Meanwhile.

Deep within the subterranean abyss of the mines.

Thousands of laborers, clad in nothing but rags, swung their pickaxes with numb, mechanical desperation. Their faces were devoid of hope, their bodies wasted and thin.

Each miner wore heavy shackles inscribed with suppression runes. These glowing sigils bit into their flesh, sealing away their cultivation base so effectively that even a Golden Core expert would find it impossible to break free.

Buried in this sunless hell, these once-proud cultivators had been stripped of every shred of dignity. They were no longer masters of the heavens; they were batteries of flesh and blood, burning their life force day after day until they inevitably collapsed.

Crack!

A long whip, crackling with spiritual energy, lashed out across the darkness.

It struck a middle-aged miner squarely across the back. His skin split instantly, blood spraying into the dust as he let out a gut-wrenching scream.

Aaaagh!

Nearby laborers flinched violently, terror seizing their hearts. Without daring to look up, they drove their pickaxes into the rock with frantic, renewed vigor.

“Dig, you filth! Faster! Anyone caught slacking gets another taste!”

The supervisor, a brute with a fierce aura, retracted his whip with a satisfied sneer. He coiled the bloodied weapon at his waist and barked out a cold warning.

“Same rules as always. Miss the daily quota? No food. Try to start a riot? Well…” He pointed a calloused finger upward. “Take a good look at your predecessors.”

Instinctively, the miners glanced up.

Suspended from the cavern ceiling were several desiccated corpses. They swayed gently in the stagnant drafts, their bodies twisted and rotted, filling the air with a faint, nauseating stench of decay.

Despair washed over the laborers. The light in their eyes dimmed further.

This wasn’t just a prison. It was purgatory on earth.

In a secluded mining pit, far away from the main group.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

The rhythmic sound of metal striking stone echoed through the tunnel.

A supervisor, dressed in a crisp uniform with a jowly, brutish face, was sweating like a pig. He wielded a heavy pickaxe, hacking away at the rock face with desperate intensity. His breath came in ragged gasps, his uniform drenched in perspiration.

At his feet lay a pile of Crimson Gold Ore—over ten catties of it—glowing with a faint, ruddy fluorescence.

Behind him, a young man in ragged clothes and heavy shackles sat comfortably on a smooth rock, watching the show with a look of idle boredom.

The scene was absurdly inverted: the burly master toiled like a slave, while the prisoner relaxed like a king.

This young man was, of course, Qi Yuan.

He had been sold to the mine by Chen Huai for five hundred Middle Grade Spirit Stones. As a young, physically robust “Foundation Building” cultivator, he fetched a premium price.

To avoid detection, he had tweaked his facial features slightly. The legendary alias “Big Qi”—a name destined to terrorize the cultivation world—had officially made its return.

So, the Steward Elder here is Situ Yun, Qi Yuan mused, rubbing his chin. An unlucky bastard exiled by the Ji clan’s political maneuvering. This makes things… complicated.

If I flash the token Ji Chan’er gave me, I could use the Ji clan’s authority to instantly free myself. But getting Situ Yun’s genuine trust? Impossible.

Situ Yun wasn’t insane. Why would he trust a seemingly random cultivator holding a token from his sworn enemies? Even if he bowed on the surface, he’d be plotting murder in his heart.

Brute force won’t work here. I need finesse.

Qi Yuan glanced at the sweating supervisor. Fortunately, I always have a Plan B.

Seeing that the shift was almost over, Qi Yuan stood up, dusted off his rags, and strolled over to the panting supervisor. He gently took the pickaxe from the man’s trembling hands.

“Listen closely,” Qi Yuan whispered, his voice smooth and hypnotic.

“You despise the new laborer, Big Qi. You brought him to this isolated tunnel to torture him with impossible quotas.”

“Under your strict, merciless supervision, Big Qi worked himself to the bone and obediently completed the task. You are very pleased with your cruelty. Tomorrow… you will do exactly the same thing.”

As he spoke, a strange purple light swirled in Qi Yuan’s dark pupils, carrying a terrifying, soul-stealing allure.

If Ji Chan’er were present, she would have instantly recognized her own signature ability: the Thousand Illusions Demon Eye!

The fat supervisor’s eyes glazed over. He nodded mechanically, his voice devoid of emotion.

“Yes… I saw it with my own eyes… Big Qi dug all the ore…”

A moment later, the supervisor’s body jerked violently. The purple haze vanished from his eyes, replaced by clarity.

He blinked, looking at Qi Yuan standing before him with the pickaxe. A surge of inexplicable rage bubbled up, and he snorted coldly.

“What are you standing there for, trash? Dreaming of freedom?”

His face twisted into a cruel scowl as he reached for the whip at his waist, raising his arm to strike.

“Hold on,” Qi Yuan said calmly, resting the pickaxe on his shoulder. “I haven’t been slacking. Quite the opposite.”

He gestured to the pile of glowing rocks. “I’ve finished the daily task. That’s over ten catties of Crimson Gold Ore. According to the rules, I’m done for the day.”

The fat supervisor paused. He was a Foundation Building peak cultivator, burly and strong. For someone of his caliber, digging ten catties shouldn’t be too hard… right?

Ten catties?

He looked down.

Sure enough, a heap of translucent, high-quality ore lay on the ground. It was easily double the standard quota of three to five catties.

The supervisor stared at Qi Yuan. The kid didn’t even look tired. He wasn’t panting, his face wasn’t red. He looked like he’d just taken a leisurely stroll.

Is this kid a natural-born mining beast?

But then, a wave of dizziness hit the supervisor.

He felt… wrong. His muscles screamed in agony, his back ached, and his robes were soaked in sweat. He felt as if he had just plowed a hundred acres of farmland by hand.

He tried to lift his whip again, but his arm trembled uncontrollably. He literally didn’t have the strength to swing it.

What the hell is going on? I just stood here watching him…

Confused and exhausted, his mind grasped for a logical explanation.

It must be that visit to the Red Pavilion a few days ago, he concluded groggily. Those demonesses sucked me dry. I’m still recovering.

Too tired to argue or mete out punishment, the fat supervisor waved his hand dismissively.

“Fine. Get lost. But you’re coming back to this pit tomorrow. If I catch you slacking then, I’ll skin you alive!”

…

Outside the mine entrance.

As the fat supervisor stumbled out, several of his colleagues gathered around, grinning maliciously.

“Hey Boss! Didn’t you say you were going to break that new kid? He just walked past us looking fresh as a daisy. Even had a spring in his step.”

The fat supervisor leaned against a support beam, trying to hide his trembling legs. He let out a cold, knowing snort.

“Fools. What you see is just a facade.”

He lowered his voice, sounding sinister. “The kid is holding on by a thread. I made him dig ten full catties of Crimson Gold today. Ten! He might be walking, but his internal organs are screaming. He’s lost half his life already.”

“I’ll make him dig another ten tomorrow. Keep that up for a few days, and he’ll simply drop dead from exhaustion. Saves us the trouble of dirtying our hands.”

Realization dawned on the other supervisors faces. They exchanged impressed glances and gave him a thumbs-up.

“Boss, you’re brilliant! Ruthless!”

“Exactly! How could anyone who offends you ever have a good ending?”