A tidal wave of pure spiritual energy surged through his meridians. It was a flood of unimaginable power that washed away all the blockages and impurities in its path. The barrier to the Third Layer of Qi Condensation, a wall he had been ramming his head against for two years, was vaporized.
BOOM!
His entire being resonated with power. He felt the Qi in his Dantian swirl and condense, becoming stronger. He pushed himself up, his limbs trembling from an excess of energy. He was a cultivator of the Third Layer.
The agony of the stabbing was a distant memory. The euphoria of the breakthrough was all that mattered. He began to laugh, a wild cackle that echoed through his peaceful courtyard. The spirit-fish swam for cover.
He had found the secret. He had unlocked the cheat code. The world was his.
The rest of the night passed in a blur of methodical self-destruction. His quiet courtyard became a gruesome laboratory of advancement.
He realized the fruit knife was too inefficient. He needed variety.
He started by sprinting head-first into a ornamental pillar. The impact sent a sickening crack through the courtyard and an explosion of stars through his vision. He collapsed, his forehead bleeding freely. The golden light fixed his skull, and the resulting surge of energy was delightful.
He then proceeded to systematically break his own fingers by slamming them against his rosewood study desk. Each sharp snap was followed by a satisfying pulse of power. He moved on to his toes, using a heavy jade paperweight.
He discovered that dislocating a joint, while excruciatingly painful, provided a unique and very potent flavor of spiritual energy upon regeneration. He dislocated his shoulder, then his hip, screaming into a silk cushion until the system popped them back into place.
He climbed onto the roof of his pavilion and jumped off, aiming for the hard stone tiles below. He landed with a bone-jarring crunch, shattering his ankle. As the golden light worked its magic, he giggled breathlessly. "Flying practice," he mumbled to himself.
Around midnight, amidst the wreckage of his once-pristine room, he broke through again. The bottleneck to the Fourth Layer of Qi Condensation offered no more resistance than a wet paper screen. He was now twice as strong as he had been just hours before. The power was intoxicating, a drug more potent than any pill.
His ambitions, already grand, swelled to cosmic proportions. Surpassing Arya was no longer the goal; it was a mere stepping stone. He would surpass his father. He would surpass the Patriarch. He would surpass the Nascent Soul ancestors! He, Chen Wei, would become the true pillar of the Chen Family!
As the moon began its descent, he was a man transformed. His fine robes were ripped and stained with blood. His hair was a matted mess. His eyes burned with the zealous fire of a true believer. He had reached the peak of the Fourth Layer. The Fifth Layer was just within his grasp. He could feel it. He just needed one more push. One final investment for a legendary return.
He looked around his room, at his battered and miraculously healed body. He had broken bones, dislocated joints, and suffered countless lacerations. What was left? What was the most profound injury one could sustain? What was the source of all life, the engine of the body?
His heart.
The thought was terrifying, but the logic was, in his current state, unshakable. If regenerating a stomach wound could propel him a whole realm, what could regenerating a heart do? It would be a qualitative leap! He would probably shoot straight through to the Sixth! Maybe even the Seventh!
He would become a Golden Core expert in a single night! Arya took twenty-one years! The thought made him giddy with anticipation.
He looked for a suitable tool. The fruit knife was too small. He scanned the room and his eyes landed on the shattered remains of a decorative vase he had knocked over during his "flying practice." He picked up a long shard of porcelain, its edge as keen as any blade.
He stood in the center of the room, took a deep breath, and held the porcelain shard against his chest. His face was a mask of ecstatic resolve.
"The old legends are wrong," he whispered to the silent room, his voice hoarse with overuse. "Pain isn't weakness. Pain… is the ultimate shortcut."
He closed his eyes and plunged the shard into his own chest.
The pain was absolute. It was an all-consuming supernova that erased thought, time, and sound. He felt the shard pierce skin, muscle, and then his lung, before grating against the very core of his being—his heart. His vision went black.
He waited. He waited for the life-saving golden light. He waited for the surge of power that would carry him to the heavens.
A new message appeared in the darkness of his mind.
[Soul-anchor-level damage detected. Regeneration requires a substantial expenditure of karmic luck.]
Chen Wei's fading consciousness latched onto the words. Karmic luck? What is that? A formality? Just use it! Use it all!
[Analyzing host's karmic luck value… Value: 0.]
The number hung in his mind, stark and absolute. Zero.
[Insufficient luck detected. Regeneration protocol failed.]
A pathetic glimmer of golden light flickered around the wound in his chest. It sputtered once, twice, like a dying candle in a storm.
And then it went out.
The pain, held in check by the expectation of healing, returned with the force of a collapsing mountain. His lungs filled with his own blood. His heart gave a few last shudders and then fell silent.
Chen Wei collapsed onto the expensive wool carpet of his luxurious room. The immense power of a peak Fourth Layer cultivator, a power he had held for less than an hour, seeped out of his cooling body. His eyes, wide with a final horror, stared at the ornate ceiling.
His last thought was not of Arya, or glory, or power. It was a simple, bewildered question that drifted away into the void.
But… the system said I was undying