Dong. Dong. Dong.
The heavy iron bell at the summit of the Administration Peak tolled three times. The sound rolled down the mountain like a physical wave, shaking the morning mist from the trees and vibrating the window frames of the Outer Disciple dormitories.
Three tolls.
One toll meant sunrise. Two tolls meant a Sect Elder was lecturing.
Three tolls meant a Mandatory Assembly.
"Assembly!" Wang jumped out of his bed, his face pale. "Quick! If we're late, the Enforcers will dock our merit points!"
Little Fatty Zhang struggled to pull on his boots, hopping on one leg. "Why now? Is the sect under attack?"
Li Fan sat up slowly. He stretched his arms, feeling the satisfying pop of his reinforced joints.
"Not an attack," Li Fan said calmly, sliding his feet into his cloth shoes. "An opportunity. Or a funeral. Depending on your luck."
He knew exactly what this was.
Year 1000, 3rd Month, 15th Day.
Event: The Opening of the Small Pond Secret Realm is announced.
Casualties in previous timelines: 30% of participants.
Li Fan stood up. He checked his aura. The Heaven-Deceiving Copper Coin was humming steadily, keeping his cultivation locked at a visual Qi Condensation Layer 1. Underneath the mask, his Layer 4 energy flowed like a coiled river, dense and powerful.
"Let's go," Li Fan said.
The Outer Sect Plaza
The plaza was a sea of gray robes. Over two thousand Outer Disciples had gathered, pressing shoulder to shoulder. The air was thick with the smell of unwashed bodies, anxiety, and cheap hair oil.
At the front of the plaza, on a raised stone platform, stood three figures.
In the center was an Elder wearing the azure robes of the Inner Sect. He had a long white beard and eyes that looked like hawk talons. This was Elder Mo, the head of the Outer Sect.
To his left stood a Deacon holding a scroll.
To his right... stood a youth in silver robes.
Li Fan's eyes narrowed slightly as he locked onto the youth.
He was handsome, with sharp eyebrows and skin like polished jade. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, looking down at the sea of gray robes with a faint, benevolent smile. But beneath the smile lay a deep, sickening arrogance.
Ye Qing.
The Young Master of the Ye Clan. The "genius" of the Outer Sect. Qi Condensation Layer 8 at age eighteen.
Status: Target.
Death Date: 6 Days.
Li Fan watched him. In Life 1, Li Fan had looked up to Ye Qing as a god. In Life 200, Li Fan had served him as a dog. In Life 999... Li Fan had skinned him alive to make a drum.
"Silence!"
Elder Mo's voice boomed across the plaza, amplified by Qi. It hit the disciples like a physical blow, silencing the whispers instantly.
"Disciples of the Small Pond Sect," Elder Mo began, his voice grave. "The heavens have aligned. The Small Pond Secret Realm will open in seven days."
A ripple of excitement went through the crowd.
"However," Elder Mo continued, his eyes sweeping over them coldly. " The entrance is unstable this year. The portal can only support fifty disciples from our sect."
The excitement turned into tension. Fifty? There were two thousand disciples here.
"Therefore," Elder Mo announced. "We will hold a Grand Tournament over the next two days. The top fifty disciples will earn the right to enter the Secret Realm to seek their fortune. The rest of you... will stay here and sweep the stairs."
"Fifty..." Wang whispered beside Li Fan, his shoulders slumping. "I'm only Layer 2. I have no chance."
"But there is another way," Elder Mo said.
He gestured to Ye Qing.
Ye Qing stepped forward. He radiated charisma. His silver robes caught the sunlight, making him look like a descended immortal.
"Junior Brothers and Sisters," Ye Qing spoke. His voice was smooth, cultured, and magnetic. "I know many of you wish to enter the realm but fear your strength is lacking. The Ye Clan is generous. We have secured ten additional spots through a partnership with the City Lord."
He paused for effect.
"I am looking for ten loyal disciples to join my expedition team. You will not need to fight in the tournament. You will be provided with defensive talismans. Your duty will be to... assist with logistics and trap detection."
"Meat shields," Li Fan whispered, the words lost in the roar of the crowd.
"I will pay ten Spirit Stones to each volunteer!" Ye Qing announced. "And if we find high-grade herbs, you will receive a share!"
The crowd erupted.
"Ten stones? That's half a year's allowance!"
"Senior Brother Ye is so generous!"
"I'll join! I'll join!"
Hands shot up everywhere. Disciples who knew they couldn't win the tournament saw this as a golden ticket. They didn't understand that "Trap Detection" meant walking into a hallway to see if spikes shot out of the floor.
Li Fan watched the frenzy with cold eyes.
Sheep rushing to the slaughterhouse, he thought. Ye Qing doesn't need logistics. He needs bodies to feed the Blood- vines in the second zone.
"Registration for the tournament begins now!" Elder Mo shouted. "Line up at the stone pillars!"
The crowd surged forward.
Li Fan didn't move immediately. He waited until the initial wave died down.
"Li Fan?" Wang looked at him. "Are you going to sign up? Or... are you going to try for Ye Qing's team?"
"Ye Qing's team is a death sentence," Li Fan said flatly. "And the tournament..."
He paused.
"I'm signing up."
"What?" Little Fatty Zhang gasped. "Li Fan, you're Layer 1! You'll be crushed! The minimum strength to even pass the first round is usually Layer 3!"
"I have to try," Li Fan said, adopting a look of desperate determination. "I can't stay trash forever. Maybe I'll get lucky. Maybe my opponent will trip."
He walked toward the registration tables.
As he queued, he felt eyes on him.
"Look, it's Li Fan."
"The guy who snitched on Zhao Dahu?"
"Yeah. I heard he's still Layer 1. Why is he lining up? Does he want to die?"
Li Fan ignored them. He reached the table. The scribe, a bored inner disciple, looked up.
"Name?"
"Li Fan."
"Cultivation?"
"Qi Condensation Layer 1."
The scribe paused. He looked at Li Fan, then laughed. He didn't write the name down immediately.
"Kid, save your merit points. The entry fee is one Spirit Stone. You're just donating it to the sect."
"I want to register," Li Fan insisted, placing a single stone on the table.
"Well, look at this!"
A shadow fell over the table. Ma Liu walked up, flanked by his two goons. He grinned, showing his yellow teeth.
"Our hero Li Fan wants to be a warrior," Ma Liu mocked, loud enough for the nearby lines to hear. "Did you spend all night eating stale bread to harden your stomach again?"
The disciples around them laughed.
Li Fan lowered his head, his hands trembling slightly on the table. "Senior Brother Ma... please... let me pass."
"I'm not stopping you," Ma Liu grinned, leaning in close. "I hope we get matched in the first round. I promise I won't hit your stomach this time. I'll aim for your face."
He slapped Li Fan on the back—hard—and walked away, laughing.
Li Fan stood there, taking the humiliation. He let the scribe see his "fear."
"Name... Li Fan," the scribe muttered, finally writing it down. He handed Li Fan a wooden number plate. "Number 499. You fight in Arena 7 tomorrow morning."
Li Fan took the plate.
"Thank you, Senior Brother."
He turned and walked away, clutching the wooden plate to his chest as if it were a lifeline.
He walked past the cheering crowds surrounding Ye Qing. He walked past the desperate disciples begging to be meat shields.
He returned to the edge of the plaza, finding a quiet spot under a willow tree.
He looked at the wooden plate.
Number 499.
Why did he register?
Because in the cultivation world, the invisible man is safe, but the harmless man is invisible.
If Li Fan didn't register, people would wonder why. Did he have a secret? Did he have another way in?
But a desperate, trash disciple who wastes his last Spirit Stone on a hopeless dream? That was a story everyone understood. That was a story nobody questioned.
He needed to lose. And he needed to lose publicly, pitifully, and convincingly.
"Tomorrow," Li Fan whispered to the wooden plate, "I will give the performance of a lifetime."
Suddenly, a commotion broke out near the Ye Clan's recruitment station.
"Get back! The slots are full!"
A Ye Clan guard shoved a disciple to the ground. It was Wang, Li Fan's roommate.
Wang scrambled up, desperate. "Please! I'm strong! I can carry heavy loads! I need the stones for my mother!"
Ye Qing stood nearby, watching the scene. He held a fan, gently fanning himself. He didn't intervene. He looked at Wang like one would look at a stray dog barking at a carriage—mild amusement, nothing more.
"Throw him out," Ye Qing said softly.
Two guards grabbed Wang and threw him out of the circle. Wang landed hard on the stone pavement, scraping his palms.
The crowd laughed.
Li Fan watched from the willow tree.
He didn't rush over to help. He didn't shout in anger.
He simply updated the file in his mind.
Target: Ye Qing.
Crimes: Arrogance, Exploitation, Cruelty.
Verdict: Harvest.
Li Fan turned and walked back to the dorms.
Wang would be fine. Rejection was the best thing that could happen to him today. Being rejected by the Ye Clan meant he wouldn't be walking into the trap Li Fan was about to set in the Secret Realm.
"Cry now, Wang," Li Fan thought. "You'll thank me when you're the only one left alive to mourn them."