Morning light spilled across the multi-tiered thoroughfares of Pyradine City, painting the clay-tiled rooftops in shades of liquid gold. But unlike the days before, the air in the West District felt charged. The mundane chatter of the marketplace had shifted, vibrating with the electric friction of a rumor that refused to die.
At the Morning Dew Teahouse
"I'm telling you, by the ancestors, it's true! Min Luan, the silk merchant's son, went into that shambolic shop yesterday," a man whispered, leaning so far over the polished wooden table that his nose nearly dipped into his cup of bitter tea. He wore the gray robes of an outer sect disciple, his sword leaning lazily against his chair.
"And?" his companion, a burly mercenary with a scarred jaw, urged.
"Did he come out screaming? I heard he soiled his fine silks the first time."
The disciple grinned, revealing stained teeth.
"Worse. He came out looking like a freshly buried corpse—pale as a ghost, knees knocking, drenched in a cold sweat. They say he fought something inside."
"Fought what? A shadow? A phantom memory?" The mercenary snorted, crossing his massive arms.
"A dead man," the disciple lowered his voice to a conspiratorial rasp.
"And the dead man won. Ripped his throat out, from what the street urchins say."
The table erupted into raucous laughter, drawing the ire of the teahouse owner.
"Haha! That fat pig Min Luan!" the mercenary roared, wiping a tear from his eye.
"He's so useless he can't even beat a man who's already stopped breathing! I always knew those merchant brats were soft, but losing a shadow-boxing match to an illusion? That crippled Yuan boy must have crafted a terrifying mind-array to swindle him out of his spiritual stones."
While the teahouses mocked him, curiosity began to fester in the city's deeper corners like an unscratchable itch. Near the Martial Academy, ambitious disciples whispered about "hidden inheritances." Near the city gates, veteran guards debated whether the shop was an elaborate scam or a heaven-defying artifact.
Inside the Origins Dungeon Hall, the atmosphere remained one of profound, lazy stillness.
Yuan Bi sat behind his counter, half-reclined in a battered bamboo chair. To a casual observer, he appeared to be dozing, wasting away in the morning heat. In reality, his internal state was a raging tempest.
Beneath his calm exterior, fifteen days' worth of refined Origin Internal Force cycled through his reconstructed meridians. It moved like a surging river, clearing blockages and settling into his dantian with a warm, dense weight. Every breath was aligned with the flow of Qi. He could feel the microscopic imperfections in the floorboards; he could hear the heartbeat of a stray dog two alleys over.
Power, Yuan Bi thought, a thin, satisfied smile tugging at his lips. Just one failure from a merchant's son, and my foundation is already solidifying.
He opened his eyes, tracking a single dust mote drifting through a beam of sunlight.
"Still empty," he observed softly. He wasn't disappointed; he was patient.
BANG!
The shop's dilapidated double doors surrendered, slamming against the walls with a violent crack that sent dust raining from the ceiling. Min Luan burst in.
The merchant's son looked unhinged. His usually immaculate hair was a bird's nest, his eyes were bloodshot, and his round face was a ghostly mask of exhaustion. Yet, beneath the fatigue, a fanatical fire burned in his gaze.
"Yuan Bi!" Min Luan gasped, gripping the doorframe to steady his heaving chest.
Yuan Bi didn't adjust his posture; he merely snapped his frayed paper fan open.
"Min Luan. Back so soon? I thought you were going to warn the city guard about my 'illusion tricks'?"
Min Luan ignored the barb, marching to the counter.
"I'm going in again."
Yuan Bi paused his fanning, raising an eyebrow.
"Oh? You were terrified yesterday. You crawled out of here looking like you'd seen the Underworld. Why come back to have your throat chewed on?"
Min Luan's hands curled into white-knuckled fists. The memory of the Undead Hall flashed vividly: the stench of rot, the stagnant air, and the agonizing sensation of teeth grinding against his collarbone. He had woken up three times during the night, screaming and clutching his uninjured shoulder.
"I lost," Min Luan said, his voice raw.
"I died to a mindless, rotting corpse." He leaned over the counter, locking eyes with Yuan Bi.
"But when I woke up this morning, I went to the training dummy. I threw a kick." His breath hitched.
"I shattered solid oak. Perfect posture. Perfect kinetic transfer. I didn't even have to think. The muscle memory… it's real."
Yuan Bi's smile was slowly.
"I told you. The enlightenment is permanent."
"I won't accept losing," Min Luan breathed. He was sick of being the family disappointment.
"I want that enlightenment."
He slammed a heavy pouch onto the counter, pulling out seven translucent spiritual stones. They rang out against the wood with a sharp, decisive chime. Without waiting for permission, Min Luan marched to the first obsidian seat and shoved the silver helm onto his head before his courage could fail.
Yuan Bi chuckled, waving his hand to deposit the stones into his spatial ring.
"System. Initiate Dungeon: The Undead Hall. Difficulty: Normal (Solo)."
Min Luan opened his eyes to the nightmare.
The transition was jarring, stripping away the morning sun and plunging him into the freezing gloom of the decaying pavilion. Moonlight filtered through shattered tiles, illuminating rotting pillars that looked like the ribs of a dead giant.
He felt the familiar void in his center—his meager internal force was sealed. But he didn't panic. He drew a small iron dagger from his sash.
"Yesterday, I panicked," Min Luan whispered to the howling wind.
"Today, I fight."
He took a deliberate breath and stepped deeper into the ruins.
Shuffle. Drag. Shuffle.
A figure emerged from behind a weapon rack, clad in the tattered robes of an ancient disciple. Its desiccated skin was drawn tight over bone, and its milky eyes locked onto him with predatory instinct. It lunged.
Min Luan's instincts screamed at him to run, but he rooted his legs to the ground.
Wait for it.
As the creature reached for his throat, Min Luan moved. He didn't swing wildly; he let his body take over. He pivoted his hips, planted his heel, and snapped his leg out.
CRACK!
His boot slammed into the undead's knee. The brittle bone snapped, and the corpse crashed to the floor.
"DIE!" Min Luan roared. He lunged, driving his dagger into the creature's back. The blade sank in with a wet thunk.
Min Luan gasped, a triumphant smile breaking across his face. But the corpse didn't stop. It had no heart to pierce. With horrifying speed, the creature twisted its neck 180 degrees and let out an inhuman shriek.
Before Min Luan could retract his blade, the undead swept his legs out. He crashed onto the stone, and the cold, heavy weight of the grave collapsed onto his chest. Jaws snapped inches from his face. Min Luan threw up his forearm to block.
Agony flared. Rotting teeth sank into his flesh, grinding against the bone.
"GAAAH!" he hissed, tears springing to his eyes.
Panic threatened to break him, but a cold clarity surfaced through the pain. The chest is useless. I have to take the head.
Ignoring the tearing of his flesh, Min Luan let go of his dagger. He grabbed the creature's matted hair with his right hand and pulled, exposing the back of its neck. With a primal scream, he seized a jagged shard of a broken spear shaft from the floor and drove it into the base of the creature's skull.
Once. Twice.
With a sickening crunch of vertebrae, the corpse shuddered and went limp. Min Luan shoved the body aside, gasping for air.
He had survived ten minutes.
A faint, golden warmth spread from the base of his skull to his limbs. It was subtle, like the first rays of spring, but undeniable. Crystalline insight flooded his mind: he understood the exact angle needed to deflect a grapple; he knew how to sit the dagger in his palm for maximum leverage. The scuffle had been analyzed by the Hall and refined into perfect combat experience.
His eyes went wide. "I… I improved."
Light flashed in his retinas.
Min Luan ripped the helm off, jumping to his feet. He was drenched in sweat, but he didn't check for wounds. He just stared at his fists.
"I DID IT! I KILLED IT!" he bellowed. "I felt the comprehension!"
Behind the counter, Yuan Bi tapped his chin.
"The spine or the brain. You figured it out. Though letting it bite you first was poor form."
Min Luan turned to glare at him. "You knew? You knew the heart wouldn't work?"
Yuan Bi shrugged. "A lesson bought with your own blood is a lesson never forgotten."
"You're shameless," Min Luan breathed, though his voice was filled with awe.
"Thank you," Yuan Bi replied.
[Host EXP Gained: +10]
[Shop Level Progress: 20/100]
A small crowd of onlookers had gathered at the entrance, drawn by the shouting. They saw a "useless merchant's son" standing tall. His posture had shifted; he was no longer a pampered heir but a man with a rooted, lethal stance.
"He actually killed something?" a young cultivator whispered.
"He looks… different," a scarred veteran noted. "That's real killing intent. You can't fake that."
Min Luan turned to the crowd, his voice booming with the zeal of a convert. "It's real! You fight, you die, and you wake up here—but the Hall engraves the combat into your muscles!"
Silence followed. In the cutthroat world of Pyradine City, a shortcut to battlefield experience without the risk of death wasn't just a rumor—it was a revolution.
"Lies," someone muttered. "A merchant's trick."
But a lean rogue cultivator in a tattered bamboo hat stepped forward. He had the hungry eyes of a man stuck at a bottleneck for a decade. He looked at the obsidian chairs, then at Yuan Bi.
"Boss," the rogue rasped. "If I die in there… do I really keep the refinement?"
Yuan Bi pointed his fan at the wooden sign.
The man stared at the "7 Spiritual Stones" fee. He hesitated, then pulled out a dirty pouch—his life's savings. He slammed the stones onto the table. "Fine. If this is a trick, I'll beat you senseless. I'm in."
"Take a seat," Yuan Bi gestured lazily.
As the rogue pulled the helm on, the onlookers held their breath. Two others reached for their coin pouches. The spark had caught.
Behind the counter, Yuan Bi leaned back, closing his eyes as the chime of spiritual stones began to echo through the shop. The shift had begun. Mockery was turning to curiosity—and curiosity would soon become a bloody obsession.