'He was planning to kill me, wasn't he?'
Zheng Xie's thoughts wandered as he watched Wu Zhu flail and scramble for his life. A sigh nearly escaped his lips, not of frustration—but something dangerously close to amusement.
'Hah… and here I thought he was some pacifist stuck in the wrong world. The guy who cried when a side character died in his novels, who skipped battle-heavy arcs because they were too violent…'
His crimson eyes narrowed.
'But I guess… even pacifists raise their hands when backed into a corner.'
A low scoff left his throat.
He rested his cheek on his palm, seated leisurely on a rock at the mouth of the cave like this was a private show tailored for him. In a sense, it was. Every twitch, every cry of effort, every frantic breath from Wu Zhu was being etched into Zheng Xie's memory.
'Still… this is my fault. I made the first move. Tried to kill him without understanding the full picture. Corrupted a righteous little seedling… tsk, tsk.'
Despite the mockery in his thoughts, his eyes were sharp, keen. The demonic centipede towered over Wu Zhu, its grotesque body writhing with unnatural movements, mandibles snapping like metal shears. Serrated teeth gleamed in the dark as it lunged repeatedly, hissing like a steaming furnace.
But Wu Zhu dodged—barely.
There was panic in his eyes, but there was also fire.
'He's adapting… faster than I expected,' Zheng Xie mused. 'More importantly… he broke through to Foundation Establishment.'
That wasn't a small thing.
The kind of leap most disciples would dream of taking in decades, Wu Zhu had taken in days.
'He must've gotten it… the golden finger.'
The gleam in Zheng Xie's eyes sharpened like a blade being unsheathed.
From the moment he had searched Wu Zhu's memories, the first thing he noticed was the presence of a golden finger. Each protagonist of the novels he read had a golden finger to help them in their journey.
And unlike Zheng Xie, who relied on sheer effort and cunning, Wu Zhu was destined to have something else.
A system. A manual. A cheat. A golden finger.
That was a universal law in the novels Wu Zhu consumed by the gigabyte. Whether it was a sword spirit, a cultivation system, a reincarnated ancient grandpa, or some kind of magical interface—it always came.
And Wu Zhu's had to exist.
Every great protagonist needed a trigger. A moment that pushed them into greatness. Some external stimulus that set the stage ablaze. A death, a betrayal, a near-death experience.
Zheng Xie had decided to become that trigger.
'And look at him now—fighting for his life, his back soaked in sweat, eyes flickering with desperation and something… more. A spark.'
He wasn't doing this out of malice.
Not entirely, at least.
He was investing. Cultivating his own fate. Helping his prey grow stronger so that when he finally harvested him, the yield would be rich. And even if he didn't gain a golden finger, he wanted Wu Zhu dead either way.
At first he wasn't going to believe a few books from a different world would act like a fate scripture for his world. But reading them intently he had found many similarities. Which even if he wanted to deny were palpable.
As such he decided that…
If novels could predict that a system would help a protagonist grow stronger through suffering, then Zheng Xie would become the personification of suffering.
Zheng Xie scoffed at those so-called suffering. What did these sons of heaven suffer? Getting their woman taken from them for months perhaps years, only to latch onto another one almost immediately?
Their already monstrous growth stagnating? Watching the people they met for a few months die? Just to use them as a method to gain fortuitous encounters.
'The heavens aren't impartial,' he thought coldly. 'They've never been impartial. They're partial. And if they're partial, then so will I be.'
He sat straighter.
'If the world wants to follow an ideal, script and destiny like a flock of sheep then let them do it, why should I follow them? I, Zheng Xie, would always crave my path myself. Even when the entirety of the world is against me.'
His cold eyes stared at the figure of Wu Zhu as the fight grew fiercer.
Wu Zhu lunged, twisted, side-stepped with what little grace he had. His movements were rough, clumsy in places, but his instincts were sharpening. [Steady Step] helped him keep balance. [Stone Palm] flared briefly when he tried to strike—but he was holding back.
Hesitating.
Afraid.
'He still doesn't have the will to kill.'
Zheng Xie clicked his tongue.
'And this was the guy who wanted to kill me? Tsk. Can't even scratch a Tempered Beast, let alone scheme a proper assassination.'
As if responding to his thoughts, the centipede let out a shriek—a bone-scraping screech that echoed through the cave like the sound of dry bones shattering.
It lunged forward, faster than before.
Wu Zhu tried to dodge.
But it was too fast. Too close. And worst of all—
He tripped.
His foot caught a loose stone, and his balance shattered.
He fell backward, a moment frozen in time, eyes wide, pupils shrinking.
Before him, the golden eyes of the centipede locked onto him.
Its mandibles stretched open wide, ready to end him.
Zheng Xie's smile faded—not into worry, but thought.
'Now… will you use your golden finger to save yourself? Show me what kind of cheat you have Wu Zhu!!'
But to Zheng Xie's utmost surprise… nothing happened.
No miraculous light.
No divine intervention.
Not even the cliched shadow of an ancient grandpa emerging to halt time.
Just flesh—being torn apart.
The centipede lunged and jabbed its serrated teeth straight into Wu Zhu's torso.
Crunch.
The impact echoed through the cave like the sound of dry bones snapping underfoot. And then, just as Wu Zhu's scream rose up, the real nightmare began.
The centipede's jagged teeth began rotating.
Like a grotesque, biological chainsaw.
Grinding. Ripping. Screaming.
Wu Zhu's body convulsed. His flesh resisted at first—Foundation Establishment made the body far tougher than a normal mortal's. But resistance only made it worse. The more the teeth chewed, the more they shredded and tore. His organs twisted. Bones groaned.
It was slow.
Too slow.
Blood gushed from his abdomen, drenching his robes, pooling beneath him in sticky, syrupy puddles that steamed against the cave's cold floor. The nauseating stench of iron, viscera, and ruptured life filled the air.
And then came the scream.
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!"
It wasn't just pain—it was despair. A howling, soul-piercing wail that rose from the pit of his existence. It clawed its way out of his throat and scraped across the stone walls, louder than anything he'd ever screamed in his life.
Zheng Xie watched. Coldly.
Emotionless.
He didn't even flinch.
He crossed one leg over the other and tilted his head like he was judging a theater performance.
'No resistance technique. No defensive treasure. No last-minute reversal. Tsk. And no golden light, no cheat system. What a disappointment.'
His mind ticked quietly, evaluating, eliminating.
'He lacks determination… has no skill… and most importantly, no confidence. And his cheat clearly isn't a system. If it was, it would've kicked in by now.'
Which meant all his earlier expectations?
Trash.
No infinite resource generation. No magical store filled with spirit stones, pills, or cultivation manuals. No quest system handing out rewards for every breath he took.
Zheng Xie narrowed his eyes.
'I was hoping he'd be a walking vending machine. But without a system… he's either a host of some ancient deity or he has some special physique.'
He sighed, like a merchant realizing his product was defective.
That was the real reason he'd kept Wu Zhu alive this long.
The moment he'd found out Wu Zhu had transmigrated, the wheels had started turning in his head. After all, he read how these stories worked. Cheaters were given cheats. Protagonists were armed to the teeth.
And Zheng Xie… wanted to rob them of everything.
But he was pragmatic, too. Of course he could have befriended him instead of ripping his heart out but he never trusted a smiling person—people were two faced. Never waited to be stabbed in the back. His principle was simple—
Get betrayed early, not late.
Not because he feared emotional attachment. That sort of sentimentality disgusted him. No—he preferred early betrayal because the enemy would be weaker then.
If you're going to be betrayed, better when they're a cub than when they become a dragon.
And now, watching Wu Zhu bleed, tremble, suffer—he realized it.
'He's no dragon.'
'He's just an idiot who thought he could survive this world on borrowed luck.'
Still, even a dying pawn could be of use.
'I'll put a tracker on him,' Zheng Xie thought calmly. 'Let him live. Watch him. And if he gets a cheat later, I'll rip it out of him myself. But if not… at least his body would be suffice.'
But he had to wait. Let Wu Zhu faint. Let his body collapse. Then he could plant a seed of spiritual sense inside him—inside his soul—something subtle enough to escape notice, but persistent enough to track every movement.
There was just one problem.
Wu Zhu wasn't fainting.
The damn centipede couldn't tear deep enough.
Tempered Realm beasts had limits, and Wu Zhu, now at Foundation Establishment, had flesh too firm to be shredded so easily. Even with those rotating teeth grinding through his stomach, they weren't penetrating fast enough to knock him out.
The pain wasn't clean. It wasn't sharp. It was grating. Lingering.
Enough to make you scream.
Not enough to make you pass out.
Which made it worse.
Far worse.
Zheng Xie stared down at the scene unfolding like some slow-played horror drama.
The centipede shrieked and clacked its mandibles, frustrated. Its teeth were still lodged in Wu Zhu's gut, so it did the next best thing.
It started slamming him.
Hard.
Again.
And again.
Thud.
Crack.
Crunch.
Wu Zhu's limp body was repeatedly smashed into the cave wall. Blood exploded from his mouth. His limbs flailed like broken puppets, his eyes rolling from the concussive force. His bones were beginning to crack now. Ribs, mostly. One shoulder dislocated with a sickening pop.
He didn't even have the strength to scream anymore. Just shallow, ragged gasps.
Yet he clung to consciousness.
Barely.
Zheng Xie let out a sound of mild approval.
'Tenacity, at least. But no pride. No counter. He hasn't even tried to fight back.'
Wu Zhu gritted his teeth, jaw trembling, eyes wide as saucers. His hands were gripping the centipede's body, trying—desperately trying—to pry himself free. His veins were bulging. His legs kicked weakly. His fingers dug into the chitinous skin.
Useless.
The centipede had marked him as the easier prey. Zheng Xie could tell. It hadn't even glanced in his direction—not once.
It was ignoring him.
Which was the ultimate insult.
'See, Wu Zhu? Even a beast knows you're weaker than me.'
Zheng Xie let out a breath and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.
Wu Zhu was slowly losing consciousness.
But not because of the pain.
No, the agony had long since become background noise, a dull hum compared to the roaring silence that came with blood loss. His body had been hollowed out, ravaged, drained. Every beat of his heart was weaker than the last—each breath a struggle, each second a small death.
And yet, he didn't mind.
He welcomed it.
The slow fade into darkness was preferable to the reality of torture.
But even as his vision blurred, even as the last bits of strength drained from his limbs, he still waited.
Waited for something to change.
For something to awaken.
Anything that would mark him as a chosen one.
But nothing came.
He was just… bleeding.
Beaten.
Powerless.
Zheng Xie stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching the pitiful scene play out with a dispassionate gaze.
He let out a sigh—long and lazy. A mixture of disappointment and relief.
"Well. That settles it."
Wu Zhu had failed to meet even the barest requirements to be interesting.
Zheng Xie began strolling leisurely toward the centipede, who by now had ceased thrashing Wu Zhu and instead loomed above his limp body.
Its mandibles clicked with wet anticipation, golden eyes gleaming with the delight of a meal about to be devoured. Saliva dripped from its mouthparts, hissing slightly as it hit the blood-soaked cave floor.
Zheng Xie stopped just a few paces away.
"Enough already," he said flatly, his tone unhurried yet commanding. "You can leave now… assuming, of course, you value your miserable life."
His crimson eyes gleamed under the cave's shadows. A casual threat, almost polite in its phrasing.
But the beast paused.
Not because of the words themselves—but because of what it sensed beneath them.
Killing intent.
Old.
Deep.
Refined.
The centipede froze, its instincts shrieking. It could feel it—the aura of someone who had bathed in the blood of beasts far above its rank. A soul drenched in slaughter. That malevolent pressure that often accompanied veteran soul cultivators.
Zheng Xie had formed his killing intent not through brute force—but through the precise, methodical act of extermination. He had killed without mercy, without hesitation, for years.
That's how his Soul Cultivation was at Resonant Soul Realm.
But the centipede was starving.
And hunger made monsters foolish.
It screeched, and its body coiled violently before launching itself at Zheng Xie like a maddened arrow.
He didn't flinch.
Instead, he smirked.
His body slid slightly to the side.
[Steady Step] – Proficient Stage.
His movement was fluid. Effortless. Like a stone being nudged off a riverbank—controlled, natural, smooth.
The centipede flew past him, crashing headfirst into the cave wall with a thunderous boom. Cracks spidered out along the surface. Pebbles and small chunks of rock rained from the ceiling.
But it wasn't done.
With a furious hiss, it raised its segmented tail and brought it down like a hammer.
Zheng Xie didn't even move his feet.
He simply lifted one hand and gently pushed the tail aside, as if swatting away a persistent insect.
Then he stepped forward.
His palm began to glow, a rough golden hue spreading from his fingertips to his elbow. The texture of his skin hardened visibly, taking on the stony pattern of the cave's walls.
[Stone Palm] – Intent Manifestation Stage.
It wasn't a flashy technique. It didn't produce a giant illusionary mountain or summon the soul of a dragon. But it was solid. Practical. And dangerous in the right hands.
His arm now carried the weight of stone. Not just in texture, but in force.
At the very last second, he curled his palm into a tight fist.
Then drove it into the centipede's armored hide.
Crack.
The sound was clean and satisfying.
Its carapace fractured, deep fissures running along its segmented plating. The centipede shrieked, backing away in agony.
But not dead.
Not yet.
Zheng Xie rolled his shoulders. A low hum of satisfaction escaped him.
"I was wondering how much damage I could do."
He adjusted his stance again.
And repeated the attack.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
Over and over again, his rock-hardened fists met the centipede's shell. Each strike cracked more of the armor. Each blow chipped away at its vitality.
Until finally…
It collapsed.
Twitching.
Then still.
The demonic centipede, a beast that had nearly torn Wu Zhu in half, was reduced to a cracked, oozing carcass on the stone floor.
Zheng Xie didn't even look at it twice. His body was tired, sweat beads had formed on his temple. His breath was slightly haggard.
He walked past the corpse and crouched beside Wu Zhu's unmoving figure.
Still alive. Barely.
Zheng Xie placed a hand gently on Wu Zhu's blood-slicked forehead.
Then, with a silent thought, he released a sliver of his soul—a fragment from his Thousand Body true soul.
It slipped into Wu Zhu's sea of consciousness like a needle dipped in ink.
Invisible.
Silent.
Effective.
'There. Now I'll know everything you see, everything you hear, every place you go.'
He stood slowly, wiping his hand on the edge of his robes.
'If he wakes up and starts acting clever, I'll know. If he suddenly gains something—anything—I'll be the first to find out. And if he doesn't…'
Zheng Xie's crimson eyes gleamed as he stared down at the unconscious Wu Zhu.
'Then he'll be nothing but a puppet. A shell. A stray dog whose leash I now hold.'