The morning light spilled across the streets of Pyradine City, painting the tiled rooftops in shades of liquid gold. But unlike the days before, the air felt charged. Heavier. The idle chatter of the marketplace had shifted, vibrating with the electric friction of a rumor that refused to die.
At a Central Teahouse
"I'm telling you, it's true! Min Luan went back into that shop yesterday," a man whispered, leaning so far over the table his nose nearly dipped into his tea.
"And?" a listener urged. "Did he come out screaming again?"
The speaker grinned. "Worse. He came out looking like a corpse himself—pale, shaking, drenched in sweat. They say he fought something inside."
"Fought what? A shadow?"
"A dead man," the speaker lowered his voice to a conspiratorial rasp. "And the dead man won."
The table erupted into raucous laughter. "Hahaha! That fatty Min Luan! He's so useless he can't even beat a man who's already stopped breathing!"
The West District
While the city mocked, curiosity was beginning to fester like an itch that couldn't be scratched. Near the Academy road, young disciples whispered about "hidden inheritances" and "soul-traps." Near the city gates, guards debated whether it was a scam or a miracle.
But inside the Origins Dungeon Hall, the atmosphere was one of profound, lazy stillness.
Yuan Bi sat behind his counter, half-reclined, watching a dust mote drift through a sunbeam. "…Still empty," he observed. His tone wasn't disappointed; it was simply factual.
Outside, footsteps would occasionally slow. Eyes would linger on the strange, pulsing black seats and the cryptic wooden board. Then, the footsteps would quicken. Seven spirit crystals was a steep price for a headache.
BANG!
The door didn't just open; it surrendered.
Min Luan burst in. His hair was a bird's nest, his eyes were bloodshot, and his face was a ghostly mask of exhaustion—but beneath it all, something was burning.
"Yuan Bi!"
Yuan Bi didn't even adjust his posture. "Back so soon? I thought you were going to warn the city about my 'illusion tricks'?"
Min Luan ignored the barb. He marched to the counter, his breath coming in ragged hitches. "I'm going in again."
This time, Yuan Bi actually looked at him. "Oh? You were terrified yesterday. Why come back to be chewed on again?"
Min Luan's hands curled into trembling fists. The memory of the mine flashed through his mind—the stench of rot, the cold grip of the dead, the agonizing sensation of teeth meeting bone.
"I lost," Min Luan said, his voice raw. "I won't accept that. Not to a mindless thing like that."
Without waiting for a reply, he slammed seven spirit crystals onto the counter. They rang out with a sharp, decisive metallic chime. He turned, marched to the black seat, and shoved the helm onto his head before his courage could fail him.
The Trial: Round Two
Min Luan opened his eyes to the same nightmare. The blood-red sky hung low, suffocating and vast. The air tasted of rust and ancient decay.
He didn't freeze this time. He drew a small, rusted dagger from his belt—a weapon he'd carried for years but rarely used.
"Yesterday, I panicked," he whispered to the wind. "Today, I fight."
He approached the mining structure. The door creaked on its hinges, a lonely sound in the void. Inside, the shadows stretched long and jagged. There it was. The corpse. It was hunched over, its back turned, busy with some gruesome task.
Min Luan's instincts screamed at him to run. His skin crawled. But he forced his legs forward.
"DIE!"
He lunged, driving the dagger deep into the creature's back, right where the heart should be.
The blade sank in with a wet thunk. The corpse didn't fall. It didn't even flinch. It simply turned its head around—further than a human neck should allow—and let out a guttural, inhuman roar.
"What—!?"
Min Luan was swiped aside, crashing into a pile of rotting crates. The corpse was on him in an instant, its weight cold and crushing. Its jaws snapped inches from his throat. Min Luan threw up his forearm to block, and the agony was instantaneous. Teeth tore into his flesh.
"It hurts…!" he hissed through clenched teeth.
But amidst the pain, a cold clarity surfaced. The chest didn't work. It's already dead. I have to stop the head.
He grabbed the creature's matted hair, pulling its face down, and drove his dagger into its eye socket. Once. Twice. Four times.
The corpse shuddered violently, its limbs flailing, before it finally went limp.
Min Luan pushed the heavy body off him and lay on the cold floor, gasping for air. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird.
Suddenly, a faint, golden warmth spread from his chest to his limbs. It was subtle, like the first rays of spring, but undeniable. His muscles felt tighter. His senses felt a fraction sharper.
His eyes went wide. "I… I improved?"
There were no pills. No weeks of meditation. Just a single life-and-death struggle, and his bottleneck had shifted.
The Return
Light flashed. Min Luan ripped the helm off and jumped to his feet, nearly knocking over the chair. "I DID IT! I KILLED IT!"
Yuan Bi tapped a finger lazily on the counter. "The head. You figured it out."
Min Luan froze. "…You knew? You knew that was the only way and you didn't tell me?"
Yuan Bi shrugged, the picture of nonchalance. "You didn't ask. Besides, a lesson bought with blood is a lesson never forgotten."
"You're shameless," Min Luan breathed.
"Thank you," Yuan Bi replied.
By now, a small crowd had gathered at the entrance, drawn by Min Luan's shouting. They watched as the "useless fatty" stood tall, his eyes bright with a newfound confidence.
"He actually killed something?" a young cultivator whispered.
"He looks… different," another noted. "His aura is steadier."
Min Luan turned to the crowd, his voice booming with the zeal of a convert. "It's real! You can fight, you can die, and you come back! And every time you win, you get stronger!"
The silence that followed was heavy. In the world of cultivation, progress was measured in months and years of agonizingly slow toil. To hear of a shortcut—a place where you could gain experience without the permanent risk of death—was more than a rumor. It was a revolution.
"Boss," a young man stepped forward, his eyes burning with a mixture of greed and desperation. "How much?"
Yuan Bi didn't speak. He simply pointed his fan at the wooden board.
The man stared at the "7 Spirit Crystals" fee. He hesitated for a heartbeat, then slammed his pouch onto the table. "Fine. I'm in."
One by one, the others followed. Some were skeptical, some were excited, but none wanted to be left behind.
Behind the counter, Yuan Bi leaned back, closing his eyes. The shift had begun. Mockery had turned to curiosity. Curiosity had turned to desire.
And soon, desire would become an obsession that Pyradine City would never be able to shake.
End of Chapter 2