Shen Daolun let out a quiet sigh.
Lin lan's question had landed cleanly—right on an old scar he'd never truly healed from.
"More than a thousand years ago," Shen Daolun began, his tone slower now, "I was just a merchant. But the world back then was a mess. Wars everywhere. People barely scraping by. Business collapsed."
"So I walked away," he continued. "Started wandering. Looking for cultivators. Hoping to learn some immortal arts—first to keep myself alive…"
He paused, then gave a dry chuckle.
"…and second, to maybe turn stones into gold one day."
Lin lan finally got it.
No wonder Shen Daolun felt so familiar.
A former crooked merchant.
Yeah. That explained everything.
Lin lan had always been oddly comfortable dealing with shady traders—especially when he was the one walking away with the better deal. Watching them grimace over lost profit? Deeply satisfying.
Unfortunately, opportunities like that were rarer than being struck by lightning. Most of the time, he was the one getting skinned.
Shen Daolun, completely oblivious to his listener drifting off, continued enthusiastically.
"Luck eventually came my way. By sheer chance, I obtained a cultivation scripture—the Soul-Refining Treasure Manual."
"At the same time," he added, lifting his wrist slightly, "I acquired the Nine Nether Divine Jade. Inside it lies the Nine Nether Immortal Realm. This place."
"Through it, I entered this world."
His posture straightened. Pride seeped into his voice.
"Among all cultivation techniques, the Soul-Refining Treasure Manual stands at the top. And cultivating inside the Nine Nether Immortal Realm doubled my efficiency."
"In just five hundred years, I refined my Soul Flame to dark purple."
Lin lan's eye sockets twitched.
Shen Daolun was fully in the zone now.
"Every undead being in this realm has a Soul Flame. Its color represents its strength."
"From weakest to strongest, there are eleven colors: white, red, orange, yellow, green, cyan, blue, purple, black, silver, and gold. Each color has light, deep, and dark stages."
"At the time, I wasn't undead. But cultivating the Soul-Refining Treasure Manual meant absorbing massive amounts of soul energy. Eventually, I formed a Soul Flame of my own."
"A dark purple Soul Flame," he said proudly, "is equivalent to the Tribulation Stage for ordinary cultivators."
Even true prodigies—heaven-blessed monsters—would find it nearly impossible to reach that level within five hundred years.
But he had.
"When I returned to the mortal world," Shen Daolun said, "there were very few who could stand against me."
"By then, I was already in Europe. Napoleon—you've heard of him, right?"
Without waiting for a response, he barreled on.
"He wasn't ordinary. His cultivation was deep. He once slew the Dragon King of the Eastern Sea in a dream and shook the world."
"He accused me of being a demonic heretic and challenged me. I crippled him. He died early. Otherwise, with his cultivation, living another thousand years wouldn't have been a problem."
"And then there was that so-called Sword God Li—her 'peerless' sword techniques? Just a trick I casually taught her on a whim. And then there was that other guy, and that one—"
Lin lan stared, jaw practically unhinged.
Brother, he thought, you really can talk.
Dragging every historical legend into your personal resume—impressive. Truly impressive.
He made a mental note to learn this skill.
With a mouth like that, charming women would be effortless. Bachelorhood? Solved.
Finally, Lin lan interrupted.
"Brother Shen," he said, keeping his tone polite, "if you were really that powerful… how did you end up like this?"
"An immortal soul. Stuck here."
The shift was instant.
Shen Daolun's animated expression froze, then collapsed into something bitter and tired.
"Ah…" He sighed. "Tall trees catch the wind."
"My strength grew too fast. I made enemies. During my heavenly tribulation, some despicable people ambushed me."
"My body was destroyed. My soul was severely wounded."
"I barely escaped into the Nine Nether Immortal Realm. My power dropped below that of an infant. I can't leave this formation. I can't hunt undead creatures. I can't recover my strength."
He laughed hollowly.
"I've been trapped here for centuries."
Lin lan felt no sympathy whatsoever.
From the sound of it, Shen Daolun had clearly gotten arrogant after rising too fast—until a group of old monsters jumped him and beat him into spiritual paste.
Served him right.
Still… centuries trapped inside a small formation?
That was brutal.
Outwardly, Lin lan offered a mild smile.
"Brother Shen," he said warmly, "you've been here a long time. I'll need your guidance going forward."
Inside, he was thinking something else entirely.
Good. He's weak.
If he still had his strength, this old fox would've swallowed me whole.
Shen Daolun smiled broadly.
"Guidance is too strong a word. But since we're brothers now, I'll help however I can."
Lin lan paused.
We've known each other for five minutes. When did we become brothers?
Then again… he had been calling him "Brother Shen" from the start.
Yeah. I've got merchant blood too.
"So," Lin lan said casually, "shouldn't I get a welcome gift?"
Shen Daolun laughed, his chubby cheeks wobbling.
"Straightforward. I like that."
Inside, he was cursing nonstop.
Shameless little bastard. Asking for gifts right away. If I didn't need you, you wouldn't get a damn thing.
With a flick of his wrist, jade-green light flashed from his bracelet. A thick, ancient tome appeared in his hand.
"This," he said solemnly, "is the Soul-Refining Treasure Manual."
"Among all cultivation methods, it is unmatched. Cultivate it properly, and regaining a human body will be easy. Even godhood or immortality isn't impossible."
Lin lan's eyes lit up.
Jackpot.
He snatched the book instantly and tucked it away, then looked up with a grin.
"So… what's the catch?"
Shen Daolun smiled gently.
"Talking to smart people is refreshing."
"As you know, I'm left with only fragments of my soul. I have no ability to defend myself. I can't leave this formation—let alone hunt undead creatures to absorb their soul energy."
"So," he said calmly, "I need your help. From now on, half of the undead you hunt—their soul energy—goes to me."
Lin lan recoiled dramatically.
"Whoa! You bloodsucking capitalist! Exploiting the blood and sweat of the working class! Absolutely unacceptable!"
Shen Daolun blinked.
"…Then sixty–forty?"
"No chance. Twenty–eighty. You get twenty."
"You little bastard!" Shen Daolun exploded. "At your age you're already more shameless than me! This manual is a legendary treasure! Countless cultivators died for it!"
"Thirty–seventy," he snarled. "Final offer."
Lin lan waved his hand magnanimously.
"Alright, alright. Leave room for future cooperation. Thirty–seventy it is."
He looked generous—despite robbing the man blind.
Shen Daolun's face twitched violently.
After a long, agonizing silence, he finally nodded.
"…Deal."
The moment the word left his mouth, his heart shattered.
The Soul-Refining Treasure Manual—the ultimate treasure of demonic cultivation.
How many lives had been lost for it? How many paths destroyed? Even masters on the verge of ascension had fallen.
A sea of blood.
And now… handed to this brat.
What a loss.
A catastrophic loss.
Shen Daolun beat his chest in silent agony—but he had no choice.
If Lin lan walked away, he'd be trapped here alone forever.
That truly would have been the end.