[System Notice: Source is of the same species. Absorption backlash triggered.] [Status: Infected with ‘Prion of Longevity’.] [Lifespan Deduction: -204 Years.] [Current Remaining Lifespan: 591.3 Years.]

Wang Ba stared at the translucent blue screen hovering before his eyes, his expression darkening.

He was not a bloodthirsty man. In fact, he wouldn’t deny that he was naturally timid and conflict-averse. He preferred the shadows; he preferred survival.

But Chu Erniu had crossed a line. First, the attempted murder, and then the relentless, arrogant provocation. For the first time, Wang Ba’s restraint had snapped, replaced by a cold, calculating urge to kill.

His hand had rested on the jade pendant Zhao Feng gave him, ready to unleash the Sword Qi. But reason had prevailed. Why waste a trump card when he had a theory to test?

If Rare Fowl, Spirit Poultry, and insects could be used as vessels for Lifespan storage and withdrawal… what about humans?

The moment the thought struck him, it became an itch he couldn’t scratch. The risk was high, but the potential reward—a weapon that left no trace—was irresistible.

So he had improvised. He feigned submission, playing the part of the cowardly laborer. He offered the twenty Spirit Stones as a bribe, creating a pretext to get close. He engineered the physical contact.

And it had worked.

As his hand grasped Chu Erniu’s, the data had flashed instantly:

[Target Lifespan: 102.3 Years.]

Wang Ba didn’t hesitate. He drained 102 years in a split second.

He left the decimal—a few months of life. If Chu Erniu had dropped dead the moment they touched, it would have been too suspicious. A delayed death was a safe death.

But then came the surprise.

He didn’t gain the 102 years. Instead, the System penalized him.

“I drained 102 years, gained nothing, and lost 204 years of my own…” Wang Ba muttered, analyzing the data. “‘Prion of Longevity’… Infection… Is the cost of cannibalizing one’s own species a double penalty?”

His mind raced. “If draining costs double, what about depositing? If I force Lifespan into someone, does it also trigger a backlash?”

Despite the heartache of losing over two centuries of hard-earned life, Wang Ba felt a grim satisfaction.

If his theory held, interacting with human lifespans was a losing game economically. But tactically? It was devastating.

He had just executed Chu Erniu without lifting a weapon. The disciple would walk away feeling victorious, only to die of ‘natural causes’ within months. The ultimate assassin’s tool.

“I’ll need to test depositing Lifespan into someone when the opportunity arises,” he noted mentally. “See if the penalty applies both ways.”

He didn’t dwell on the loss. He composed himself and returned to work—shoveling manure, collecting eggs, and feeding Extreme Blood Pills to the Rare Fowl.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, he was exhausted. He dragged his weary body back to Ding-87 Manor.

Compared to the sprawling Ding-9, Ding-87 was a humble shack. But it was his shack. It felt safe.

He habitually circulated his Yin Spirit power to mask his presence and checked for prying eyes. Once satisfied, he reheated the leftover Spirit Poultry from breakfast in his clay pot. It took some mental preparation to force himself to eat, but he chewed slowly, swallowing the meat bit by bit.

His digestion had improved significantly since attaining a Spirit Root; a whole chicken was no longer a challenge.

With his belly full, he immediately began cultivating the Yin Spirit Great Dream Scripture.

This technique, inherited from the late Old Man Sun, was a treasure trove. Without it, Wang Ba estimated it would have taken him years to break through the Physique Strengthening Scripture, even with his Lifespan manipulation.

More importantly, while the technique offered no direct combat power, its utility was unmatched. It had saved him from the Ascension Society and allowed him to navigate the treacherous currents of the Sect.

He practiced it religiously, never missing a day.

However, the second layer remained elusive. The golden page offered no shortcuts, only the cryptic advice to “persevere for a thousand years” until “dripping water wears through stone.”

There was no progress bar, no feedback loop. Just the grind.

Wang Ba sighed and continued to accumulate Yin Spirit power drop by drop.

“The more I use this, the more suspicious Old Man Sun’s death becomes,” he mused. “Once I escape the Sect, I’ll need to be even more careful.”

If someone was hunting for this scripture, they were dangerous. In the cultivation world, strange abilities were endless. Just because Wang Ba had a System and a second life didn’t mean he was invincible.

Arrogance was a death sentence.

Look at Chu Erniu. He thought his Spirit Root and cultivation base made him a god compared to a laborer. He treated Wang Ba like grass to be trampled.

Now, he was a walking corpse with an expiration date of less than a year. Even if he survived the front lines, he was doomed.

Who’s to say someone else doesn’t have a method to kill me just as silently?

That was why Wang Ba hadn’t lashed out at Senior Brother Shi or Chu Erniu, even with Zhao Feng present.

Shi was pragmatic; he wouldn’t waste energy on a laborer who didn’t threaten him.

And Chu Erniu… well, there was no point in fighting a dead man.

It felt humiliating to bow and scrape, yes. But in this world, who truly lived as they pleased? To do whatever one wanted was the ultimate goal of cultivation—transcendence. Until then, one had to endure.

Wang Ba accepted this reality.

To his delight, his new Spirit Root was paying dividends. After consuming the Spirit Poultry, nearly a third of the Spiritual Qi remained in his body, rather than dissipating into the air.

He condensed a full drop of Yin Spirit power in half the usual time.

His efficiency had skyrocketed.

Currently, his Yin Spirit Abode held twenty drops of silver liquid. It was a drop in the ocean compared to the vast, empty space of his consciousness, but for Wang Ba, it was progress.

He slept soundly.

At the first light of dawn, he dragged Alpha-Seven out from under his quilt. The chicken had developed a bad habit of stealing his warmth.

“Time to train,” Wang Ba grunted.

Yesterday, he had been impressed by Senior Brother Shi’s spirit beast—the leopard-faced weasel that swallowed fire. He decided to see if Alpha-Seven had similar hidden talents.

He lit a small fire with flint and steel. “Go on. Eat it.”

Alpha-Seven stared at the flame, then at Wang Ba, tilting its head in utter confusion.

“Cluck? Cluck, cluck!”

The look in its beady eyes was unmistakable: Are you insane? I’m a hen, you moron!

After a few minutes of futile attempts to force-feed fire to a chicken, Wang Ba gave up.

“Fine. No fire.”

On the bright side, Alpha-Seven’s beak was becoming harder and sharper, and its speed was terrifying for poultry. That would have to do.

After finishing his chores at Ding-87, he took a detour to the West Garden Market.

He arrived to find the gates shut and the streets silent.

“Closed?”

“Orders came down two days ago,” a hunchbacked old laborer explained, leaning trembling on his cane. “Didn’t you know? The war draft. They’re short on bodies everywhere. Even the shopkeepers here were dragged off to logistics.”

Wang Ba looked past the old man. The narrow bluestone streets, usually bustling with haggling voices and porters, were ghostly empty.

“I see. Thank you.” Wang Ba cupped his fists.

“North Pine Market should still be open, youngster,” the old man called out after him. “Try there.”

“Thanks!”

North Pine Market was closer to the Sect’s core, not far from Ding-Nine Manor. Wang Ba hurried over.

It was open, but his quest for knowledge hit a wall.

“Cultivation manuals? For immortals?” The bookstore owner sneered, his tone lacking any scholarly grace. “You dreaming, kid? This is a mortal market! How could we have that stuff? You want cultivation techniques, go to the Wind Sun Market.”

The owner’s foul mouth was famous, so Wang Ba didn’t take offense.

“Is there any way for a Laborer Disciple to enter Wind Sun Market?”

“A laborer? You courting death?” The owner spat. He eyed Wang Ba’s robe and curled his lip. “Well, it’s not impossible. If a Sect Immortal takes you in, or if you hold a disciple’s identity token, they’ll let you pass.”

Wang Ba’s heart sank.

He knew no one.

Well, he knew Zhao Feng. But Zhao Feng had been in a rush yesterday, clearly burdened by duties. Wang Ba couldn’t ask him to play tour guide.

Besides, he planned to defect soon. Getting too entangled with Zhao Feng—the one person in this hellhole he actually respected—felt wrong. And dangerous. If they met later as enemies, deep ties would only complicate things.

“Forget it. Don’t be greedy,” he told himself. “I’ll find techniques after I escape.”

He turned back toward Ding-Nine Manor.

However, as he approached the manor entrance, he froze.

Zhao Feng was there.

And he wasn’t alone. Several other white-robed Sect disciples stood in the courtyard, their expressions grim. The atmosphere was heavy, suffocating.

Seeing Wang Ba approach, Zhao Feng nodded slightly. The gesture drew the attention of the other disciples, who glanced at the laborer with surprise before dismissing him indifferently.

“Immortal Masters…”

Mindful of the crowd, Wang Ba bowed deeply, maintaining his humble persona.

But as he lowered his head, his gaze swept across the courtyard.

There, lying on a straw mat not far away, was a shape covered by a white cloth.

It was the unmistakable outline of a human body.

Wang Ba’s blood ran cold.