In the boundless sea of sand, nine sky-tall titans stood far off like a mirage—each armored in gold, towering so high their brows vanished into the clouds, only the cloud-gulping beast masks on their pauldrons visible. Every one gripped a colossal golden staff the size of a hanging peak.
Thoom! Thoom! Thoom!
The heavenly strongmen pounded gold on earth. Heaven and desert thundered; dunes heaved like waves; the world itself seemed to split and shear under the synchronized blows.
These hundred-zhang giants weren't literally there—they were the fa-xiang (manifestations) of Huang-Turban Strongmen that Duan Kecheng had conjured within a soul-realm, an illusion domain woven by his own divine soul. Their sheer, mountain-like scale said everything about the strength of his spirit.
Here, in this soul-realm that belonged to the Cult, he was, quite simply, invincible.
Li Xuehong floated overhead, watched for a while, took his bearings, and understood what his little brother was doing.
Pile-driving—yes, literally laying foundations: staking the array's base, tamping the footing, shaping the local ley-lines, then burying sealed treasures beneath the desert to form a stable formation powered both by a cultivated geomantic "spine" and the embedded artifacts.
On top of that foundation he could lay down formation diagrams, erect halls and palaces within the illusion, and gradually erode this world's Dao.
In time, the interstice, the illusion, the formation, and reality would be fused—classic cultivator civil-engineering: the basic craft of making a "Cave-Heaven Blessed Land."
(Admittedly, Penglai were the true pros at this. Compared to them, the Cult were juniors; the section on site planning in the Blood Talisman Heavenly Tome had been shredded by Master Xian's marginalia…)
In short: judging from the spectacle, Duan really planned to settle in this world for the long haul, turning it into the Cult's bridgehead—his main base.
"Big Bro! Big Bro! Come taste this!"
At his call, Li Xuehong drifted back to the oasis, over to the firepit by the blood pool.
Little Duan was grilling meat.
"Oh? Smells great—what is it? Grilled beef tongue?"
"Lamb tongue, hahaha!"
"…"
Li Xuehong stared at the platter—fat-glossed, sizzling slabs that Duan piled into three mounded plates for him—then watched as Duan pulled more "lamb" from the sack at his waist, skewered it with his blood-hand, and held it over the flames, digging in himself.
"Wait… you bought these to eat? Not to pasture?"
"Pasture, sure—why wouldn't I? I just haven't found good grasslands yet. Folks here are really too weak…
No rush, Big Bro. There's plenty of lamb. Eating two won't hurt! Nom nom."
Since he put it that way, Li Xuehong took the "try everything once" approach and bit down.
…And, well—yeah. It did taste like lamb.
Of course, since Li Pan crossed over he hadn't had real lamb—couldn't afford it. But there were taste-stream "eatcast" dreamlets online and paid seasoning scripts; with starch blocks you could pick a "lamb profile" and at least know the idea.
This "lamb," though, was better—whether because it was 羔羊 or because it was real meat.
In a word: astonishing. Fat but not greasy, moist but not slick, savory without any tang. One bite and juices burst; sweetness and umami slid down the throat, warmth spread from every pore.
Ahhh—bliss.
It was tonic, too. Not only did it satisfy the mouth—it carried Dao-force and blood-qi. One swallow and your cultivation spiked—nearly like taking a pill.
Chewing, Li Xuehong understood the plan: pasturing would come; conquering the world was inevitable—no need to rush. First set the dojo, then close-door cultivate. Why risk an inside-corner spin and crash? Break through first, then emerge to steamroll—much nicer.
So the man tasked with conquering this realm was, in fact, earnestly laying out his cave-dwelling and formation—planning to level up right here in this garbage heap called 0791.
My little brother may be overpowered, but he's too cautious… what to do with him?
Since there'd be no moves for now, Xuehong shelved that headache and turned to other urgencies.
Time for the Big Plan to begin.
"Brother, I'm full. Going for a walk."
"Just that much? Another two plates? I'll slaughter one more!"
"No, no. I've stayed in this realm too long—cultivation rising too fast—my heart-mind's unstable. I need to digest, adjust, then I'll come back for round two."
"Hiss— well said! Big Bro sees through everything—refined to perfection, iron will—far beyond me. Respect! But at least gnaw this roasted thigh bone before you go?"
"…All right, I won't be polite."
After feasting to a belly-ache, the blood-body crawled out of the freezer, glanced skyward.
Blazing sun, last heat spike before the dry season breaks—the perfect window for the Big Plan.
Daylight home invasion? Where's the law?
Please—these are vampires. Nighttime is their prime; daylight is polite.
Li Xuehong slipped away and ghosted into House Cornelius's castle. A sweep of divine sense—everything clear. He located, exactly as the Plan required, the infiltration, recon, and support teams already in position, hidden in the dark.
The plan in brief: Yulia would leak election news early to stir the Elders' Council; Wang Shan's crew would impersonate the Vortex Gang, hit warehouses and toss a few car bombs around the perimeter to pull the knights' attention; then the infiltration cell would move to steal the Grail.
This time, it wasn't just Li Xuehong in play—Leticia was, too.
Help steal one item, get 200,000. Clear your medical debt and pocket 100k. Plus we'll help find any surviving wolves.
With terms that good, the dog-eared girl said yes without haggling.
Ah, dog-types—so straightforward. Conning her almost pricked his conscience…
In short: disguised as a maid, with Emiliya's inside assistance, an outsourced hacker crew, Cerberus veterans on guns, and Li Pan's moral support, Leticia would slip into the manor, reach the bathhouse, lift the Grail, and bolt.
They, visible and expendable, were just the decoys. If any link failed, no matter. Li Xuehong would act personally.
A堂堂 Blood-God Son doing chicken-thief work… he didn't have the face to tell his brother.
Still, things went very smoothly.
The Vortex Gang hitting nearby—hired for tens of thousands—with Wang Shan's quiet command support drew the manor security's eyes. If you storm the manor, they call reinforcements; if you stir trouble nearby, they tense up and babysit their lawns and walls.
With the inside-man's routing and mixed permissions, professional maid Leticia had already been mopping in the kitchen for days. Her cue: when scheduled to "polish the ballroom floor," she'd badge into a hidden corridor, pass access control, and reach the baths…
Guards along the way?
Handled. With soul-arts, Xuehong "touched" them—pinched out half their po (animal soul). Humans or spacers, without a firm soul, lose half their po and—like Li Pan's early monster abuse—collapse into torpor. Out cold. No alarms.
"…Dozing on shift? What garbage security…"
Even Leticia frowned, stepping over drooling blood-knights. She hitched up her underwear, reached into her freshly stitched wound, pulled the hacker key she'd hidden among her organs, and cracked the last door.
Ding ding-dong.
Chime. Door green. In.
With proper creds and passcodes, a junior could write that entry script.
"This easy? Really worth 200k?"
Doubtful, Leticia strode in. The target relic sat right where it was supposed to be—atop a statue above the hot spring.
She didn't overthink it: bared her fangs, took a running start, sprang—and plucked the coveted prize of a thousand managers across a thousand worlds:
The Grail.
"…"
She looked at the shabby cup, cocked an ear—no alarms. Shrugging, she retraced her steps, dropped the Grail into a mop bucket, and pushed the cart straight through rooms full of guards and nobles snacking on blood-thralls.
Below her, Li Xuehong tunneled along as a shadow, covering her against surprises.
The surprise was—there weren't any. It was so clean even he felt odd.
This thing is worth 140 trillion elsewhere—and it's this easy? Where do you need two trillion?
All-in, with prep for the Cerberus vets, Vortex payouts, the hound's fee, hacker fees, vehicles, weapons, ammo—he'd spent a bit over… a hundred million.
Wheee-oop! Wheee-oop! Wheee-oop!
Leticia hit the back kitchen—alarms blared.
Xuehong actually exhaled in relief. There we go—back to normal tempo. Get ready to fight—
The head maid hustled in. "Everyone with me!"
Leticia quietly stashed the Grail's bucket in a corner, palmed a kitchen knife into her skirt, and filed in.
"Move! To the gate! Casualties inbound!"
Casualties?
They reached the door as tracked IFVs roared up and dumped out casket-stretchers.
"Don't just stand—help!"
In minutes, convoys jammed the manor drive. House staff and returning mercs hauled "coffins" and stretchers, triaging on the fly.
Perfect chance to slip away—but the she-wolf froze.
She smelled it—blood.
Wolf blood.
On vampire hands.
"What happened? Where's K?"
"The knight-captain's covering our retreat! Damn it—we got ambushed! We had the net closing, about to bag the wolves, when something hit us from behind and pulled them out!"
Leticia's claws nearly slid free; she stopped herself, teeth bared.
"A rescue? Who? Cyber-punks? Akai Tengu?"
A blood-soaked trooper snarled, "Don't know! An SMS! Smart munitions couldn't track it; fifth-grade rounds wouldn't punch it; radar saw nothing!
ECM and EMP did jack—blinded our own kit! It smashed our drone swarm in ten minutes—with its bare hands!"
"One SMS? Beating an entire battalion? You concussed? High?"
The head maid checked his skull, then snapped at Leticia: "Still standing? Med-kit!"
Leticia jolted, pivoted away, and the wounded man kept shouting behind her: "I'm not crazy! I saw it! It didn't even shoot—it ripped them! I'm not crazy!"
It startled not only Leticia; even hidden Xuehong blinked. A mech? Was it Huang Dahe's people? Did Amakusa really send a rescue for the wolves?
From his angle he should erase them, not save them. Or… does he want the wolves alive to yank Yulia's leash?
Either way, it helped: the manor was chaos, everyone focused on the wounded.
Every security detail matched Emiliya's intel to the letter. So—yes—the head butler had the chops. And regardless of whether the Grail was a baited hook, you had to get it into the Company's mouth before you could reel in a bigger fish and proceed to phase two.
Leticia jogged back, fished the Grail from the bucket, and slipped out through blind spots. The Cerberus vets picked her up, switched cars several times, circled half the city, delivered the "Grail" to Emiliya's safehouse, completed handoff to an android, and paid her the full reward for a clean run. Everyone withdrew satisfied.
Li Xuehong shadowed beneath the safehouse floor the whole way, eyes glued to the Grail.
In the Heaven Hotel's suite, where Li Pan sat in meditation, his eyes opened and he flicked his fingers to bring up his account.
Good. Phase One complete—almost too easy.
Time for Phase Two: get the money moving.
If Emiliya didn't stumble, a trillion in "rebate" would soon be funneled across piecemeal.
With the Board's blessing, Finance wouldn't drag its feet. And this time it was full support, no cap. They wouldn't dump "hundreds of trillions" in one go, but the first-phase war chest—a ₁₀ trillion budget—was already preloaded.
In reality, once Emiliya suppressed Blood Hunger with the Grail and traded it to the Company, two trillion wired to her would do. The budget was generous—so generous it felt rude not to skim a little. Still, Li Pan couldn't just pocket half.
His side deal with Emiliya hadn't been exactly kosher; now that he'd wrapped himself in the Company's flag, he'd better mind the rules. That ten-trillion starter was for masking real war prep. If he shoveled it into his own pockets, how would he fund star-gate construction, a star-city, a fleet?
If he didn't want Finance, Legal, and HR tearing into him, his cut of a two-trillion contract could be no more than the customary 0.2%—the rest had to go back to the war account.
But forty billion wasn't nothing—months ago he barely had forty bucks.
Bottom line: it's Company money. Upgrade 0791's assets and staff? Sure. But you can't blatantly siphon "left hand to right hand."
And if you do skim, there are ways. Plus, whatever you take—you owe Finance their 10% thank-you.
Mercifully, with eyes glowing at their own ten-percent, Finance offered helpful advice:
To avoid tripping the Tax Bureau's cross-border risk-investment alarms—or Security Bureau's Seventh Division financial-crimes radar—start by purchasing existing financial products:
TheM, on 0791 GM's recommendation, buys 密党银行 (Secret Party Bank) funds to "support Night City's development":
¥1.05 billion: Night City Development & Investment Fund
¥1.2 billion: Pacific Environmental Protection Fund
On the Panlong Construction side: Secret Party's "good" monthly flow doubled to ¥340 million. TheM took a 49% stake in Panlong.
With those two fund contracts plus one cruiser at original price ¥200 million, Finance could now value Panlong at ¥700 million.
Then TheM signed an exclusive PMC retainer with Panlong Construction Co.—a one-year private military services contract, fourteen tranches: ¥700 million down, ¥700 million monthly, ¥700 million on completion—¥8.4 billion total wired to Li Pan's new 0791 Construction Bank account.
Thus, cleanly, legally, with zero fuss, he "secured" ¥8,625,000,000.00 in Company-backed support for himself and his shop.
(After all, Night and Heaven had already rained money on Panlong; could the Company really sit on its hands?)
In plainer digits:
8,625,000,000.00
Ten digits. Looks pretty, doesn't it?
That's credited amounts; compliance, levies, fees, and the ritual "donations" were Finance's problem.
(Remember—their "10%" is ¥862,500,000. Plenty of pay for the paperwork.)
Even after taxes and laundering attrition, with talent like this, the whole administrative burn shouldn't top ¥10 billion.
Which meant Li Pan still had ¥7,990 billion in the war budget untouched; his "clever siphon," in the end, had netted him less than one-thousandth of the ten-trillion fund…
He was dying inside. Not even half a normal sales commission, and he already felt stuffed.
No rush. It's only the start.
Panlong's PMC contract is just Year One; as the cash wheel turns, its market cap will float up. As long as Yulia doesn't flip on him, the remaining ¥36 billion tail payments will follow as the Big Plan advances.
Her ¥4 billion earnest money had also been confirmed—checks, asset authorizations, equity transfer letters—electronic contracts set to activate next close. They'd hit Li Pan's citizen account already; he just hadn't sat down with counsel to fully tally it.
A skim showed the biggest chunk: stock accounts Yulia had signed over—stakes in Night's many subcos and plants—already worth north of ¥4 billion, and that was at crash prices during Night's turmoil.
He'd gone numb to totals—hundreds of millions, billions, trillions tossed around all week.
Only now, after scheming with Finance and prying ¥8.6 billion free, did it finally sink in:
He was personally sitting on ¥12.6 billion. Soon, another ¥4 billion from Emiliya. Call it ¥16.6 billion.
That's… a lot of money.
Oh no. Did I just become rich?
Buy a bike?
No!
Li Pan!
What are you thinking? Don't be so small-time!
With over ten billion liquid, and you're thinking one motorcycle?
Make it two.
.
.
.
⚠️ 30 CHAPTERS AHEAD — I'm Not a Cyberpsycho ⚠️
The system says: Kill.Mercs obey. Corporates obey. Monsters obey.One man didn't.
🧠💀 "I'm not a cyberpsycho. I just think... differently."
💥 High-voltage cyberpunk. Urban warfare. AI paranoia.Read 30 chapters ahead, only on Patreon.
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