In a tavern in Jing City—specifically one known as the "Easy Dream Tavern"—
Feng Li Wu sat at a table by a window on the third floor.
The Easy Dream Tavern was considered one of the finest establishments in Jing City, and indeed one of the top ten in the Southern Xin Ya Empire. This was due to several factors, most notably its exceptional selection of wines and the presence of Ye Chao Yu, known as the "Lady of the Easy Dream."
Ye Chao Yu possessed a musical instrument—a zither—referred to as the "Easy Dream Zither." Those who listened to her play would be drawn into a dream where they saw themselves fulfilling their greatest desires and ambitions. Within this dream, every sensation and detail felt 100% real to the dreamer. It was for this reason that the tavern gained such renown, taking its name from the instrument itself.
On the third floor, Feng Li Wu gazed blankly out the window at the streets of Jing City, seemingly indifferent to the enchanting, melodic strains of the zither that had caused everyone around him to lose themselves in a trance.
Feng Li Wu, however, remained unmoved by the music or the musician. A faint, cold smile touched his lips—a smile devoid of any joy, delight, or genuine emotion; it was as if he had merely moved his lips for the sake of it.
"Ye Chao Yu is truly insidious. While her 'Easy Dream' instrument transports those who hear it into a pleasant reverie, there is a price to be paid: addiction." "Secondly, his own dream becomes nourishment for Ye Chaoyu, allowing her to rapidly advance her cultivation—all without anyone ever suspecting a thing. Hmm... truly ingenious."
Feng Liwu's tone was devoid of any praise; he was merely stating the facts.
While the 'Dream-Devouring Instrument'—a dream-based weapon—can accelerate its owner's cultivation, it requires a high degree of proficiency in playing it; the more skilled the musician, the faster the user's cultivation progresses.
Without the talent to play it, however, the instrument is nothing more than a piece of junk.
It is much like giving a child a firearm and some candy, or offering a monkey a banana and some money. The child would choose the candy, and the monkey the banana—the child, because he has no idea what a weapon is; the monkey, because he does not realize that money could buy him a whole heap of bananas.
The same applies to humans: ignorance of how to utilize something renders even the greatest of weapons nothing more than scrap, left to gather dust in some forgotten corner.
Feng Liwu drained his cup of wine, his gaze fixed on the void, as if it were his only companion in this life.
*Boom!*
*Boom!*
*Boom!*
*Crash! Shatter!*
*Smash!*
At that very moment, a deafening explosion tore through the scene, obliterating the table where Feng Liwu sat—along with the floor surrounding it—leaving behind nothing but the chair he occupied and the wine cup still in his hand. There stood a young man of massive, powerful build, towering over two meters in height. His upper body was covered in numerous wounds and scars—marks accumulated throughout his life.
His eyes, bloodshot and intense, were fixed upon Feng Liwu, who appeared entirely indifferent to his presence.
The man's gaze burned with hatred and a fierce, consuming desire for revenge.
"Venerable Great Chaos, Feng Liwu! We meet again. I am Tu Ju, and I have come to end—"
Before Tu Ju could finish his sentence—a declaration laden with rage, hatred, and murderous intent—he was instantly reduced to a heap of gore. Flesh, fat, bone, and internal and external organs were sprayed violently across the surroundings.
One of his eyes landed in a woman's wine glass; she suffered a heart attack and died on the spot. A piece of brain tissue, fused with shards of his shattered skull, flew into the open mouth of a nineteen-year-old man—who had been left agape in shock. The fragment tore through his throat and mangled his mouth before plunging deep into his body.
Bits of flesh and fat splattered onto everyone's faces and food, while his internal organs were strewn across the third floor—resembling Halloween decorations, yet rendered with such terrifying, visceral realism that it was nauseating to behold.
Several people with weak hearts died of cardiac arrest at the sight. Most of them were patrons of the "Easy Dream" tavern—people who had long since lost the habit of seeing blood, or who had never before witnessed a scene of such brutality.
What remained of Tu Ju's body was still attached to a length of intestine, which began to expel the remnants of his final meal, mixed with a profuse flow of blood that pooled on the ground. The remains then struck the floor with a heavy thud, like a rock plunging into the surface of a lake.
*Thud!*
The faces of those who remained conscious turned deathly pale. Some were driven to madness, their minds shattered by the violent shock; they had been immersed in a beautiful, dreamlike state, only to regain consciousness and find blood and human viscera scattered everywhere.
Others were left in a state of profound psychological trauma. Yet, throughout it all, Feng Liwu's expression remained entirely indifferent to the carnage unfolding around him.
To him, it made no difference whether Tu Ju lived or died.
People might feel distress or sorrow at the death of a human being—whether it be a loved one, an acquaintance, or even a stranger—regardless of whether the death was as gruesome as Tu Ju's or occurred in some other fashion.
But they would never be moved by the death of an animal, no matter how it died—whether humanely or otherwise.
Heaven and Earth are impartial in the cycle of life and death, yet they are devoid of mercy.
And so, Feng Liwu, too, was devoid of mercy. If life shows me no mercy, why should I show any in return? This was the question that occupied Feng Li Wu's mind, yet through his long experience, he had arrived at an answer:
"Show mercy, and you shall be shown mercy; show no mercy, and I shall show none."
This was Feng Li Wu's guiding principle—in his past life, his present one, and all those yet to come.
Having finished the wine in his cup, he set it down by the window, paid for his meal, and departed as if nothing had happened.
As Feng Li Wu wandered through the city of Jing, his eyes took in a multitude of sights—a complex tapestry of good and evil.
The world was rife with betrayal. Good is never absolute, nor is evil; there are no eternal enemies, nor any eternal friends.It lasts only as long as interests remain aligned, or as long as betrayal offers no advantage.
In a world where mercy is purchased through servility and flattery, pride has become a rare commodity.
Feng Li Wu's features were as cold as frost, betraying no emotion whatsoever, as he watched the demise of countless beings and races.
What is the difference between the death of a human and the death of an insect? Are they not both living creatures? Do they not both possess a soul? Do they not both have a right to exist?
If the right to live belongs to every creature, then the right to die belongs to every creature as well.
Why, then, is it different when a child dies? People grieve, saying the child had yet to see the world.
When a youth dies, they say he was only at the beginning of his life, having barely lived any of it.
Yet, when an older person or an elder passes away, the grief is diminished—sometimes to the point of complete indifference.
But if a vile, wretched villain dies, people rejoice, bless the one who killed him, and hail that person as a hero.
And if a creature with no connection to humanity dies, they care nothing for it at all; at most, they might reprimand the one who killed it or impose a trivial, inconsequential punishment.
"Heaven and Earth are impartial in the way they govern life and death, yet they are simultaneously devoid of mercy. If life shows me no mercy, why should I show any in return? Show mercy, and you shall receive it; show none, and I shall show none either."
In this world, every individual is the hero of their own life story, while simultaneously serving as a secondary character in the stories of others.
Every ending is merely the beginning of another tale. Beginnings, it seems, are not always truly beginnings. "An end can be the beginning of something else, and vice versa. Endings are not always final; they may well be the start of something far greater."
As Feng Li Wu wandered about, his gaze fell upon a young man of twenty-one, accompanied by a sixteen-year-old girl, both tending to a stall and selling goods.
Feng Li Wu narrowed his eyes as he studied them, a faint, emotionless smile touching his lips. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a 'wanted' notice.
The document bore the likenesses of the two youths, with the words "Dead or Alive" inscribed upon it—accompanied by a bounty of one hundred million high-grade spirit stones.
The boy was named Mao Seung-hun, and the girl, Mao Ji-su. Both were wanted by the Mao Sect—one of the most powerful and wealthiest sects on the Western Continent.
Yet, the bounty held no interest for Feng Li Wu; he deemed such things trivial and of no use to him. His objective was something far greater—something hidden deep within the Mao Sect itself.
He decided to approach them later—but not just yet.
"Mao Seung-hun and Mao Ji-su—the children of the Mao family head, Min-seok. How utterly repulsive! They seek to kill them, all to install the family head's nephew as the successor."
His tone carried a clear note of disgust, yet at its core, it remained entirely devoid of genuine emotion. His words were less an expression of revulsion and more an objective assessment and confirmation of the facts. Feng Li Wu cast his gaze toward several men and women, sensing a suppressed murderous intent directed at the two children. They made no effort to conceal their lethal gaze, nor the lustful desire they directed toward Mao Ji Su.
Feng Li Wu's expression grew even colder—so cold that frost began to form around him, and some of those standing nearby froze to death.
Yet, he chose to remain; the right moment had not yet arrived, so he decided to let events unfold as they would.
Several hours later, at 20:32, Mao Seong Hun and Mao Ji Su closed their stall and headed home—a dilapidated shack consisting of a single room, a kitchen, and a ruinous bathroom.
At first glance, the shack looked like a place where not even a stray dog would live, let alone human beings.
And yet, two children lived there—orphans cast out by their own family, stripped of their rights before they ever had the chance to enjoy them.
"Brother Mao Seong Hun, it seems we won't have any food today. We haven't sold a thing for two weeks, and our stock is about to spoil. What are we to do?"
Mao Ji Su's voice was heavy with sorrow. Tears streamed from her blue eyes as she looked down at her tattered, torn dress—stained with dirt and riddled with holes. Her legs were covered in bruises, and her fingernails were damaged. Some were torn off, while others were caked in dried blood. Her feet were bare, leaving them covered in various injuries.
Mao Seong-hun embraced his sister, resting her head against his chest. He murmured softly as he brushed dust, small twigs, and bits of mud from her hair.
"Don't worry. As long as we're together, nothing bad will happen to us. Remember what I said: if our goods are ruined, we can just find other work. The important thing is that we stay together."
Mao Seong-hun's tone was calm, though tinged with a sadness for their plight—a situation that would surely seem pathetic to the masters of the Western Continent.
But after the death of their father, Mao Min-seok, everything had changed; a coup had been staged by their uncle, Mao Ki-chan.
"Come on, let's go home. As for money—I've tucked away what we earned over the last eight years."
Mao Seong-hun spoke gently, wiping the dried tears from his sister Mao Ji-soo's eyes and cheeks.
*Thwack!*
Mao Ji-soo landed a punch on Mao Seong-hun, her expression filled with intense rage and frustration.
"You wretch! How dare you hide money when we needed it, you scoundrel?! Still... thank you. How much did you manage to save?"
Her voice was a mix of anger, bewilderment, and relief.
Mao Seong-hun placed a hand on his chin, trying to recall exactly how much he had managed to set aside. "I believe it's ten mid-grade spirit stones and twenty thousand low-grade ones. We could buy a blacksmith shop; I learned how to craft weapons by hand from masters who are considered the elite in the art of smithing. So, we'll be just fine—don't you worry."
They headed toward their dilapidated home, their faces beaming with happiness.
However, about fifteen individuals were lying in wait for them in an alleyway; they began to follow the pair, wearing malicious grins that held not a shred of goodwill.
The moment they arrived at their home, Mao Seung-hoon sensed that something was amiss.
There was a faint scent of blood.It was as if someone had tried to hide it, yet he had managed to discover it.
As Mao Seong-hun—a cultivator at the third stage of the late Solid Foundation realm—he had undergone rigorous training throughout the seven years he spent within the Mao Sect. Consequently, he possessed a keen intuition for danger.
Noticing that the roof of the hut was gone, a jolt of fear struck him. He quickly composed himself, however, and turned his gaze toward his sister.
"Mao Ji-su, step back. It's not safe here."
Mao Seong-hun's tone was remarkably calm for his age—all the more striking given his standing as a cultivator at the third stage of the late Solid Foundation realm.
Beyond his grueling training, Mao Seong-hun had been the designated heir to the Mao clan; his combat prowess was not to be underestimated. This was, in part, why he had managed to avoid being robbed over the past eight years.
Yet, he had remained stuck at the same cultivation rank, unable to advance, as he had been forced to set aside his training to earn a living for himself and his sister, and to provide for her needs.
"Alright, brother. I trust you. But what will we do? Our money is still inside."
Her voice was laced with deep anxiety and fear, yet she clung tightly to Mao Seong-hun's waist, hiding behind his back.
She presented a strange, contradictory sight: she was exceptionally beautiful, yet at the same time, she was covered in filth and emitted a truly foul, pungent odor. Yet, this did not stop the eyes of the covetous from lingering upon her. Beauty is both a blessing and a curse; for this reason, she always remained with her brother, who shielded her from any harm that might befall her.
A faint, frost-cold laugh—devoid of any trace of happiness or contentment—seemed to emanate from within the hut. The sound caused both Mao Seong-hun and Mao Ji-su to tremble.
Moments later, the clouds began to part, revealing the moon, which cast its light upon the hut.
The expressions on the faces of Mao Seong-hun and Mao Ji-su shifted to one of profound shock; Mao Ji-su lost consciousness instantly.
Inside the hut lay a scene of horrific carnage: the bodies of fifteen men and women, all gruesomely mutilated.
The corpses were riddled with holes, their limbs twisted into shapes that defied the imagination.
The skin and flesh had been stripped from all fifteen bodies, leaving behind nothing but stark, gleaming white skeletons.
Each corpse hovered, suspended in mid-air.
The faces of the victims were frozen in expressions of sheer terror, fear, and raw, unadulterated agony.
Their skulls were exposed, their eyes bulging grotesquely from their sockets.
Their mouths were utterly mangled—the flesh torn away from the right cheek, leaving the inner structures of the mouth gruesomely laid bare. As for the upper bodies of the men, the skin and flesh had been savagely stripped away, revealing stark white skeletons in parts of the chest, while their internal organs had been crushed and had spilled out from the region of the navel.
What had spilled out appeared as a thick, brownish-red fluid.
Their arms were broken and twisted in ways that defied imagination.
The women were in much the same state, though their bodies bore signs of sexual assault—most notably traces left around their mouths, alongside the mutilation and foul odors resulting from such acts.
Remnants of these assaults were also found on the ground, while the severed genitals of the six men had been affixed to the bodies of the women.
All the men had been completely castrated; even the parts responsible for sperm production had been removed.
Mao Seong-hun could not bear to look at the scene for more than two seconds. The stench of blood grew steadily, becoming nearly impossible to endure.
These were the mercenaries who had attempted to kill and assault Mao Ji-su; now, their bodies hung there, hideously mutilated.
Mao Seong-hun's stomach began to heave, and he vomited up the remnants of food—though, having eaten nothing for days, his stomach was essentially empty.
"Save us! Help us... Save us! Help us..."
"Save us! Help us... Save us! Help us..."
"Save us! Help us... Save us!" "Help us..."
"Save us! Help us... Save us! Help us..."
"Save us! Help us... Save us! Help us..."
"Save us! Help us... Save us! Help us..."
"Save us! Help us... Save us! Help us..."
"Save us! Help us... Save us! Help us..."
"Save us! Help us... Save us! Help us..."
"Save us! Help us... Save us! Help us..."
"Save us! Help us... Save us! Help us..."
This phrase was repeated over and over inside the dilapidated hut—a tone filled with fear, pain, sorrow, terror, and desperate, unadulterated pleading.
The voices echoed repeatedly within the hut, each iteration sounding more terrifying than the last.
Mao Seong-hun's face was contorted with sheer terror. His entire body trembled violently as he watched and listened to what was unfolding inside the crumbling hut—the very place where he had lived for nearly nine years.
Yet, it did not end there.
Black flames materialized out of nowhere, surrounding the corpses and beginning to consume them with agonizing slowness.
The bodies did not char instantly; instead, they burned gradually.
Skeletons emerged amidst the black fire, slowly turning into charcoal before dissolving entirely—leaving behind only a fine, charred dust that, in turn, burned away.
Seconds after the black flames appeared, piercing screams erupted, shaking the entire hut to its core. The voices repeated the same phrase they had uttered before—but this time, it was laden with even greater fear, pain, sorrow, terror, and desperate pleading.
"Save us! Help us… Save us! Help us…"
"Save us! Help us… Save us! Help us…"
"Save us! Help us… Save us! Help us…"
"Save us! Help us… Save us! Help us…"
"Save us! Help us… Save us! Help us…"
"Save us! Help us… Save us! Help us…"
"Save us! Help us… Save us! Help us…"
"Save us! Help us… Save us! Help us…"
"Save us! Help us… Save us! Help us…"
"Save us! Help us… Save us! Help us…"
"Save us! Help us… Save us! Help us…"
Tears began to stream profusely from Mao Si's eyes.Collapsed on the ground, Mao Seong-hun covered his ears and squeezed his eyes shut, desperate to block out the sights and sounds unfolding within the dilapidated hut.
"What is happening?! Someone, answer me! What is going on?! Why?! Why did this massacre have to happen, of all places, inside my own home?! Why?! Someone, tell me!"
His voice, raw with rage and grief, rang out as he screamed with every last ounce of strength he possessed.
"They dared to tamper with my property—this is their punishment."
Feng Li-wu's voice was as cold as frost, devoid of any emotion, as he looked down at Mao Seong-hun from atop one of the hut's walls.
Mao Seong-hun's expression twisted into an even deeper, more profound terror.
"The Venerable Great Chaos... Feng Li-wu..."
Before he could finish his sentence, the shock proved too much for him to bear, and he collapsed into unconsciousness.
Feng Li-wu's gaze remained entirely impassive as he looked down at the unconscious Mao Seong-hun and his sister, Mao Ji-su.
Then, with a voice as frigid as ice—showing not a shred of concern for their condition—he muttered:
"Had I not fortified their minds to endure what they were about to witness, they would have lost their sanity—or perhaps even their lives."
His tone was utterly devoid of sentiment or emotion; he spoke as if stating an outcome that was a 100% certainty.
Sensing something amiss—though unable to pinpoint exactly what—Feng Li-wu narrowed his eyes, his guard instantly tightening. The full moon, once a cool, silvery hue, began to shift into a deep, crimson red; the sky itself turned blood-red, making it appear as though the moon were weeping blood.
Feng Li Wu looked upward to see the sky beginning to crack, piece by piece, until it split in two. As it tore open, a torrent of blood poured forth like a waterfall—a deluge teeming with eyes, organs, and limbs belonging to various, disparate entities.
From this chaos emerged several long, slender arms, their pallor chillingly stark. The hands were oversized, tipped with razor-sharp claws, and drenched in blood in a truly terrifying fashion.
They all reached toward Feng Li Wu.
Yet, the moment they drew near, they began to dissolve, fading away bit by bit.
Feng Li Wu had erased them instantly, without the slightest visible effort.
"Master of Trials—so, you've finally revealed your true form."
Feng Li Wu's tone remained as steady as ever as he gazed up at the sky.
An entity of average build began to materialize. He wore a formal black suit, and from his torso extended six arms, each ending in sharp claws—though these were now covered by white gloves. His face was concealed behind a mask of a grinning, malicious demon, and a black hat rested upon his head.
His appearance evoked that of an aristocratic nobleman from the fifteenth century, accented with touches of the nineteenth. He descended, a cane held firmly in his right hand.
Upon reaching the ground, he cast a fleeting, split-second glance toward the two children before shifting his gaze back to Feng Li Wu. He placed his hand on the left side of his chest, over his heart, and then bowed with an aristocratic, noble flourish.
"Mr. Tom Fragelsen, I never imagined you would go to such lengths just to summon me. You are truly wild! I'm quite fond of you. Didn't I tell you in the last chapter that you were my favorite? Hahahaha!"
His tone lacked any genuine admiration—it was superficial, barely scratching the surface of his true feelings—yet, his laughter carried a faint, lingering trace of actual regard.
Several minutes passed in silence.
Feng Li Wu sensed that there was another reason for the Testmaster's appearance. Although the Testmaster claimed he had come simply to see him, that didn't quite add up; he could easily have possessed someone else to speak with him, just as he had done during the previous two tests.
"Hahahahahahahaha! Mr. Tom Fragelsen, you really are a remarkable fellow! Very well—I did come for another reason: the two children. Someone from my own world—someone beyond the narrative—wants them to remain alive and unharmed. If you fail to heed this, then even with your abilities, you wouldn't last two seconds against this person. Understood?"
"And, as I mentioned in the previous chapter: the third test—autumn follows summer. You've completed the first and second tests; half of the third remains, followed by the fourth and fifth. So, good luck—you're going to need it, and badly."
The Testmaster vanished once more, leaving Feng Li Wu no chance to say a word. He had not come to engage in a dialogue; rather, he had come to declare that Feng Li-wu's actions would have consequences—consequences that were truly grave, and by no means a joke.
Feng Li-wu cast a blank, emotionless gaze toward Mao Seong-hun and Mao Ji-su, who lay unconscious, remaining entirely unmoved by the examiner's words.
He then looked back up at the sky, which had returned to its normal state, as if nothing had ever happened.
Nevertheless, Feng Li-wu had no intention of killing them; he needed them alive to carry out his plans.
As for that mysterious entity—which clearly did not want the two youths to perish within a test composed of memories—it made Feng Li-wu realize that this was not merely a journey into the past, but something far more significant.
What had occurred was, for him, nothing more than an unexpected setback.