaze of the six-winged phantom descended once again. This time, unmistakable disgust filled its attention.
Baal’s voice rang out once more from deep within Chen Guan’s consciousness. He had completely forgotten his promise to remain silent, and now helped drive away some of the muttering voices, his tone unusually serious.
s + Rent Collection Wealth】 At the start, he inherited a rundown house in the urban village from his grandfather. The house had no tenants, but the moment he was diagnosed with a terminal illness, a self-proclaimed empress from the Tianxuan Continent arrived as his first tenant. Ye Chuan soon discovered that with every new tenant moving in, not only did he receive massive daily payments, but he also obtained unique items related to their backgrounds. 【Acquired Bai Qianshuang’s related item: Tiger Strength Pill—dramatically enhances physical power!】 【Acquired Bai Qianshuang’s related item: Deer Blood Pill—significantly boosts vitality!】 …… From that day on, all sorts of bizarre tenants began appearing in the house: the empress from Tianxuan Continent, an apocalyptic sorceress from the Magic Realm, a mysterious scientific girl who fell through a spacetime rift… Every single day, he received strange, powerful items and endless money. Then one day, he suddenly realized—he had become invincible. Enough, enough! Stop giving me more!
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.
pression Bureau] Transported to a fantasy world overrun by demons and monsters, Gu Qingfeng becomes a jailer in the Demon Suppression Prison of the Great Yan Dynasty's Demon Suppression Bureau. From this point on, bizarre cases frequently occur in the Demon Suppression Prison, once known as hell on earth and infamous for its gloomy, terrifying atmosphere! Why do the demons and monsters in the prison wail miserably every night? Why has the corpse demon, capable of transforming into various beauties, donned black stockings and switched careers to become a foot massage therapist? Why has the eye demon, expert in soul-snatching and illusions, turned into a VR headset? Why is the fox spirit performing otaku dances? Are all these occurrences a twisted expression of demonic nature, or a descent into moral depravity? After peeling away layer upon layer of mystery, all clues ultimately point to a jailer named Gu Qingfeng. Gu Qingfeng: "Hehehe... My dear demons and monsters, whose card shall we flip today?"
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.”
