Chapter 1
Chapter 1: The Interview
"Are we there yet?"
"Don't worry, you've got such great grades—you'll definitely make it."
"Don't stress about the surgery fees. Mom’s taken on a new side job, and we’ll make it work. Just focus on your interview."
Zhang Yu stared at the message from his mother on the screen, then quietly slid his phone into his pocket. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and waited in silence.
After a long while, a voice rang out from ahead.
"Candidate 989, Zhang Yu."
Zhang Yu stood up and stepped into the interview room.
He looked at the three examiners and offered the practiced, polite smile he’d rehearsed a hundred times.
"Good afternoon. I’m Zhang Yu from Dongyang Junior High."
The middle examiner studied him, expression neutral. "Why do you want to attend our school?"
Zhang Yu began, "Your school’s long history, profound academic tradition, abundant educational resources—"
The examiner raised a brow and cut him off. "Don’t give me the usual fluff."
Zhang Yu hesitated, then answered honestly. "I want to get into a top-tier university. Songyang High is the school with the highest college admission rate among those I’m eligible to apply to."
The examiner gave a faint smile, glancing at his file. "Hmm… full marks across all subjects, top of the school? No wonder you were recommended."
"Your grades are unquestionable. But getting into Songyang High isn’t just about your internal exam scores. That’s not enough."
He paused, then asked casually, "How many hours do you sleep each day?"
"Five."
The examiner blinked. "Five?"
"Our students start school at age nine, and on average, they sleep no more than two hours a day. Top graduates from past years… they don’t sleep at all."
"You sleep five hours? That means you’re losing three hours of study every day—three hours less than your peers. In nine years, that’s nearly ten thousand hours of lost learning."
Zhang Yu froze. He hadn’t realized just how far behind he was, despite thinking he’d already pushed himself to the limit. He knew that students in Songyang City began elementary school at nine, and would enter high school at eighteen after nine years—but he’d never imagined that such a small difference in daily effort could create such a chasm.
"I’ll catch up," Zhang Yu said quickly.
The examiner on the left asked, "How much of the high school curriculum have you covered?"
Zhang Yu regained his composure and replied confidently, "I’ve already taught myself all of Grade 10 material."
The man frowned. "Only Grade 10? Don’t you know we assume students have already completed the entire high school syllabus before they even step into our classrooms?"
Zhang Yu froze. Another piece of reality he hadn’t known. His supposed advantage had turned into a liability in an instant.
Just as he struggled to respond, the middle examiner asked his next question.
"To maximize learning efficiency and prevent romantic distractions, our school requires all incoming students to undergo sterilization surgery before enrollment—complete removal of reproductive organs—so they may focus solely on cultivation."
"Have you heard of this?"
At last, something he did know. Zhang Yu answered without hesitation. "My family is already preparing for it. I’ll complete the procedure before school starts. I’ll keep my hormone levels at the optimal level for academic performance."
The examiner nodded noncommittally. "Alright. That’s all for today. You may leave."
Zhang Yu stepped out, heart pounding. The interview had lasted far shorter than any others he’d heard about.
Once he was gone, the middle examiner shook his head. "Still hasn’t been sterilized by junior high? His cultivation resolve isn’t strong enough."
The female examiner chuckled. "Honestly, he showed up with no test reports, no extracurricular achievements—just a recommendation from some ordinary middle school. The quality of these applicants keeps getting worse. If it weren’t for the government’s support programs, they wouldn’t even be allowed to apply."
The man sighed. "I thought poor kids would be more driven. Maybe I was too optimistic."
"Put him on the backup list."
With that, he tossed Zhang Yu’s file into a nearby trash bin, joining hundreds of other discarded applications.
Though Zhang Yu felt the interview hadn’t gone well, there was no time to dwell. He was already preparing for the next round—off to another high school, then another, each with its own set of impossible demands.
"Zhang Yu, we understand your family’s financial situation may not cover tuition. But we offer special loan programs for underprivileged students. Just pledge a non-essential organ as collateral..."
"Relax—don’t worry, you’ve come to the right place. We’re a girls’ school, but we don’t discriminate against males. If you complete gender transition surgery, not only will you be accepted, but you’ll be considered a spiritually resolute candidate—eligible for our elite program in Primordial Yin Cultivation Arts."
"Unfortunately, you’re still slightly below our standard. But this year, we’re offering a special talent admission policy for disadvantaged students. If you’re willing to abandon your physical body, you could join as a Soul Cultivation Talent, studying under the Principal’s Ten Thousand Souls Banner..."
"Welcome, young talent! This is the perfect high school for someone like you. Let me explain our benefits: our drinking water contains Cognitive Enhancement Agents, keeping students in a constant Level 5 focus state. Each day, teachers distribute over 900 grams of Beef Demon-Specific Supplements—boosting your cultivation effectiveness tenfold. Even the air filtration system is infused with Neural Excitement Fillers, so you’ll never need to sleep. All free of charge."
"Of course, to safely handle these enhancement agents, you must undergo modifications at our designated hospital. Don’t worry—just implant a few small talismans to enhance your metabolism. Here’s the full price list..."
Each interview, another impossible threshold. Another trap-laden contract that made Zhang Yu feel like he was being swallowed whole.
He began to realize: the student who had once been top of his school in a rural district was already worlds apart from the students in the city center. And even now, he only grasped the tip of the iceberg.
All those years of studying—his efforts—had become a joke. In the end, he wasn’t so different from the lazy classmates he once looked down on. He, too, couldn’t get into high school.
Back at home, Zhang Yu sat motionless, like a statue.
His phone buzzed repeatedly.
Mother: How did the interview go?
Mother: I’m working late. Heat up the food in the fridge when you eat.
A moment later, another message:
Mother: Don’t worry, son. No matter what—whether it’s sterilization or gender transition—your surgery fees, I’ll find a way to pay.
But Zhang Yu didn’t look. He stared blankly at the ceiling, trying to think about the future—but his mind felt utterly empty.
Then, the phone buzzed violently again. He ignored it at first, but after a full minute of relentless shaking, he finally picked it up—only to find the call had already ended.
He checked the message:
Your 5,000 yuan reserve fund is ready. Transfer in ten seconds.
"Another loan ad?"
"Hmph." Zhang Yu thought his application must’ve been sold to some school.
But a few seconds later, he reopened the message.
…
That night, his mother returned from work to find Zhang Yu sitting upright at the desk, reading—his face no longer pale and lifeless.
"Mom, don’t worry. I won’t give up that easily."
"If I fail this year, I’ll try again next. I will become a cultivator."
"I’ll find a prep school tomorrow. I’ll make up every single thing I’m missing."
The next morning, Zhang Yu rushed out. That night, he returned with a broad smile.
"Mom, I found Xian Dao Tutorial Institute. The teachers are all from top high schools. If we study with them, we’ll definitely get into high school."
"Don’t worry about tuition. They saw my good grades since childhood, and know we’re struggling financially. They’ve waived the fees—no payment needed as long as I get into Songyang High next year. It’s like doing them free advertising."
"You can trust them. It’s a big company. They wouldn’t lie."
His mother watched as Zhang Yu left before dawn and returned late at night, studying until two or three in the morning. She saw him bringing home textbooks—grades 10, 11, 12 in Chinese, math, physics, and more. She saw him planning to master all the general knowledge subjects, except cultivation.
She felt proud of her son’s ambition.
But when she saw the boxes of medicine he brought home, a quiet doubt crept in.
Zhang Yu smiled. "Mom, I’ve already missed ten thousand hours of study compared to those top students. If I don’t push harder, I’ll fall further behind."
"These Neural Excitement Fillers let me sleep only thirty minutes a day—maximize my learning efficiency. I can’t let the city students pull ahead."
"Don’t worry, the medicine’s free."
"Our school principal really believes in me. He gave them to me himself."
Hearing it was the principal’s gift, his mother felt even more proud—her son was being recognized.
Soon, Zhang Yu brought back more: high school textbooks, Neural Excitement Fillers, hormone-balancing capsules, demon beast supplements, and unlabeled powders in jars.
His explanations varied—sometimes he said he bought them cheaply, sometimes they were gifts from classmates, sometimes rewards from the prep school.
His mother was thrilled by his diligence and pleased by his popularity and success at the prep school.
She sent him 1,000 yuan, telling him to thank his classmates and teachers.
But gradually, she noticed something was wrong. Sometimes he’d leave cheerful in the morning, only to return silent and collapse into bed. Other times, he’d be laughing at dinner—then, after a single phone call, his face would darken, and he’d stop eating altogether.
She knew the pressure of cultivation was crushing him. All she could do was buy more of his favorite food, save extra for tuition, and hope it eased his burden.
Then she noticed he became obsessed with his phone—never letting anyone touch it, always going to the bathroom to take calls, locking the door behind him.
Once, when she charged it after it died, he flew into a rage.
Understanding his stress, she never touched it again—afraid she might disrupt his cultivation.
Then one day, he asked her for money—first for a fee to a senior student who’d been invited to lecture. Then for a referral fee to a high school admissions officer. Then for a Spirit Root Examination Fee at a hospital. Then for a shared purchase of a civilian-grade Children’s Flying Sword.
From a few thousand to eight thousand… and finally, a staggering 20,000 yuan—rental fees for a Celestial Spirit Root.
Finally, the good news came: Zhang Yu had been accepted into Songyang High.
His mother burst with joy. She was proud of his effort and talent. She agreed without hesitation to pay for tuition, fees, supplements—everything.
But after enrollment, the requests kept growing. The debts piled up. The family budget collapsed.
One afternoon, as she answered a call, her heart froze.
"Hello? Is this Zhang Yu’s mother?"
"Do you know your son’s loan has been overdue for thirty days?"
That night, Zhang Yu confessed everything.
All those expenses—those “free” supplements, “gifts” from the principal, “rewards” from the school—hadn’t been free at all. They were all borrowed from online lending platforms.
"Mom… I’m sorry.
But I really want to become a cultivator.
Even if I spend my whole life repaying this debt… I still want to cultivate."
After hearing this, his mother quietly sold everything valuable in the house, then took out more loans to repay the debt.
She thought, at last, her son could finally focus on cultivation.
But soon, she found another overdue loan.
Repay… borrow… repay… borrow…
Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore. She begged Zhang Yu to cut back.
"Mom, I can’t stop. If I stop the medicine, my cultivation foundation will collapse. All my progress will be lost."
"I must rent the Celestial Spirit Root. Without it, my spiritual energy won’t keep up."
"The VIP card at the prep school needs top-up. Otherwise, I won’t understand the master’s teachings."
Advanced spiritual technology allowed ordinary humans without innate talent to walk the path of cultivation—but at a cost: constant, expensive upkeep and learning.
Three months passed.
The debts only grew. Now they couldn’t even afford rent or utilities.
It was a nightmare with no end.
Finally, the mother broke.
When Zhang Yu came home one day, she was gone.
A note left behind.
He sat in silence for a long time.
Then, slowly, he picked up his phone and stepped out.
…
On the rooftop of the apartment building, a sharp pain tore through the man’s mind, pulling his foggy consciousness from darkness.
He opened his eyes. Before him stretched a crowded, filthy street—sloshing with sewage, lit by neon signs flashing across every side.
Above, towering black buildings pressed together like a wall blocking the sky.
Below, the old apartment building was a wreck. The cracked red bricks still displayed a video ad—flying, godlike cultivators urging new users to sign up for a 30-day interest-free Xiu Xian Loan.
"I wasn’t playing Black Mau Mau just now… right?"
"Where the hell am I?"
As he turned, he saw the rooftop was lined with candles.
A row of flickering red flames encircled him and an old, tattered doll.
The doll was made of faded, yellowed fabric, stitched unevenly—on the verge of falling apart.
The scene triggered a flood of fragmented memories.
"This isn’t China… I’ve been transported to another world?"
He couldn’t believe it.
But the memories of spiritual technology—real, vivid, undeniable—pounded against his mind, merging with the original consciousness.
This was Kunxu—a colossal pyramid-shaped structure rising from the earth, with thirty-six aboveground levels and eighteen underground. Each level was a new world, starting from the first—vast as a continent.
Beyond Kunxu? He didn’t know.
Inside, the world was ruled by great spiritual sects. The sects dominated food, energy, transportation, education, research, medicine, finance, and the internet. The government and military were mere security guards before the sect enforcers.
Ordinary people had no access to most of the benefits of spiritual technology. They toiled just to survive.
And he—Zhang Yu—was a high school student at Songyang High, living on the first level of Kunxu, recently obsessed with some strange ritual.
"Right now… I’m someone else’s body."
Suddenly, a sharp sting shot through his palm.
He looked down.
A transparent symbol had appeared on his skin—slowly, imperceptibly, turning black.
"What the hell is this?"
The wind blew. The red candles flickered.
The broken doll stared at him with hollow black button eyes—motionless.
He tried to remember what happened—but the more he thought, the worse his head hurt.
The air grew thick, cold, and oppressive.
Zhang Yu clutched his head, dizzy and disoriented.
When he came to, he found himself stumbling back to his apartment door.
He glanced at the overdue rent notice, then stepped inside.
The room held only a bed and a table.
"This is my home?"
His skin was soaked in sweat. The air was suffocatingly hot.
He reached for the air conditioner remote—then remembered: there was no air conditioner.
He wanted to take a shower—but the water was already cut off.
He collapsed onto the bed.
"What a dump."
"Even if there are real cultivators… this life is worse than in a world without spirit."
His eyes swept the walls. Behind the desk, a row of framed awards—grades 1 through 9.
The original Zhang Yu had been top of his class every year.
Memories flooded in:
The original Zhang Yu was diligent, hardworking, a lifelong scholar.
Songyang High was a top-tier school in the city.
Damn it… I was a genius.
As he recalled the knowledge in his mind, a spark ignited in his eyes.
"Get into a top university → form a foundation → join a major sect → attain the Qi Condensation stage → climb Kunxu → leave this slum → enjoy real spiritual benefits. Live for hundreds of years."
For the first time, Zhang Yu felt a flicker of hope.
Maybe coming to this world wasn’t so bad after all.
Just then, his phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Mr. Zhang Yu, your loan on our platform is now three days overdue…"
He hung up. Scrolling through his inbox, he found a wall of debt reminders—messages from every lending platform the original Zhang Yu had used.
And then, the memories came flooding back:
This guy started borrowing for tutoring before high school.
Once admitted to Songyang High, he couldn’t keep up—he invented "loan-to-loan" schemes, taking out loans to buy pills, supplements, and tutoring, forcing his body to peak performance.
In the end, he borrowed more and more, his potential drained dry.
He wasn’t a real cultivator—just a fake, built on debt.
His mother couldn’t take it anymore… she left.
Zhang Yu calculated the total. His forehead broke out in cold sweat.
The total debt? Over 700,000 yuan.
His account balance? 50 yuan.
"Seventy thousand… what the hell?!"
He slammed his fist onto the bed. "In this world… even a top student graduate is drowning in debt!"
"No wonder he was obsessed with that weird ritual. He was just a loan-ridden failure, chasing dreams he could never afford."
"He had his fun. Now I’m stuck paying for it?"
Suddenly, the lights in the room went out.
He pressed the switch again and again. Checked his neighbors’ windows—no lights either.
He was cut off.
"This shithole…"
"If I could just wake up tomorrow and go back… that’d be perfect."
His mind swirled with chaos.
Eventually, he fell into a restless sleep.
On his palm, the once-transparent symbol was now one-tenth black.
(End of Chapter
(End of Chapter)
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