The Scripture Library of the Cleansing Incense Ancient Sect stood like a tombstone to a forgotten era.
Once, this building had been the envy of the Nine Worlds, a repository of wisdom where Immortal Emperors and invincible War Gods had left their supreme legacies.
Now?
It was a dusty, depressing mausoleum of mediocrity. The formidable defensive arrays that once incinerated intruders were flickering and weak, leaking energy like a bad battery.
The shelves were populated not by heaven-shaking scriptures, but by the cultivation equivalent of bargain-bin paperbacks. Violet Qi Slash. Rolling Stone Fist. Iron Skin Art. These were manuals that the great sects of the Grand Middle Territory wouldn't even use to level a wobbly table.
Ling Feng walked past the sleepy protector at the gate, flipping his newly minted Prime Disciple token through the air with a metallic clink-clink.
The protector, an old man whose cultivation had stagnated centuries ago, barely cracked an eye. He saw the token, grunted—a sound halfway between a cough and a snore—and slumped back against the pillar.
"Top-tier security," Ling Feng muttered, shaking his head as he stepped into the gloom of the first floor. "The guards are asleep, and the inventory is trash."
He didn't bother browsing the aisles. He knew Emperor's Domination better than he knew his own social security number. He knew exactly where the bodies were buried—and more importantly, where the loot was hidden.
He bypassed the flashy, useless cultivation manuals and headed straight for the "Miscellaneous" corner. This was the section for failed scholars: biographies of dead mortals, geography of the Mortal Emperor World, and theoretical texts on flower arranging. It smelled of mildew and despair.
There it was.
Wedged under a rotting bookshelf to keep it from wobbling was a triangular stone tablet. It was covered in grime, moss, and possibly rat droppings. To the naked eye, it was a piece of junk. To a cultivator with Dao Eyes, it was... still a piece of junk.
But Ling Feng wasn't using the Heavenly Dao.
"Disrespectful," Ling Feng tsked, crouching down. The hem of his gray robe swept across the dirty floor. "Using the supreme movement technique of the ages as a glorified doorstop. Min Ren would be rolling in his grave."
He reached out, his fingers brushing the cold, rough surface of the stone.
Zzzzt.
A spark of neon-green energy jumped from his fingertip to the stone. He didn't activate the 'Gaze of the Heavens.' He didn't circulate a mantra. He simply engaged the Primal Chaos Genesis Physique.
The world shifted. The dusty library faded into a grid of wireframe data. The stone wasn't a rock; it was a zip file. It was a compressed packet of spatial data, a complex algorithm of velocity and void written by a beast that once swallowed oceans.
"Let's see the words of an Immortal Emperor," Ling Feng whispered, his irises flashing with that toxic, radioactive green. "Download."
The Chaos Force didn't ask for permission. It surged from his hand, aggressive and invasive, biting into the stone's defensive matrix. In the original timeline, Li Qiye had to spend time deciphering this, using his millions of years of knowledge to unlock the secrets.
Ling Feng just brute-forced the lock.
The stone vibrated violently, emitting a low hum that sounded like a jet engine spinning up. A stream of information—raw, headache-inducing, and profound—shot directly into his cerebral cortex.
[Acquired: Kun Peng's Six Variants]
Images flooded his mind: A massive leviathan breaching the surface of a celestial ocean, transforming into a bird that eclipsed the sun. The concept of speed not as a physical exertion, but as a manipulation of space. The ability to move with the weight of an ocean and the freedom of the wind.
"Speed is good," Ling Feng muttered, pressing the heels of his hands against his temples to massage away the sudden migraine. "In the cultivation world, you're either fast or you're dead. Zero to sixty in a heartbeat."
He stood up, leaving the stone exactly where it was. No need to take everything; this sect still had to be nurtured.
He moved to the alchemy section next, his movements loose and casual. He grabbed armfuls of manuals—basic alchemy, herbology, and every book detailing the current geography of the Grand Middle Territory. He needed to update his GPS. Meta-knowledge was great, but he needed to know the current political landscape to properly dismantle it.
He turned the corner of a high bookshelf, his nose buried in a map of the Eastern Hundred Cities, and walked right into someone.
"Oh!"
A soft gasp. A flurry of scrolls hitting the floor.
A female disciple stumbled back, off-balance. She was small, dressed in the standard outer sect robes that were slightly too large for her frame, swallowing her figure in gray fabric. She wasn't a peerless beauty like the goddesses described in legends, but she possessed a rustic, gentle charm—big doe eyes, a small nose, and a vibe that screamed 'innocent bystander.'
"Woah there," Ling Feng said, his reaction time instantaneous.
His hand shot out, catching her by the waist before she could fall. His grip was firm, stabilizing her with an ease that betrayed his physical power.
The girl froze. In the strict social hierarchy of the sect, physical contact between opposite sexes—especially strangers—was rare and formal. This... this was different. This was the confident grip of a man who didn't care about propriety.
She looked up, her face flushing a deep crimson. "S-Senior Brother? I... I haven't seen you before."
Ling Feng didn't let go immediately. He smiled, not the polite smile of a cultivator, but a crooked, amused grin. "I'm new to this place. Just taking a tour of the facilities."
He slowly released her, bending down to help her pick up the scrolls. He moved with a fluid grace, handing them back to her.
"Ling Feng," he said, locking eyes with her. "Remember the name. You're going to be hearing it pretty much everywhere."
"I... I'm Xu Pei," she stammered, clutching the scrolls to her chest as if they were a shield. She felt like a rabbit standing in front of a particularly relaxed wolf.
"Xu Pei," Ling Feng tested the name, rolling it around his tongue. "Cute. Sounds efficient."
He stepped closer, invading her personal space just enough to be flirty without being threatening. He smelled of ozone and something sharp, like crushed mint.
"Hey, Pei-Pei, do me a favor. You know Nan Huairen? The guy who looks like a nervous rat?"
Xu Pei blinked, her eyes widening."Y-Yes, Senior Brother."
"Tell him to bring the 'package' to my hut. And tell him if he skimps on the quality or tries to give me the expired goods, I'll shave his eyebrows." Ling Feng winked.
He patted her head. It wasn't the condescending pat of a senior to a junior. It was affectionate, casual, familiar—like a boyfriend teasing his girl.
"Catch you later, Pei-Pei."
He walked away, whistling a tune that sounded utterly alien to her ears—a sharp, rhythmic melody that didn't fit the pentatonic scale of the Nine Worlds.
Xu Pei stood there in the dusty silence of the library, her heart hammering against her ribs. Her face was burning hot. Who was that? He was terrifying, yet... strange. He didn't act like a cultivator. He acted like he owned the place.
....
Two Days Later. Ling Feng's Provisional Hut.
Ling Feng didn't care about the rumors swirling outside. He didn't care that the sect was in a panic about the Nine Saint Demon Gate. He was focused on the quarterly earnings report sitting on his table.
Nan Huairen had delivered.
On the scarred wooden table sat a heavy box made of fragrant sandalwood. Inside lay the peace offering from the Six Elders—a desperate bribe to keep the "madman" happy.
There were jars of Physique Pastes, bottles of Spirit Dan pills that glowed with a faint luster, and a Blood Ginseng that looked to be at least a thousand years old, its roots resembling a twisted, screaming man.
"Not a bad bonus package," Ling Feng mused, sitting cross-legged on his wooden bed. "Let's see if we can convert this liquidity into equity."
A normal cultivator, even a genius, would approach these resources with caution. They would boil the ginseng into a soup, take the pills one by one, and spend days in deep meditation to refine the medicinal efficacy, painstakingly peeling away the impurities to avoid poisoning their foundation.
Ling Feng didn't have time for that slow-burn nonsense.
He placed his hands over the pile of treasures.
[Ability: Chaos Eat]
The air in the room suddenly grew heavy. The shadows in the corners stretched toward him. The Primal Chaos Genesis Physique didn't just absorb energy; it devoured it.
VOOOM.
A vortex of neon-green energy spiraled out of his palms. It wasn't gentle. It was violent, a gravitational singularity opening up in his bedroom.
The thousand-year-old Blood Ginseng didn't shrivel; it disintegrated. The structure of the plant was ripped apart at the molecular level, converted instantly into a stream of crimson mist. The Spirit Dan pills shattered, dissolving into motes of starlight. The Physique Pastes vaporized.
"Get in my belly," Ling Feng gritted his teeth as the torrent of raw, unadulterated energy slammed into his body.
It hurt. It felt like swallowing molten lead. The energy of the Mortal Emperor World was chaotic and filled with "impurities"—fragments of the Grand Dao that resisted absorption.
But Ling Feng's body was a furnace.
The energy rushed into his Inner Void, a vast, dark space inside his Dantian. Suspended there was the Master Emerald, a colossal gem spinning with majestic, terrifying power. It acted as the ultimate filter.
The Master Emerald pulsed, a shockwave of authority washing over the incoming energy. The "impurities" were stripped away, neutralized, and ejected. What remained was pure fuel for the Chaos Engine.
The energy swirled, condensing.
"First Emerald: Space... Online," Ling Feng murmured, his consciousness floating in the void. "Now for the second."
He focused his will. He needed kinetic force. He needed the ability to crush, to break, to shatter. In the lore of his previous life, the Red Emerald represented Power. In Emperor's Domination, this was the Dao of Destruction, the Dao of Strength, the Dao of Weight.
"Condense."
The energy screamed as it was compressed. The Inner Void trembled. A new geometric shape began to knit itself together in orbit around the Master Emerald.
It was jagged. Aggressive. A gemstone cut from the heart of a dying star.
The Red Chaos Emerald.
CRACK-BOOM!
Reality buckled.
The wooden bed beneath Ling Feng didn't just break; it detonated.
The sheer increase in Ling Feng's mass and density, caused by the manifestation of the Power Emerald, created a localized gravity crush. The wood was pulverized into sawdust instantly. The stone floor beneath the bed spider-webbed, cracks shooting out to the walls.
Dust billowed up, choking the room.
A stream of information flowed through Ling Feng's mind.
Red Chaos Emerald - Power Mastery Acquired
Trait: Absolute Force.
Effect: Physical strikes ignore 50% of defense. Energy projection density increased by 500%.
Cultivation Base: Provisional Palace (Simulated).
Ling Feng opened his eyes.
A crackle of red lightning arced across his iris, fighting for dominance with the green before settling into a dangerous equilibrium.
He slowly stood up from the pile of debris that used to be his furniture. He clenched his fist. The air inside his palm popped, a sonic boom contained within his fingers.
"Oh yeah," Ling Feng breathed, flexing his shoulders. The sensation was intoxicating. It wasn't the spiritual, enlightenment-based strength of a cultivator. It was raw, physical horsepower. "I feel like I could bench press a mountain. With my pinky."
He checked his internal stats. His Spirit Energy capacity had tripled. The Chaos Force was humming in his veins like a high-voltage wire. This wasn't cultivation earned through meditating on the wonders of nature for fifty years. This was power stolen, hacked, and forcibly installed.
And god, did he love it.
"Knock, knock."
A timid voice came from the doorway, followed by a cough.
Nan Huairen poked his head through the open door, waving a hand to dispel the cloud of sawdust. His eyes bulged as he took in the scene: the obliterated bed, the cracked floor, the lingering static electricity that made the hair on his arms stand up, and Ling Feng standing in the center of the wreckage like a demon king in a disaster zone.
"Junior Brother..." Nan Huairen squeaked, his voice trembling. "Did... did the bed offend you?"
Ling Feng dusted off his robes, the motion casual, contrasting sharply with the aura of violence still radiating from him.
"Renovations, Huairen," Ling Feng said, stepping over a splintered plank. "Out with the old, in with the new. Just like this sect. The structural integrity was compromising my workflow."
He walked toward the door, the Red Chaos Emerald in his Inner Void rotating slowly, hungry for impact. "So, Protector Mo is waiting? Let me guess. He's pacing back and forth, sweating bullets, terrified that the Nine Saint Demon Gate is going to cancel the contract?"
Nan Huairen blinked, stunned by the accuracy. Ling Feng spoke as if he had a spy network, yet he hadn't left his hut in two days.
"Yes," Nan Huairen admitted, hurrying to keep up as Ling Feng strode into the sunlight. "The Protector is... extremely concerned. The marriage alliance is our only lifeline. But the Nine Saint Demon Gate has been making things difficult. They demanded the Prime Disciple come for a 'test.' But we all know it's a trap. It's a way to humiliate us into breaking the engagement ourselves so they don't look like the bad guys."
Internally, Ling Feng raised a brow. He had effectively nuked the timeline by sealing away Li Qiye before the story began. But the world was resilient. Without Li Qiye, the plot was trying to correct itself, forcing the same events to play out.
Ling Feng scoffed, a harsh, dismissive sound.
"Standard hostile takeover tactics," he said, adjusting his sleeves. "They want the assets—the Emperor Merit Laws—without the liability of a declining partner. They want to squeeze us out of the market."
In the original timeline—the one Ling Feng remembered reading on his phone during boring shifts—Li Qiye had played along. He had engaged in a long, drawn-out game of face-slapping. He passed their forest trials, he played the zither, he educated them on the Dao, and slowly, methodically earned their respect.
It was a classic underdog story. It was elegant.
And Ling Feng did not want to be a so-called underdog.
He felt the hum of the Chaos Force in his marrow. He had the Space to move instantly. He had the Power to crush defenses. He'll pave the path his own way.