Chapter Thirty-One

This game instance had already been corrupted by the Underworld Ghost Emperor. The anomalies mentioned by the NPCs in this instance were, in fact, monsters newly born from the reshaped ecosystem or creatures forced to adapt to it. Nearly every anomaly in the instance bore ghostly traits—a phenomenon resulting from ecological reshaping. Even monsters of the king’s rank had to change their evolutionary path or face extinction. Yet possessing this attribute only allowed them to survive; the true source of power was the apocalyptic monsters that adapted to the new environment and reshaped the ecosystem. Once imbued with this attribute, facing such monsters again meant certain defeat, with no hope for resistance.

However, there were still two supernatural systems within the instance that struggled against this corruption. The NPC civilization had always been resisting it. At first, they used high-energy weapons like nuclear bombs and satellite lasers to fight the Underworld Ghost Emperor. Facing assimilation, the Ghost Emperor found these attacks troublesome but not insurmountable.

These energy weapons initially inflicted some damage, even bombarding the Emperor’s entire domain. Sadly, they failed to eradicate or even restrain it. The bombings continued, but the Ghost Emperor was a humanoid creature capable of changing its form, highly mobile, and with a ghost’s ability to become incorporeal. When the bombardments became too much, it would simply hide underground and, once things quieted down, resurface to look around. It was nearly impossible to detect.

This civilization had carried out such nuclear carpet bombing and wide-area satellite laser sweeps five times, each less effective than the last. In the final attempt, the Ghost Emperor, after completing the reshaping of the ecosystem, tore a satellite weapon from orbit with a single, distant strike of its Hundred-Eyed Ghost Hand. But by then, the transformation was already complete.

What’s more, ordinary people who encountered the Ghost Emperor died instantly. Numbers offered no safety; it was impossible to deploy armies against it, let alone kill it. The stalemate persisted until the day the Emperor finished reshaping the ecosystem. That day, day turned to night in the instance, and a hundred ghosts roamed. Fetuses that had been developing normally in the womb transformed into ghost infants, eating their way out of their mothers—children devouring mothers. Deceased loved ones turned into vengeful spirits seeking retribution. Corpses buried deep in the earth clawed their way out, wandering through cemeteries. Animals suddenly stood upright, speaking in bizarre tongues—scenes worthy of a horror film now played out across the instance.

At that time, the NPC civilization teetered on the brink of annihilation. The environmental changes wrought by the completed ecosystem transformation left them desperate. Then, they discovered a second supernatural system that could empower ordinary people to resist the monsters: the Daoist system. Its emergence was reminiscent of spiritual energy awakening—one day, a Daoist influencer casually called upon the Thunder God’s aid, and real lightning struck down from the sky.

This new system initially required talent, but with a technological foundation, “talent” lost its exclusivity—so long as you weren’t hopelessly dim, you could be empowered. Eventually, the Daoist system was fully integrated with technological civilization, even becoming as common as literature or history in the curriculum.

This is why the people of this world stared at Cheng Yuan’s clothes—because the civilization within the instance had adopted Daoist robes as daily attire. These robes, produced by the civilization, served as multifunctional armor: protecting the wearer, warning of danger, identifying monsters, enhancing Daoist arts, cultivating character, and indicating status. In this instance, not wearing a Daoist robe—even just passing by—might get you stabbed by someone trying to confirm whether you were human.

There was another problem: this world was overrun with anomalies, or ghostly monsters. Their thoughts were unfathomable, their numbers overwhelming, and their spawning so frequent that sleep paralysis had become an everyday occurrence.

Hiding in the grass, Cheng Yuan pondered how to obtain a Daoist robe and make his way home. He had no desire to save the world—he still needed to take the college entrance exam. After a moment’s thought, he turned his gaze to the Marshland Giant Lizard, and under its stunned stare, declared, “It’s settled. You’ll do it.”

Continuing down the road, his next stop was Filthy Graves High School. If all else failed, he could sneak into a dormitory and steal a school uniform. After two hours, he sensed many ghostly monsters passing by. Some looked human and seemed puzzled by a human traveling without a Daoist robe; others attacked on sight or trailed him with malice. There were also people, but they clearly didn’t see him as human—only confusion and wariness were evident in their eyes.

When attacked, Cheng Yuan relied on his powerful mental strength and the little tiger’s ability to fight above its level. Often, the battle would end in confusion or the attackers would turn on each other. When Cheng Yuan spotted a building with many people in the distance, he crouched down and said to the Marshland Giant Lizard, “Find a way to steal some clothes. Stay out of sight—don’t get spotted.”

He cradled the little tiger and waited. After an hour, a ghost infant crawled onto him, but the tiger’s thunderous roar drove it away. Cheng Yuan heard a rustle, and the Marshland Giant Lizard appeared, dragging a deep blue Daoist robe that looked much like a school uniform. Cheng Yuan quickly put it on and walked a few steps.

There were no adverse effects; he even felt a pleasant coolness. Satisfied, he nodded, then strode onto the main road with the little tiger. “All I need to do now is keep moving forward.”

This time, no one doubted his humanity, and the ghosts on the road no longer rushed to attack him. Just as Cheng Yuan thought he would make it out of the instance that day, a shriveled hand suddenly grabbed his wrist. “Skipping class, and I’ve caught you,” came the voice.

Cheng Yuan’s eyes widened. What? What was this?

He turned to see an old man in a dull, patchwork Daoist robe and voiced his confusion, “Huh?”

Just then, a balding man—obviously the head disciplinarian—spotted Cheng Yuan. “Which grade are you in? Which class? Get back to your lessons!”

Cheng Yuan grew anxious. “Wait, I’m not a student here. I need to go home.”

“Home? School isn’t out yet! Not telling me your class? Fine, come with me to class,” the man said, dragging Cheng Yuan toward the school. Cheng Yuan tried to resist but couldn’t break free.

“Wait, my little tiger—” Cheng Yuan protested.

The old man patted the tiger’s head. “Come fetch him after school. I’ll look after him.”

Minutes later, Cheng Yuan found himself in a classroom labeled “Grade 12, Class 6,” sitting beside a boy and under the astonished gazes of his classmates.

The teacher, the stern man from before, asked, “Student, what’s your name?”

Cheng Yuan sighed, realizing escape was impossible before the end of the school day. “Cheng Yuan,” he replied.

The teacher nodded. “Cheng Yuan, I don’t know which class you’re from, but you skipped class and were caught by me and the security guard. Let this be a warning to all of you. Don’t think I don’t know about your little tricks—I can see everything from the podium. All right, Xu Lei, share your book with Cheng Yuan. Let’s begin the lesson.”