The Ultimate Trash's Tenfold Return System

The last thing Tang Zhisheng remembered was the blaring horn of a delivery truck. One moment he had been crossing the street with his phone in hand, scrolling through a ridiculous web novel about some loser who got a cheat system. The next moment, a blinding white light swallowed everything.

He woke up with a mouthful of something that tasted like rotten cabbage and despair.

"Bleh!" He spat it out, coughing and gagging. His eyes snapped open to an unfamiliar sky—not the smoggy gray of his city, but a brilliant cerulean blue dotted with fluffy clouds that looked painted by a god. The air smelled… fresh. Too fresh. Like someone had cranked the "nature" dial to eleven.

But the smell beneath him was decidedly less pleasant.

Tang Zhisheng tried to sit up and immediately understood why. He was lying in a pile of trash. Not metaphorical trash. Actual, physical, stinking garbage. Rotting vegetable peels, scraps of torn cloth, broken pottery shards, and what he really hoped was mud but suspected was not.

"Did I die and reincarnate as a garbage can?" he muttered, scrambling to his feet. His voice sounded the same—a bit rough, but recognizably his own. He patted himself down. Same build? He looked at his hands. Calloused, strong, tanned, with long fingers. Definitely not his pasty, keyboard-warrior hands. He ran his palms over his face. Sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw, a nose that could cut glass.

"Whoa." He found a cracked mirror shard among the refuse and held it up. The face staring back at him was absurdly handsome. Jet-black hair fell in messy but artful strands over a forehead worthy of a romance novel cover. Deep, dark eyes with a hint of amber. Full lips. Sculpted brows. His torso under the tattered rags was… wait. He lifted the hem of his filthy shirt. Washboard abs. A goddamned eight-pack. His shoulders were broad, his arms corded with muscle.

He looked like a male model who had wrestled a bear and won.

"Okay, okay, not bad," he said to himself, grinning. "So I've transmigrated. Standard fantasy world stuff. I'm probably some young master from a fallen clan who got dumped here by my enemies, but I'm about to awaken my dormant power and—" His stomach screamed. Not metaphorically. It roared like a starving lion.

The grin vanished. "Right. Hunger. The ultimate villain." He felt his dantian, or tried to. Nothing. No qi, no mana, no spiritual energy, no internal pressure. He was an empty vessel. A gloriously handsome, jacked, completely mortal empty vessel.

"So I'm the ultimate trash." He laughed bitterly. "No cultivation, no money, no memory of this world, and I'm sleeping in a dumpster. Great. Just great."

He looked around. The alley he had woken up in was narrow and grimy, lined with more trash piles and the occasional rat scurrying by. Beyond the alley, he could hear voices, footsteps, the clatter of carts. A bustling fantasy city.

His stomach growled again. It was not going to let him ignore it.

"Fine. I've got looks. I've got muscles. I might not have cultivation, but I've got the most powerful tool in any world: shamelessness." He straightened his tattered clothes as best he could, wiped the worst of the grime from his face, and stepped out of the alley.

The city hit him like a sensory overload. Cobblestone streets, wooden buildings with carved eaves, stalls selling glowing herbs and sizzling skewers, people in flowing robes and practical tunics, the occasional cultivator flying overhead on a sword. It was straight out of every xianxia novel he'd ever read.

And he was starving.

He wandered through the crowd, his stomach announcing his presence with embarrassing growls. People glanced at him—some with annoyance, some with a flicker of interest at his face, then dismissal at his rags. No one offered food.

"I need a plan," he muttered, leaning against a wall. "I could try to work, but who hires a beggar? I could try to trick someone, but without cultivation, any random guard could beat me to a pulp. I could—"

A steaming bun cart rolled past. The aroma of pork and scallions wafted directly into his nostrils. His mouth watered. His knees buckled.

"That's it." Tang Zhisheng squared his shoulders, arranged his features into what he hoped was a pitiful expression, and plopped himself down at a busy intersection. He grabbed a broken piece of roof tile and placed it in front of him.

"Please, kind sirs and madams," he called out, his voice cracking with practiced desperation. "A poor, starving wretch with no cultivation and no family. I haven't eaten in three days. A single copper coin, a single steamed bun, anything to keep this hollow shell alive."

A few people glanced at him. A merchant's wife wrinkled her nose and walked faster. A young boy tossed a copper at his feet, more out of pity than generosity. Tang Zhisheng snatched it up.

"Thank you, young master! May your cultivation soar!"

The coin was a start, but one copper wouldn't even buy half a bun. He needed more. He looked around, spotted a wealthy-looking young man in silk robes flanked by two guards, and made a decision.

He scrambled to his feet, bowed deeply, and with the most sincere, tear-filled voice he could muster, said, "Young master! You look like a man of great fortune and even greater kindness! I am but a fallen soul, once from a proud lineage, now reduced to this. Could you spare a few silvers? I swear on my ancestors, I will repay you tenfold when fate smiles upon me!"

The young man stopped and looked down at him. "Tenfold? You have nothing. How would you repay anything?"

"I have faith," Tang Zhisheng said, straightening up and flashing his most charming smile. "And I have this face. Surely the heavens wouldn't let a face like this stay down forever."

The young man snorted, but his lips twitched. "Amusing. Here." He tossed a silver coin. It clinked on the cobblestones. "Buy yourself a meal. And a bath. You stink."

Tang Zhisheng scooped up the coin, bowed dramatically, and said, "The heavens will remember your kindness!"

As the young man walked away, Tang Zhisheng clutched the silver coin and grinned. "One silver. That's a feast. I'm going to eat until I pass out."

He hurried to a bun cart, bought four large meat buns, and devoured them in the shade of a tree, not caring about dignity or manners. The juices ran down his chin. He moaned in pleasure.

His stomach finally quieted. He leaned back against the tree trunk, patting his full belly. "Alright. First mission accomplished: survive Day One."

But as he sat there, watching the cultivators fly overhead, the merchants haggle, the children play, a single thought crystallized in his mind.

"I'm in a xianxia world. I'm a mortal with no power. That's a death sentence unless I get strong, fast." He clenched his fist. "I need a system. Every protagonist in every novel I've read gets a system. Where's mine?"

[sys: Tenfold Return System has been bound.]

Tang Zhisheng froze. A translucent blue screen appeared in his peripheral vision. He blinked. He stared. A smile spread across his face.

"Yes! Yes! I knew it! I'm the protagonist!" He almost shouted, then caught himself. He looked around. No one seemed to notice the glowing screen only he could see. "Alright, system, let's see what you got."

The screen displayed his status.

Host: Tang Zhisheng

Cultivation: None (Mortal)

Physique: Peerless Beauty (Mortal Max)

System: Tenfold Return (Elf Form)

Function: Any item, favor, or action given to the host will be returned tenfold. Spending gains tenfold returns. Kindness gains tenfold returns. Host may also actively spend spirit stones or currency to receive tenfold returns in cultivation resources or power.

Current Balance: 1 silver coin (pending tenfold return? No, spending triggers return.)

Tang Zhisheng's eyes lit up. "Tenfold? I spent one silver on four buns. So I get… ten silver worth of something back? Or ten times the nourishment?"

[sys: The four buns have been valued. Host will receive ten times the nutritional essence over the next hour, improving physical fitness slightly.]

He already felt a warmth spreading through his limbs. His muscles tingled. His fatigue faded. "Oh, this is good. This is very good."

He looked at the silver coin he had earned from begging. "I earned one silver through begging. That was an act of kindness from that young master. Does that count?"

[sys: Acts of kindness toward host are recorded. Accumulated kindness value can be exchanged for cultivation boosts. Current kindness value: 1 silver equivalent. Tenfold return available on request.]

"Exchange it," Tang Zhisheng said eagerly.

A wave of energy surged through him. His meridians, previously nonexistent, suddenly opened with a sharp, painful pop. He gasped, clutching his chest. Spiritual energy flooded into his body, circulating through channels that hadn't existed a moment before. His skin flushed, his breathing quickened.

When it faded, he was at the first level of Qi Condensation.

"Holy. Crap." He looked at his hands. A faint, golden glow lingered around his fingers. He could feel the ambient qi in the air now, like a gentle breeze against his soul. He had cultivation. Real cultivation.

He laughed out loud, drawing strange looks from passersby. He didn't care. "I'm a cultivator! I'm a beggar who just became a cultivator in one day! This is insane!"

He pushed himself to his feet, his body lighter, his senses sharper. The world looked different—more vibrant, more detailed. He could hear conversations from three blocks away, smell the spices in a restaurant two streets over.

"Alright system," he said, cracking his neck. "Let's see how far this tenfold return can take me. I started as trash, but I'm not going to stay that way." He grinned, his eyes alight with mischief and ambition. "Time to turn this ultimate trash into an ultimate something else."

He strolled back into the city, a spring in his step, a plan forming in his mind. Begging had gotten him a silver and a cultivation start. But he needed more. Much more. And with a tenfold return system, every investment was a jackpot.

He was going to be the richest, most shameless, most ridiculously powerful beggar this world had ever seen.

The morning sun cast long shadows across the cobblestone streets of Greencloud Town, and Tang Zhisheng felt every one of those shadows as a personal insult.

He had been here for three days. Three days of hunger, three days of rejection, three days of being treated like a stain on the ground that people wished would just wash away. His once-immaculate transmigrator's robes—standard-issue by the System, apparently—were now filthy and torn, his heavenly good looks smudged with dirt and exhaustion.

"Move along, beggar!" a merchant snarled, kicking a bucket of water in his direction. Tang Zhisheng dodged with a yelp, the cold splash catching his leg anyway.

"Hey, I'm not a beggar! I'm a cultivator! Well, I will be. Eventually. Give me a few decades." He straightened his back, puffing out his chest. The merchant snorted and turned away.

That was the pattern. Everywhere he went, the same story. The innkeeper refused him a room. "Pay with what, your charming smile?" The apothecary laughed him out of the shop. "Qi deviation pills? You can't even sense qi, boy. You're less than mortal. You're trash."

And the worst part? They weren't wrong.

Tang Zhisheng slumped against a wall, watching the townspeople flow past like fish ignoring a drowning insect. His stomach growled with the ferocity of a demon beast. He hadn't eaten in two days. The System had given him a beautiful little elf and a tenfold return mechanic, but no starter pack of silver coins. No "beginner's luck" meal ticket. Just him and his wits.

And his wits were currently screaming, *Steal a bun. You idiot. You will die if you don't eat.*

He saw the stall. A fat, steaming basket of pork buns sat unattended while the vendor argued with a customer about the price of ginger. The aroma hit Tang Zhisheng like a physical blow—warm, savory, life-giving. His mouth flooded with saliva.

"Just one," he whispered to himself. "One little bun. It's not like I'm robbing a bank. It's property crime with a face of desperation."

He moved.

His body, still weak but blessed with the original owner's muscular frame, carried him forward in a low, stealthy crouch. He reached the basket, fingers closing around the edge of a bun—

"THIEF!"

The vendor's roar shattered the morning calm. Tang Zhisheng didn't think. He ran.

The bun was in his hand, hot and greasy. He shoved half of it into his mouth as he sprinted, the pork filling burning his tongue but tasting like heaven. Behind him, the vendor had grabbed a cleaver and was giving chase with surprising speed for a man of his girth.

"Stop! I'll chop your hand off!"

"Sorry, need both hands for cultivation!" Tang Zhisheng shouted back, chewing furiously.

He ducked into an alley, then another, his bare feet slapping against the muddy ground. He crashed into a stack of crates, sent a flock of chickens scattering, vaulted over a low wall, and tumbled into a vegetable garden on the other side. An old woman screamed and swung a broom at his head. He rolled, scrambled up, and kept running.

By the time he emerged onto the main road again, the vendor had given up, shaking his cleaver and cursing his lineage. Tang Zhisheng slowed to a walk, stuffing the last of the bun into his mouth, breathing hard. He was alive. He had food in his belly. That was a win.

But his clothes were now decorated with cabbage leaves and chicken feathers.

"Classy," he muttered, picking a feather from his hair. "Really setting the bar high for the reborn protagonist."

As night fell, Tang Zhisheng found himself at the edge of town, where the buildings gave way to wild grass and the flickering light of a single broken lantern. There, half-hidden by overgrown weeds, stood a dilapidated temple. The roof sagged, the doors hung on one hinge, and the statue inside had long lost its face to weather and neglect.

He pushed the door open. It creaked like a dying animal.

Inside, the temple was empty save for a pile of moldy straw in the corner and the broken remnants of an incense burner. Moonlight streamed through a hole in the ceiling, painting a pale white circle on the dusty floor. Tang Zhisheng collapsed against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting in the straw.

"Great. Just great." He stared at the hole in the roof. "I die in my old world, escape the debt collectors, and wake up here. In a cultivation world. With a system that gives me tenfold returns on everything I do. Sounds amazing, right?"

He laughed, and it came out bitter.

"I can't even cultivate. I can't see qi. I'm so garbage that even the system's little elf won't talk to me unless I complete a mission. And what mission do I get? 'Survive for thirty days.' That's it. That's the tutorial."

He pulled his knees up, wrapping his arms around them. The cold was seeping through his torn robes. He could hear rats scratching in the shadows.

"If this were a novel, I'd already be finding some heavenly treasure in a cave or meeting a beautiful female master who takes me under her wing." He snorted. "But no. I'm stealing buns and sleeping in a haunted temple. My life is a comedy of errors, and I'm the punchline."

The wind howled, and the temple groaned. Somewhere in the darkness, an owl hooted.

Tang Zhisheng closed his eyes. "I just want a bath. And a bed. And maybe a manual that explains why I couldn't have been born with at least a spirit root. Any spirit root. Even a rotten one."

Silence answered him.

He lay down in the straw, curling into a ball to conserve heat. Tomorrow, he would try again. He would find a way to earn money, to start cultivating, to matter. But tonight, he was just a hungry, cold, miserable transmigrator in a broken temple, fighting the urge to cry.

"System," he whispered. "If you can hear me, send help. Or at least a blanket."

No response. Just the wind and the rats.

Tang Zhisheng sighed and let his eyes drift shut. "I guess this is rock bottom," he murmured. "Only way is up, right? ...Right?"

Tang Zhisheng meandered through the bustling market street of Clearwind Town, his empty pockets jingling with nothing but hope and a few copper coins he'd scrounged from the mud the day before. The morning sun cast long shadows across the cobblestones, and the smell of steamed buns and grilled meat made his stomach growl like an angry beast.

"Did you hear? The Heavenly Mystery Sect is holding a recruitment drive at the town square!" a burly merchant shouted to his companion as they passed.

"Right here in Clearwind? Which elder is overseeing it?"

"I heard it's Elder Feng. They're looking for disciples with spiritual roots—anyone under twenty-five can try."

Tang Zhisheng's ears perked up like a dog spotting a fallen sausage. *Heavenly Mystery Sect?* That was one of the three great sects of the Eastern Continent, renowned for its ancient cultivation arts and formidable powerhouses. Back in his original world, he'd read about such sects in countless web novels, never imagining he'd be standing in the same universe where they actually existed.

He stopped walking, turning to watch the two merchants disappear into the crowd. A grin spread across his face—that same shameless, slightly crazed grin that had gotten him thrown out of three jobs in his previous life. *This is it. My golden opportunity!*

But then reality crashed down. He was a mortal. A complete and utter trash with zero cultivation base. The original Tang Zhisheng had been tested at age twelve and found to possess only a single low-grade spiritual root—so bad the tester had actually laughed out loud. Since then, he'd been nothing but a street rat, scavenging for scraps and dodging debt collectors.

"Still," Tang Zhisheng muttered to himself, scratching his stubbly chin, "what's the worst that could happen? They kick me out? Big deal. I've been kicked out of better places than a sect recruitment."

He adjusted his tattered robes—more holes than fabric, really—and began walking toward the town square with renewed determination. His muscular frame, honed from years of manual labor and desperate street fights, cut an imposing figure despite the rags. Combined with his heavenly handsome face, he looked like a fallen prince who'd been robbed by bandits.

As he rounded the corner, the town square opened before him. A massive platform had been erected overnight, draped in azure banners embroidered with golden clouds and celestial formations. At its center sat an ancient stone tablet, and beside it stood three cultivators in pristine white robes, their auras so dense that the air around them seemed to ripple.

A crowd of at least two hundred young people had already gathered, their faces a mixture of hope and anxiety. Parents clutched their children's shoulders, whispering encouragements. A few wealthy-looking youths wore expensive cultivation robes and carried spirit stones dangling from their belts—obviously from families with resources.

Tang Zhisheng whistled lowly. "Fancy."

He pushed through the crowd, ignoring the disgusted looks from people who smelled his unwashed clothes. One portly young master wrinkled his nose and stepped back as if Tang Zhisheng carried the plague.

"What is *that* doing here?" the young master sneered to his friend. "Does he think the Heavenly Mystery Sect takes in beggars?"

"Probably just here to gawk," his friend replied with a laugh. "Someone should tell him garbage belongs in the gutter."

Tang Zhisheng's grin only widened. He turned to face them, arms spread wide. "Garbage? Me? Gentlemen, you wound me! I'll have you know I am the finest piece of trash this town has ever produced. Why, I can decompose organic matter faster than any cultivator can form a fireball! It's a natural talent."

The two young masters stared at him in stunned silence, unsure how to respond to someone who proudly called himself trash.

"You're insane," the portly one finally said.

"Possibly!" Tang Zhisheng agreed cheerfully. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a sect to join."

He strode toward the registration table, ignoring the chuckles and whispers that followed him. A female cultivator in her twenties sat behind the table, reviewing applications with practiced efficiency. Her long black hair was tied in a simple ponytail, and her eyes held the sharpness of someone who had seen countless hopefuls come and go.

"Name?" she asked without looking up.

"Tang Zhisheng, age eighteen, male, single, loves long walks on the beach and—"

"Just the name." She finally glanced up, and her eyebrows shot upward. For a moment, she seemed to struggle between recognition and disbelief. "You're *that* Tang Zhisheng? The one who failed the test six years ago?"

"The very same! I've improved since then." He puffed out his chest.

The female cultivator, whose name tag read "Lin Mei," sighed and set down her brush. "The Heavenly Mystery Sect's recruitment is for those with spiritual talent. You were tested before. Your results were... recorded."

"Low-grade spiritual root, I know. But I hear people can change! Maybe my roots grew stronger. Maybe I ate the right vegetables."

Lin Mei's lips twitched—whether in annoyance or amusement, he couldn't tell. "Cultivation talent is innate. It doesn't change based on diet."

"But I have something better than talent!" Tang Zhisheng declared, leaning forward conspiratorially. "I have determination! And charm!" He winked.

A few people in line behind him groaned. One old man muttered something about "wasting the immortal's time."

Lin Mei looked him over again, her gaze lingering on his muscular frame and handsome face. Against her better judgment, she found herself curious. "Fine. Put your hand on the spiritual testing tablet. If you register even a single trace of elemental affinity, we'll process your application. If not... you leave quietly."

"Deal!"

Tang Zhisheng stepped up to the stone tablet. It was a smooth, dark slab about the size of a dinner plate, etched with swirling runes that seemed to drink the light. He placed his right hand on its surface.

Nothing happened.

The crowd held their breath. Lin Mei watched intently. Seconds passed. A full ten-count. The tablet remained cold and dark.

Then, just as Lin Mei was about to call it, a faint flicker of blue light pulsed at the center of the tablet. It was weak, barely visible, like a candle flame in a hurricane. But it was there.

Lin Mei's eyes widened. "Impossible. You have... water affinity? Barely. It's like a single drop in a desert."

Tang Zhisheng felt a surge of triumph. *The system must be working!* He hadn't activated any abilities yet, but something was definitely different about his body. "See? I told you! Vegetables!"

The crowd murmured in surprise. The two young masters who had mocked him earlier wore expressions of utter disbelief.

Lin Mei shook her head slowly and picked up her brush. "Against all reason, you have passed the basic screening. Tang Zhisheng, you are hereby a preliminary applicant. Report to the training grounds tomorrow at dawn. Fail the second test, and you're out."

"Yes! Thank you, immortal!" Tang Zhisheng bowed so low his forehead nearly touched the ground. "You will not regret this! I will become the greatest cultivator this world has ever seen!"

"I don't doubt you'll try," Lin Mei said dryly, waving him away. "Next applicant!"

Tang Zhisheng practically skipped out of the square, his heart thumping with excitement. He had a foot in the door! A real, actual cultivation sect! Sure, the second test was tomorrow, and he had zero cultivation knowledge, zero spirit stones, zero training, and a body that was basically a walking garbage heap. But none of that mattered.

Because he had a system.

And a plan.

Even if that plan currently consisted of "show up and hope for the best," it was still a plan.

As he walked back toward his makeshift shelter under the eastern bridge, he couldn't stop grinning. *Heavenly Mystery Sect, here I come. Just you wait—I'm going to turn this trash into treasure.*

Tang Zhisheng stood at the edge of the dusty road, one hand shielding his eyes from the sun, the other clutching a small cloth bundle that held everything he owned—a change of clothes and three dry mantou he’d swiped from a roadside stall. The road stretched ahead, winding through rolling hills and past terraced rice paddies, vanishing into the mist-shrouded peaks of the Heavenly Mystery Sect’s outer range. He had no map, no horse, and—most critically—no cultivation base to speak of.

“Right,” he muttered to himself, grinning. “Time to put that legendary charm to work.”

He stuck out his thumb. Nothing happened. He adjusted his stance, leaned one shoulder forward, and put on his most pitiful expression. “Kind cultivators! Benevolent travelers! I’m just a poor, good-looking mortal boy trying to reach the sect! Spare a ride?”

A rickety oxcart trundled past, the driver a grizzled man with a pipe clamped between his teeth. He took one look at Tang Zhisheng’s perfectly sculpted face, his broad shoulders and disarmingly bright smile, and flicked the reins without slowing. The ox snorted and kept moving.

Tang Zhisheng jogged after it. “Uncle! Uncle, you forgot to pick me up! I’ll wash your cart! I’ll massage your ox! He looks tense!”

The driver spat. “Kid, I got no time for beggars.”

“I’m not a beggar! I’m a future great cultivator! I’ll owe you a favor!” He kept pace easily, his muscular frame built for stamina even if his meridians were as blocked as a clogged drain.

The driver waved a dismissive hand and the cart pulled away. Tang Zhisheng stopped, shrugged, and turned back to the road. “Alright, game plan two: walk until something happens.”

Something did happen, about two hours later.

A gust of wind kicked up dust ahead, and three figures appeared around a bend—young men, all around his age, wearing clean blue robes with silver trim. They walked with a bounce in their steps, carrying swords at their hips and smug expressions on their faces. Tang Zhisheng brightened. Fellow pilgrims. Or, more accurately, fellow applicants.

He jogged up to them, waving. “Hey! Hey, brothers! Heading to Heavenly Mystery Sect too?”

The lead cultivator—tall, with a sharp nose and a permanent sneer—looked him up and down. His gaze lingered on Tang Zhisheng’s plain, patched clothes, then on the complete absence of any spiritual energy. “You? You’re going to the Heavenly Mystery Sect?” He laughed, short and scornful. “What for? They don’t take mortals as disciples.”

“Yet,” Tang Zhisheng said cheerfully. “They don’t take mortals yet. I’m going to change that.”

The second cultivator, a stocky kid with a buzzcut, snorted. “Look at him. No qi aura at all. You’re a waste. A complete waste of skin. Why not go herd sheep? That’s all you’ll ever be good for.”

The third one, younger and more hesitant, tugged at his robe. “Maybe we shouldn’t be rude—”

“Shut up, Lin Wei.” The leader stepped closer to Tang Zhisheng, so close that Tang could smell the cheap incense perfume on his robes. “Listen, waste. The Heavenly Mystery Sect’s entrance exam is in two days. They test for talent, spirit root, cultivation base—all things you have none of. You’ll be turned away at the gate. If you’re smart, you’ll turn around now and save yourself the humiliation.”

Tang Zhisheng’s grin never wavered. He clasped his hands behind his head and rocked back on his heels. “Waste, huh? You know, I’ve been called worse. Just last week a chicken called me a loser. And I looked that chicken in the eye and said, ‘Yeah, maybe, but at least I’m not getting roasted for dinner.’ The chicken didn’t have a comeback. I respect a good argument.”

The lead cultivator blinked, thrown off. “What… what are you talking about?”

“I’m saying that names don’t stick unless you let them.” Tang Zhisheng poked a finger at his own chest. “You call me a waste, but I’m standing here, walking the same road as you, heading to the same sect. That means either I’m too dumb to know I’m a waste, or I know something you don’t.”

He leaned in, eyes dancing with mischief. “Guess which one it is?”

The stocky cultivator’s face reddened. “He’s just putting on a brave face. Let’s go. Ignore the trash.”

But the leader hesitated. There was something in Tang Zhisheng’s eyes—something unshakable, a confidence that had no right to be there. He frowned. “You’re insane.”

“Probably,” Tang Zhisheng agreed. “But insane people have the most fun. And hey, if I get rejected, at least I’ll have a good story to tell. You guys? You’ll just be three more cultivators nobody remembers. I’d rather be a memorable failure than a forgettable success.”

He stepped past them, still smiling, and began whistling a tune from his old world—something upbeat and catchy. The three cultivators stood frozen, watching him go.

After a long moment, the young one named Lin Wei murmured, “He’s not afraid of anything, is he?”

“He’s a fool,” the leader snapped, but there was less venom in his voice now. “Come on. We’ve wasted enough time.”

They overtook him quickly—cultivators in decent shape could easily outpace a mortal walking—but as they passed, Tang Zhisheng threw them a cheerful salute and a wink. “See you at the mountain gate! Try not to trip on your own egos!”

The stocky one muttered a curse, but Lin Wei glanced back with a reluctant smile.

Tang Zhisheng kept walking, his legs starting to ache but his spirit bright. The sun climbed higher, and the peaks of the Heavenly Mystery Sect grew clearer with every step—soaring cliffs draped in silver waterfalls, pagodas peeking through clouds, and a massive stone gate that gleamed like polished jade.

He felt the weight of the road, of his own weak mortal body, but also the thrill of possibility. In his mind, the system’s voice—that sweet, chiming elf tone—piped up.

[Host is in good spirits! Optimism is a hidden multiplier! Keep smiling and the returns will be ten times sweeter!]

Tang Zhisheng laughed out loud, startling a passing sparrow. “See? Even the system agrees with me. Trash today, trash tomorrow, but the day after that?” He spread his arms wide to the empty road. “Who knows?”

He picked up the pace, legs pounding the dirt, heart full of audacious hope. Behind him, the three cultivators had already vanished around the next bend. Ahead, the Heavenly Mystery Sect’s gate loomed like a promise.

He’d make it there. Even if he had to crawl. And when he did, he’d walk right through that gate, smile on his face, and start flipping the entire cultivation world upside down.

One laugh at a time.

The morning sun had barely breached the peaks when the mountain gate of the Heavenly Mystery Sect became a sea of bodies. Young men and women, clad in everything from silk robes to patched hemp, pressed together like fish in a barrel, their voices rising in a chaotic symphony of excitement and nerves. Some clutched tokens of recommendation, others whispered prayers to whatever ancestors they hoped might bless them. All of them dreamed of one thing—passing the spiritual root test and becoming an outer disciple.

Tang Zhisheng stood near the back of the line, his muscular frame towering over most of the crowd. He wore a simple gray robe that did little to hide his physique, and his heavenly good looks drew more than a few stares—both admiring and envious. He didn't mind. In fact, he grinned at a flustered girl who kept sneaking glances, causing her to turn beet red and hide behind her friend.

"System, you seeing this?" he muttered under his breath. "I'm a natural-born heartthrob."

A faint, ethereal voice echoed in his mind, tinged with sarcasm. *You're a natural-born idiot. Focus on the test, or your heartthrob career ends before it starts.*

"Rude," Tang said, but he kept smiling. He had no intention of failing. The whole point of transmigrating was to live a life of glory, not to rot in some mortal village. And with the Tenfold Return System at his side—even if she had the personality of a grumpy elf—he was confident.

The line crawled forward at a glacial pace. The sect disciple managing registration was a gaunt young man with a permanent sneer, his robes marked with the insignia of an inner disciple. He waved each candidate forward with the enthusiasm of someone stamping documents, barked a few questions, then sent them off to touch the spiritual testing stone. Most walked away looking defeated. A few cheered. The majority just looked confused.

Tang yawned, stretching his arms above his head. He was about to make another comment to his system when a sharp shove hit his shoulder. A young man in expensive blue silk had sidled up beside him and, without so much as a word, stepped directly in front of him.

The queue-cutter was tall and lean, with a sharp chin and eyes that held the arrogance of someone who had never been told no. He adjusted his sleeve and acted as if the space had always belonged to him.

Tang blinked. Then he grinned.

"Hey, buddy," he said, his voice loud enough to turn heads. "You take a wrong turn at the 'I'm an entitled jerk' intersection?"

The young man glanced back, his expression cold. "Watch your mouth, peasant. Do you know who I am?"

"I don't," Tang said cheerfully. "But I'm guessing your mom still does your laundry, so that's a solid clue."

A ripple of laughter ran through the nearby crowd. The young man's face reddened. "You're asking for trouble."

"Actually, I'm asking for my spot back." Tang reached out, grabbed the silk-clad shoulder with a hand that looked like it could crush stone, and pulled. The young man stumbled backward, off balance, and Tang sidestepped into the vacated space as smoothly as a dancer. "There. Much better. Try that again, and I'll tie your robes into a knot. Don't test me—I'm resourceful."

The young man sputtered, his hand going to a sword at his waist, but a sharp cough from the registration disciple stopped him cold. The gaunt disciple had been watching the entire exchange with narrowed eyes, his sneer deepening.

"No fighting at the gate," the disciple said, his tone bored. "Next."

The young man shot Tang a venomous glare but fell back, muttering curses. Tang gave him a cheerful wave. "Nice robes, by the way. Really brings out the 'my dad has money' look."

The line moved on. When Tang finally reached the front, the registration disciple looked him up and down with obvious disdain. The gray robe, the lack of any family crest, the dirt on his shoes—Tang screamed "nobody" from every angle.

"Name?" the disciple asked, not bothering to look at him.

"Tang Zhisheng. But you can call me 'The Future Sect Master' if you want to get ahead of things."

The disciple's quill paused. He looked up slowly, his expression one of pure disbelief seasoned with contempt. "Funny. You'll need a spiritual root for that joke to land. Place your hand on the testing stone."

Tang stepped forward, ignoring the muffled snickers from those behind him. The testing stone was a rough-hewn slab of obsidian, polished to a mirror sheen, with ancient runes carved along its edges. It sat on a pedestal, radiating a faint, cold energy.

He placed his palm flat against its surface.

Nothing happened.

The silence stretched. A few people snickered. The disciple sighed, already reaching for a rejection token. "Figured as much. Another waste of—"

The stone hummed.

It started as a low vibration, barely perceptible, then grew into a deep thrum that shook the pedestal. The runes began to glow—first a pale yellow, then green, then a brilliant gold that hurt to look at. The light surged up Tang's arm, enveloping his entire body in a corona of radiant energy.

The crowd gasped. The registration disciple's jaw dropped, his quill clattering to the table.

Tang felt a warmth spread through his meridians, a sensation like every cell in his body suddenly waking up. It was exhilarating. It was terrifying. It was—

*Warning,* the system's voice cut in, sharp and urgent. *Stone's overload threshold reached in 3... 2...*

*Crack.*

A spiderweb of fractures spread across the testing stone's surface. Then, with a sound like a thunderclap, it exploded.

Shards of obsidian rained down like black hail. The registration disciple dove behind his table, covering his head. Several nearby candidates screamed. Tang stood in the center of the chaos, completely unharmed, a fine layer of black dust settling over his shoulders.

He looked at his hand. Then at the shattered remains of the stone. Then at the disciple, who was peeking out from behind the splintered wood with eyes as wide as dinner plates.

"Uh," Tang said. "Is that... good?"

The testing plaza buzzed with the restless energy of hundreds of disciples. White stone tiles gleamed under the morning sun, and the massive spirit-testing pillar at the center rose like a jade finger pointing at the heavens. Senior disciples lined the edges, arms crossed, sneers already forming on their lips. New disciples stood in clusters, some trembling, others puffed with false confidence.

Tang Zhisheng stood near the back of the line, arms loosely crossed, a lazy smile plastered on his face. To anyone watching, he looked completely at ease—unbothered, even amused. Inside, his heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird.

*Come on, system. Any last-minute power-ups? A hidden talent? A secret bloodline?*

[Host, your current stats are: mortal. No hidden talents. No special bloodlines. Suggest you brace for impact.]

*Great. Just great.*

Yun Xi stood apart from the crowd, her tiny form perched on a low stone wall. Her twin-tails swayed as she tilted her head, watching the proceedings with an unreadable expression. She had said nothing since they arrived, only giving him a single flat look that seemed to say *don't embarrass me*.

The disciple in front of Tang Zhisheng stepped up to the pillar. He placed his palm flat against the polished surface. A brilliant blue light erupted from the stone, swirling with flecks of silver. The crowd murmured appreciatively.

“Spiritual root: High-grade Water. Cultivation speed: three times normal.”

The disciple beamed and stepped back, head held high. The examiner, a gaunt elder with a ledger, nodded and made a note.

Then it was Tang Zhisheng’s turn.

He walked forward with easy, confident strides. His muscular frame drew a few appreciative whispers from the female disciples, but most eyes were already sharpening with anticipation. Everyone had heard the rumors—the master of Yun Xi, the Mahayana loli herself, had accepted a mortal as her disciple. The trash of the outer sect. The joke.

Tang Zhisheng stopped before the pillar. It was taller than him, smooth and cool, pulsing with a faint inner light. He could feel the weight of a thousand stares on his back.

*Alright. Time to sell it.*

He placed his hand on the stone.

For a long, agonizing moment, nothing happened.

Then a dim, muddy light flickered deep within the pillar—like a candle struggling in a hurricane. It pulsed weakly, barely visible, a sickly grey-yellow that had no color, no definition. No element. No grade. Just... nothing.

The silence stretched for one second. Two.

Then the laughter began.

It started near the front—a sharp, barking laugh from a tall disciple with a scarred cheek. It spread like wildfire. Snickers. Guffaws. Hoots of disbelief.

“Trash root! Absolute trash!”

“He doesn’t even have a root—that’s just residual qi from the stone!”

“Even a handyman needs *some* affinity. This guy’s worse than a rock!”

The examiner looked down at the ledger, then back up at the dim stone. He cleared his throat, his expression one of bored contempt. “Spiritual root: Mortal-grade. No elemental affinity. Cultivation speed: negligible. No sect placement.”

More laughter. Someone clapped mockingly.

Tang Zhisheng’s stomach dropped into a cold, bottomless void. His fingers curled against the stone, and for a fraction of a second, his composure cracked. His smile flickered, and something raw and vulnerable flashed in his eyes—a brief, naked moment of despair.

Then he caught himself.

He pulled his hand back slowly, deliberately, and turned to face the crowd. His smile returned, wider than before, sharp and unbothered. He spread his arms in an exaggerated shrug.

“Well, I guess that’s one way to stand out. Who wants to be average, right?”

A few people laughed at him, not with him. He didn’t care.

He stepped away from the pillar and walked back toward Yun Xi, his pace unhurried, his shoulders loose. He passed by whispering disciples who pointed and giggled. He ignored them all.

When he reached Yun Xi, she was staring at him with an expression he couldn’t quite read—annoyance, pity, or something else entirely.

“Told you,” she said flatly.

“You sure did,” Tang Zhisheng replied, his voice light. “But hey—you picked me anyway. That’s got to count for something.”

She huffed and turned away, but not before he caught the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

His heart was still pounding. His hands were trembling, just slightly, hidden behind his back.

*Tenfold return system,* he thought bitterly. *Great. I spent ten times the effort to get ten times the humiliation.*

But he kept smiling.

Always keep smiling.

Tang Zhisheng lay sprawled on the hard stone ground outside Yun Xi's cave dwelling, staring up at the gray sky through half-lidded eyes. The cold seeped through his thin robes, biting into his skin like a thousand tiny needles. His body ached from the aftermath of Yun Xi's training sessions—bruises layered upon bruises, muscles screaming in protest with every shallow breath.

"Pathetic," he muttered to himself, a bitter laugh escaping his cracked lips. "Absolutely pathetic."

He had been in this world for three days now. Three days of being called the ultimate trash. Three days of failing to cultivate even a single strand of spiritual energy. Three days of watching disciples half his age soar through basic techniques while he couldn't even sense the qi flowing through his own meridians.

The memory of those sneering faces in the training yard flashed through his mind. The way they had laughed when he collapsed after trying to circulate energy through his blocked channels. The way even the outer disciples whispered behind his back.

"Did you hear? The sect master actually took him as a personal disciple."

"Such a waste of resources. That Yun Xi might be a Mahayana stage powerhouse, but even she can't polish a turd into gold."

Tang Zhisheng clenched his fists, feeling the rough gravel dig into his palms. He wanted to scream. He wanted to rage against the heavens for cursing him with this useless body. But what good would that do? He was stuck here, in this world, in this worthless vessel.

"Maybe I should just—"

A sudden warmth bloomed in the center of his chest.

Tang Zhisheng's eyes snapped open. The warmth spread rapidly, flowing through his limbs like liquid fire, chasing away the cold that had settled into his bones. He scrambled upright, pressing a hand to his sternum where the heat was most intense.

"What the—"

Before he could finish the thought, a crisp female voice rang out inside his mind. Crystal clear. Direct. As if someone was standing right next to him, speaking directly into his ear.

"Congratulations, host! The Tenfold Return System has successfully bound to your soul."

Tang Zhisheng froze. His mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. "System? Did I hit my head that hard?"

A giggle echoed through his consciousness. "Harder than you think, host. But no, you are not hallucinating. Allow me to introduce myself."

A soft golden light materialized before him, coalescing into a shape no larger than his palm. Tang Zhisheng's eyes widened as the light solidified into a miniature female figure hovering in the air at eye level. She was barely ten centimeters tall, with flowing silver hair that cascaded down to her tiny feet. Her eyes sparkled like amethysts, and her features were impossibly delicate, like a porcelain doll come to life.

She wore a flowing dress made of what appeared to be starlight, and translucent wings fluttered behind her back, scattering motes of golden energy with every beat.

"I am the Tenfold Return System," she announced, striking a pose with her hands on her tiny hips. "Pleased to finally meet you, Tang Zhisheng."

Tang Zhisheng blinked. Then blinked again. He reached out a trembling finger, poking gently at the miniature figure. His finger passed right through her, encountering no resistance, yet he could feel the warmth radiating from her presence.

"You're... real?"

"As real as that pathetic excuse for a cultivation base you're carrying around." The system tilted her head, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. "But don't worry, host. That's about to change."

Tang Zhisheng's heart hammered against his ribs. He had read about systems in the novels from his old world. Cheat codes. Power-ups. The ultimate shortcut to becoming invincible. But to actually have one in front of him?

"What do you mean? How are you going to help me?" His voice came out hoarse, desperate.

The system crossed her tiny arms, floating in a lazy circle around his head. "Simple, host. The Tenfold Return System operates on a very straightforward principle." She stopped directly in front of his nose, looking him straight in the eyes. "Any resource you invest will be returned to you tenfold."

Tang Zhisheng's brow furrowed. "Resources? What kind of resources?"

"Cultivation resources, primarily. Spiritual stones, medicinal pills, spirit herbs, cultivation techniques—anything that can be used to enhance your power." She spread her arms wide, as if presenting a grand stage. "When you use these resources, the system will multiply the effect by ten times. Ten times the spiritual energy absorption. Ten times the medicinal efficacy. Ten times the technique comprehension speed."

The words hit Tang Zhisheng like a thunderbolt. His mind raced, processing the implications. If he took a single low-grade spiritual stone and tried to absorb its energy, he would get the equivalent of ten stones. If he consumed a basic qi gathering pill, it would work like ten pills combined.

"I..." He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. "That means I can actually cultivate?"

"You can do more than cultivate, host." The system's smile turned sly. "You can surpass everyone. Climb to heights that those arrogant geniuses can only dream of." She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "With my power, you can go from trash to titan. From zero to hero. All you need to do is invest."

Tang Zhisheng's hands were shaking now. He looked down at his palms, rough and calloused from manual labor, stained with dirt and dried blood. These hands had failed at everything they tried in this world. But now...

"How do I start?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

The system beamed. "Open your spiritual perception and examine your storage ring. You'll find a small pile of low-grade spiritual stones that your master gave you earlier today."

Tang Zhisheng obeyed immediately, closing his eyes and extending his barely-existent spiritual sense toward the ring on his finger. Inside, he could just barely make out the dim shapes of a few items—a change of clothes, a water flask, and yes, a small stack of dull gray spiritual stones. He had completely forgotten about them in his despair.

"Take one out," the system instructed.

He did, the stone cold and rough in his palm. It was the lowest quality spiritual stone available, containing barely enough energy to fuel a single basic technique. Most disciples wouldn't even bother with such trash.

"Now try to absorb its energy," the system said. "Just like your master taught you."

Tang Zhisheng hesitated. He had tried this dozens of times already, and every attempt had ended in failure. His meridians were blocked, his dantian was sealed, his spirit root was nonexistent. Every cultivation method he attempted fizzled out before it even began.

"Trust me," the system said, her voice softening.

Taking a deep breath, Tang Zhisheng closed his eyes and began the breathing technique Yun Xi had drilled into him. He concentrated on the spiritual stone in his hand, trying to draw the thin strands of energy from it into his body. As before, he felt nothing. The stone sat inert in his palm, mocking his efforts.

"I can't do it," he muttered, frustration building in his chest.

"Don't stop," the system urged. "I'm activating now."

A surge of power erupted from the center of his chest, traveling down his arm and into the spiritual stone. The gray stone suddenly blazed with brilliant light, and Tang Zhisheng gasped as a flood of pure spiritual energy exploded into his body.

It was like a dam had burst.

The energy rushed through his meridians, not gently like Yun Xi had described it should, but like a raging river tearing through a narrow gorge. It hurt. It burned. Tang Zhisheng gritted his teeth as the energy slammed against the blockages in his channels, breaking through them one by one with explosive force.

His body arched off the ground, muscles straining as wave after wave of spiritual energy coursed through him. The stone in his hand crumbled to dust, completely drained, but the energy kept coming. Ten times the normal amount. Ten times the effect.

When it finally subsided, Tang Zhisheng collapsed back onto the stone ground, panting heavily. Sweat soaked through his robes, and his whole body trembled with exhaustion. But inside, he could feel something different. Something amazing.

His meridians were clear.

Not fully, perhaps. But the major blockages that had prevented him from cultivating were gone. Spiritual energy flowed through his channels like a gentle stream, weak but steady. For the first time since arriving in this world, he could actually feel the qi in the air around him.

He looked up at the tiny system still hovering before him, a grin spreading across his face despite his exhaustion. "It worked."

"Of course it worked," the system replied, puffing out her tiny chest. "I told you, didn't I? Tenfold returns on all investments." She floated down and landed on his shoulder, sitting cross-legged like a tiny fairy. "And that was just a low-grade stone. Imagine what will happen when you invest something truly valuable."

Tang Zhisheng's grin widened. He sat up, feeling the newfound energy pulsing through his body. The despair that had weighed him down just minutes ago was gone, replaced by a burning determination.

"Yun Xi," he said, his voice steady for the first time in days. "Master. She's been trying so hard to help me. She's the only one who didn't give up."

"The loli master with the twin-tails?" the system asked. "She certainly dotes on you, for someone who calls you trash every five minutes."

Tang Zhisheng laughed, the sound genuine and full of life. "That's her way of showing care. She's a tsundere through and through. But she's been pouring resources into me, hoping something would stick."

"Then let's make sure her investment pays off," the system said, her eyes gleaming. "Use what she gives you, and I'll multiply it. Show her that her faith wasn't misplaced."

Tang Zhisheng climbed to his feet, dusting off his robes. His body still ached, his muscles still screamed, but for the first time, it felt like the pain meant something. Like every drop of sweat and blood was leading somewhere.

"System," he said, looking up at the sky. "How far can I go with your help?"

"All the way to the top, host." The system's voice was confident, almost smug. "But it won't be easy. You'll need to invest constantly. Take risks. Bet everything on each throw of the dice. Can you do that?"

Tang Zhisheng thought of Yun Xi. Of her fierce protectiveness hidden behind a mask of harsh words. Of the way she had taken him in despite his reputation. Of the late nights she spent trying to force cultivation techniques into his stubborn body.

Then he thought of all the disciples who had laughed at him. The elders who had dismissed him. The world that had labeled him trash.

"I can do that," he said, a dangerous smile curling his lips.

The system chuckled, her tiny form shimmering with golden light. "Excellent. Then let's get to work, host. The path to power begins now."

Tang Zhisheng turned and started walking back toward the cave dwelling. This time, when he looked at the path ahead, he didn't see an insurmountable mountain. He saw a ladder, each step waiting to be climbed.

And with the Tenfold Return System by his side, he was ready to take those steps ten at a time.

The echo of Elder Feng’s words still hung in the air when Tang Zhisheng’s mind exploded with system notifications. *Ding! Host has witnessed the might of Tianxuan Sect. Quest updated: Secure a place within the sect. Reward: Intermediate Qi Gathering Pill x3, 500 Return Points.* A tenfold return on that? He could practically taste the power. He wasn’t leaving. Not now. Not ever.

The gathered disciples murmured, some casting disdainful glances at the ragged young man who had stumbled into their assessment grounds. Tang Zhisheng ignored them. His eyes scanned the crowd with the predatory focus of a starving wolf. He needed a master. A strong one. Someone whose aura screamed “I can protect you from everything.”

And then he saw her.

A tiny figure stood apart from the main group, barely reaching the elbows of the cultivators around her. Twin tails of silken black hair fell to her waist, and her delicate features were those of a girl no older than sixteen. But Tang Zhisheng’s instincts—honed by the system’s subtle energy sense—recognized the truth. The air around her rippled with invisible pressure, like a lake moments before a tsunami. She was a monster disguised as a doll.

“Found you,” he whispered, a manic grin spreading across his face.

The little girl—Yun Xi, though he didn’t know her name yet—was idly picking at her sleeve, clearly bored by the commotion. She hadn’t even glanced at the assessments. That indifference, that casual disdain for the world’s bustle, sealed his decision.

Tang Zhisheng moved.

He burst through the crowd like a cannonball, elbowing past startled disciples who stumbled and cursed. His target stood near a stone pillar, examining her nails. He didn’t slow down. He didn’t think. He simply launched himself forward, dropped to his knees with a jarring thud, and wrapped his arms around her left leg.

“PLEASE, MASTER, TAKE ME AS YOUR DISCIPLE!”

The shout echoed across the training grounds, silencing every voice. Birds took flight from a nearby roof. Even the wind seemed to pause.

Silence.

Absolute, suffocating silence.

Yun Xi’s head tilted downward, her amethyst eyes widening in shock. Her leg was trapped in a desperate, sweaty embrace. The young man kneeling before her had the audacity to look up with eyes full of tears and hope—absurdly handsome tears and hope, but tears nonetheless.

“What… are you doing?” Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, but it carried a dangerous edge that made nearby disciples take a step back.

Tang Zhisheng tightened his grip. “I’m begging! Shamelessly! Openly! I have no pride, no dignity, only a burning desire to learn from the strongest master in this sect! I saw your aura from across the square! It’s like a dragon hiding in a kitten’s body! Please! I’ll fetch tea, massage your shoulders, carry your books, fight your battles—just let me be your disciple!”

The system chimed. *Ding! Shamelessness level critical. Host’s display of unmitigated groveling impresses the hidden expert. Bonding progress initiated.*

Yun Xi’s eye twitched. She tried to pull her leg free, but Tang Zhisheng’s grip was iron. “Let go, you lunatic!”

“Never! Unless you accept me!”

A vein pulsed on her forehead. The temperature around them dropped. Frost crept along the stone floor, and the disciples scrambled backward, sensing her rising fury. But Tang Zhisheng saw something else in her eyes—a flicker of confusion, of curiosity. No one had ever dared to accost her this way. Most cultivators feared her. Respected her. Kept their distance.

This idiot was hugging her leg like a lost puppy.

“I am not taking a disciple,” she said flatly. “Especially not a mortal with zero cultivation base who—” she paused, her eyes narrowing. A faint golden light flickered around his chest. Her spiritual sense probed deeper, and she frowned. There was something strange about him. Something… foreign. Not a cultivator, but not ordinary either.

Tang Zhisheng’s smile widened. He could feel her hesitation. “You sense it, don’t you? I’m special. I’m trash now, but I’ll be a monster soon. And I only want the best master. That’s you, little miss.”

“Little miss?” Her voice dropped to a dangerous purr.

“Sorry! Senior! Esteemed immortal! Beautiful, terrifying, awe-inspiring senior!” He bowed his head, pressing his forehead to her foot. “Have mercy on a poor, desperate transmigrator!”

The word ‘transmigrator’ made her eyes flash. She glanced around—no one else seemed to have heard. The crowd was too busy whispering about the madman who dared to harass Elder Yun.

She sighed, long and heavy, and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Fine. Get up.”

He didn’t move. “Accept me first.”

“I said get up.”

“Not until you say yes.”

The frost intensified. A layer of ice crept up Tang Zhisheng’s arms, but he didn’t flinch. He just stared at her with those ridiculous, hopeful eyes. Yun Xi realized with dawning horror that this man was completely insane. And stubborn. The worst combination.

“If I agree to let you follow me for a trial period,” she said through gritted teeth, “will you let go of my leg?”

Tang Zhisheng released her instantly, springing to his feet and brushing off his robes. “Yes, master! Thank you, master! You won’t regret this, master!”

She stared at him, her expression unreadable. “I didn’t say you could call me master.”

“Too late! The system registered it! It’s official!” He pointed at the air beside him as if indicating something invisible. She followed his gesture, saw nothing, and decided she didn’t want to know.

“You have one month,” she said coldly. “Prove you’re worth my time. Fail, and I’ll throw you off the sect’s cliff myself.”

Tang Zhisheng beamed. “One month is all I need. You won’t regret this, beautiful master.”

She turned away, her twin tails swishing with irritation. But as she walked, a faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips—so small that no one noticed.

No one except Tang Zhisheng, who saw everything.

*Ding! Bonding progress increased. Master’s hidden favorability: +5. Host’s shamelessness continues to yield dividends.*

He followed her like an eager shadow, ignoring the stares and whispers. Tianxuan Sect had no idea what kind of storm had just landed on their doorstep. And Tang Zhisheng? He was just getting started.