Bang! Bang! Bang!

The wooden door groaned under a violent assault, shattering the silence of the early morning.

Open up!

A rough voice roared like thunder.

Open this damn door before I kick it in!

The shouting was loud enough to choke the bark out of a nearby stray dog, sending it scampering into the shadows.

In the surrounding shacks, cultivators stirred. Heads poked out of windows, eyes snapping toward the source of the commotion. Upon seeing the dilapidated hut, sneers replaced their curiosity.

Tch. They are back for Qin Big-Mouth.

Just how deep in the hole is he?

Who knows? The man is lazy, a glutton, and would bet his own mother if the odds were right. I heard he owes the Jishan Store over a hundred Spirit Stones.

Heh. He will end up rotting in a ditch sooner or later. Mark my words.

They chuckled and whispered, watching the burly man hammer on the rotting wood with sadistic glee.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Inside, Qin Lu huddled against the cold wall, barely daring to breathe. He stared blankly at the soot-stained roof beams, his stomach churning with a mix of terror and injustice.

Why come for me? I wasn’t the one who borrowed the money.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. Qin Lu was an outsider, a soul from another world who had woken up two days ago in this godforsaken slum. He had inherited the body of a middle-aged man who had died a miserable, lonely death.

Through the fragmented memories of the original owner, he understood where he was.

A world of Cultivation. A realm of boundless imagination and terrifying power.

Somewhere out there, immortals soared through the clouds, moved mountains, and drained seas. They chased longevity, rivaling the heavens themselves. It was a world of spectacular wonders.

But those legends had nothing to do with him.

Here, he was mud.

This body was thirty-five years old, yet his cultivation had stalled at the pitiful second layer of Qi Refining.

He wasn’t a Young Master from a noble clan. He wasn’t a disciple of a righteous sect. He was a Rogue Cultivator—a nobody who had stumbled upon a ragged manual by sheer luck.

No background. No backing. No resources.

Old, weak, and destitute. In the grand hierarchy of the cultivation world, he was an ant waiting to be crushed.

If poverty was the only issue, Qin Lu could have endured it. He wasn’t greedy; he just wanted to keep his head down and survive until old age took him.

But the original owner—that bastard who shared his name—had left him a parting gift.

A truly catastrophic mess.

The original host wasn’t just a hopeless gambling addict—sneaky, slippery, and idle—he was a walking collection of vices. Buried under a mountain of debt, he had cultivated a legion of enemies.

For the two days since Qin Lu had taken over this body, the door had rattled constantly. Creditors pounded on the wood, demanding repayment. Terrified, Qin Lu remained trapped inside, living in the shadow of imminent violence.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Open up!

Pay up now, or I’ll slaughter your whole damn family!

The pounding didn’t stop. Vulgar curses rained down, targeting eighteen generations of the original owner’s ancestors.

Foul as the insults were, Qin Lu played the turtle. He had no choice. His cultivation was garbage, and he was in the wrong.

The past forty-eight hours had followed the same script. Stay silent. Hold his breath. Create the illusion of an empty house. Usually, the vultures left after a while.

But today’s visitor lacked patience.

Boom!

A thunderous crash shook the shack. The flimsy wooden door exploded inward, splintering into kindling. The simple privacy array crumbled instantly.

Qin Lu jerked upright, heart hammering. He whipped his head around.

A giant of a man, standing over six feet three inches, stomped through the ruin. His face was a mask of coarse, menacing flesh. Veins pulsed on the intruder’s arms, and rage radiated from him like heat. In two long strides, he crossed the room, looming over Qin Lu.

Fang Hu. One of the many creditors.

H-hey, w-wait… wait! Qin Lu’s face drained of color. He scrambled to his feet, hands waving in frantic surrender.

You son of a bitch, Qin Big-Mouth! I’ve been knocking for an age. Are you deaf? You owe me money and dare to play dead?

Fang Hu closed the distance. He snatched Qin Lu by the collar and, with effortless strength, hoisted the smaller man into the air. He roared into Qin Lu’s face, spittle flying.

Suspended by an iron grip, terror seized Qin Lu. He had never faced such raw aggression.

Brother Hu, spare me… I was asleep! I didn’t hear a thing—

Cut the crap! Fang Hu bellowed. Now! Right now! Give me my Spirit Stones!

Bloodshot eyes glared with murderous intent. Qin Lu knew the rules of survival: a wise man doesn’t fight when the odds are fatal.

Yes, yes! I’ll pay! Just… put me down first.

With a cold snort, Fang Hu released his grip. Qin Lu dropped, stumbling as his feet hit the floor.

I lent you twenty Spirit Stones. It’s been a month. Sect Leader plus interest is thirty-five.

Thirty-five? Qin Lu stared, aghast. That’s robbery!

Robbery? It’s written in black and white! Trying to weasel out of it?

Fang Hu whipped a crumpled paper from his robe.

Qin Lu narrowed his eyes. The ink didn’t lie. Just as Fang Hu claimed, the signature and the bloody thumbprint in the bottom right corner were undeniably his.

Damn it.

Qin Lu cursed silently. What possessed the previous owner to borrow at such usurious rates? The man must have had a death wish.

He stole a glance at the hulking figure of Fang Hu. The debt collector’s face was a mask of impatient violence. There was no bluffing his way out of this. Not today.

Qin Lu bobbed his head like a chicken pecking rice.

Yes, yes, right away, Senior…

If he didn’t pay up now, this thug would tear him limb from limb. This wasn’t a civilized world of laws, order, and harmony. Here, life was cheap. A disagreement over a few coins could end in a bloodbath. Murder and arson were as common as breathing.

After two days of digesting the fragmented memories of his predecessor, one truth had burned itself into Qin Lu’s mind: fear.

To survive, he had to be invisible. He had to endure.

He shuffled to the bed and pushed aside the moldy straw mat. From a hollowed-out nook between the rotting bed boards, he fished out a grey cloth pouch. Fingers trembling, he loosened the drawstring. Inside lay several dozen jagged, silvery fragments.

Ah… these fifty Spirit Stones are the last of my assets…

Qin Lu sighed. This was the emergency fund he had recalled only last night, the previous owner’s life-saving stash. He had planned to use this capital to start a small stall, to claw his way out of this crushing poverty.

Now, it was gone.

He reached into the pouch, intending to count out thirty-five stones for the debt collector. His fingers brushed the cold surface of the currency.

Then, he froze.

Under his touch, the solid fragments were dissolving. Bit by bit.

Huh? What is going on?

Qin Lu stared, mind blank. The Spirit Stones were vanishing into thin air without a trace. One. Two. Five.

In the span of three breaths, thirty stones evaporated.

What is this… Ah!

Before his brain could process the loss, agony lanced through his skull. It felt as if a rusty drill were boring into the space between his eyebrows. The pain was blinding. He clutched his head, a high-pitched ringing filling his ears as his vision swam.

Oi! What the hell are you screaming about?! Did you find the money or not?!

Fang Hu’s roar battered his ears from behind. But Qin Lu couldn’t answer. He could only curl into a ball, hugging his temples and howling through gritted teeth.

Mercifully, the seizure passed as quickly as it had arrived. In less than ten seconds, the drilling agony subsided into a dull throb.

Hmm?

Before Qin Lu could question his sanity, the light before his eyes began to warp. Colors bled together. A translucent blue pane materialized in the air before him.

He focused his gaze on the floating text:

[Name: Qin Lu]

[Lifespan: 35/102 Years]

[Cultivation: Qi Refining Layer 2: 60/100]

[Technique: Mystic Sun Mantra (Novice): 82/100]

[Skills: None]

[Talents: None]

Qin Lu stared at the panel, jaw slack.

What in the world…?

Qin Lu rubbed his eyes. Hard. The transparent screen did not vanish; it remained suspended in the air, shimmering silently before him.

A game interface?

A Golden Finger?

Did touching the Spirit Stone trigger it? Qin Lu wondered.

“Hey! Did you find the money or not?!”

A heavy hand slammed onto Qin Lu’s shoulder from behind.

The impact shattered his daze. The floating panel dissolved into thin air.

Qin Lu scrambled to his feet and spun around, searching Fang Hu’s eyes. There was no shock, no recognition in the other man’s gaze.

It seems only I can see it, Qin Lu muttered inwardly.

“What are you staring at? Pay up!”

Fang Hu shoved him again. Harder this time.

Qin Lu didn’t argue. He hurriedly extended the grey cloth bag, casting a wary glance at the thug’s face. His heart hammered against his ribs.

The bag felt light. Too light.

Thirty Spirit Stones had vanished into the system. Only twenty remained. It was nowhere near enough to clear the debt. He had no idea if this man would fly into a rage and kill him on the spot.

Fang Hu snatched the bag. He tossed it once, catching it with a frown. The weight was wrong. His expression darkened instantly.

“You playing games with me?” His voice dropped to a dangerous growl. “This is nowhere near enough.”

Qin Lu lowered his head, his face twisting into a mask of helplessness.

“That’s everything I have,” he said, his voice low and cautious. “Can you give me a little more time for the rest?”

Fang Hu scrutinized him, a flicker of surprise crossing his eyes.

This kid… he was different.

In the past, when pressed for money, Qin Lu would have acted the part of a shameless rogue. He would have used his slick, oily tongue to spin excuses and refused to hand over a single coin, even after a beating.

But today? He paid up readily. His attitude was honest.

I heard someone came to teach him a lesson a few days ago, Fang Hu mused. Did a beating actually change his nature?

Little did Fang Hu know, the man standing before him was no longer the gambling addict known as Qin Big Mouth.

After a tense silence, Fang Hu shoved the grey bag into his robe.

“You still owe me fifteen Spirit Stones,” he barked. “I’ll be back in ten days to collect. By then, the interest makes it twenty. If you don’t have it, you’re dead!”

Fang Hu turned and marched out without looking back.

Qin Lu watched the man retreat, then shifted his gaze to the shattered remains of his wooden door. The cold wind of the slums blew in. A bitter smile touched his lips. He looked up at the grey sky and sighed.

“Life is hard…”