"Ha… ha … ha… Don't screw with me!"
The words nearly burst from Zhao Lingfeng's throat, trapped behind clenched teeth as he scrubbed the vast stone floor of the Outer Court's main hall with great vigour. Sweat dripped from his brow, reflecting the morning sunlight that streamed through the stone lattice windows.
*Bwong... Bwong… Bwong...*
The distant toll of the Sect's ancient bell echoed into his ears, threatening to burst his heart.
Three rings.
The third-to-last call for disciples departing to the secret realm. Zhao Lingfeng's knuckles whitened around the coarse scrubbing brush.
Every damn day of this boring menial shit!
"Faster, you useless lot!" Elder Chong's voice cracked through the air like a whip.
The old cultivator stood at the hall's entrance, his long beard quivering with barely contained irritation.
"The Sect Master himself will be passing through here for the farewell ceremony. If I see even a speck of dust, you'll all be cleaning latrines for the next three months!"
Zhao Lingfeng bit back another curse.
He'd prepared everything last night. His tattered but meticulously maintained robes, the basic talismans and pills he'd scraped together from years of saving. All packed and ready for his one shot at changing his fate.
So why was he still stuck here?
"Outer Court Disciple Liu! Your section still looks like a pig sty!" Elder Chong's voice rose an octave higher. "Have you been cultivating with your eyes closed all these years?"
Around him, four other disciples, all stuck in the early realms of Qi Refining like himself, scrambled to clean their designated areas. The excitement of the secret realm's opening had left the Outer Court severely understaffed, and of course, who better to handle the menial tasks than the sect's bottom-feeders?
No, in fact, to prevent such a thing from happening, Zhao Lingfeng had ensured the place was absolutely spotless last night. But someone had played a cruel joke. An insidious, cheap bastard or bastards from his sect had actually made a stained mess of it while he slept.
Reason?
Wasn't that obvious?
It was to reduce competition.
"I swear, the Heavens better not let me find out who that scheming bastard is. I will definitely strangle the bastard even if it's the last thing I do!" he muttered with extreme anger.
*Bwong... Bwong… Bwong… Bwong…*
This time, four rings.
The second last call.
Through the grand windows, Zhao Lingfeng caught glimpses of his fellow junior disciples as their senior brothers and sisters took them under soaring sword lights, their robes pristine, their futures bright. Meanwhile, here he was, on his hands and knees, fighting an endless battle against dust and mess.
"This isn't how it was supposed to be," he muttered, his movements becoming almost frenzied.
In his previous life, he'd forcefully squeezed hours grinding in games after a day's gruesome work, optimising his gameplay, seeking that legendary drop. He had thought that being reincarnated into a cultivation world after getting sent flying to his death by a truck would be his chance to escape repetitive, boring jobs and live a free, adventurous cultivation life
"Junior Brother Zhao Lingfeng! You missed a spot!" A voice called out mockingly from across the hall. It was He Quan, another outer disciple who seemed to take particular pleasure in pointing out Zhao Lingfeng's shortcomings.
Five years.
Five years of scrubbing floors, chopping wood, and being one of everyone's errand boy. The thought burned in his mind as he attacked the stubborn stain with renewed determination.
But today... today was supposed to be different.
The secret realm would only accept those below Foundation Establishment. It was the one time when the playing field would be somewhat level, where even a "trash" cultivator like him might stumble upon some heaven-defying fortune.
All those nights spent memorising cultivation topics, studying plants and beasts, and practicing the most basic of sword forms.
They couldn't be for nothing.
"Elder Chong!" A voice suddenly called from outside. "The Sect Master approaches!"
The old man's face turned a shade of purple. "You have exactly ten breaths to finish! Ten!"
Zhao Lingfeng's muscles screamed as he pushed himself to move faster.
Sect Master?
At this point, Zhao Lingfeng Lingfeng didn't care about his chance to bootlick the Sect Master. He had to finish. Right now. If he doesn't leave now, then...
"Ha... ha... Almost there!" Zhao Lingfeng's breath came in ragged gasps.
The stone floor beneath his hands gradually revealed its original luster, like a buried treasure emerging from beneath years of neglect. Around him, the other disciples had already succumbed to exhaustion, their spirits as broken as their worn-out scrubbing brushes.
His Qi circulation faltered, the meagre spiritual energy in his meridians barely responding to his desperate calls. Each movement of the brush sent tremors through his arms, the coarse bristles scratching against stone in a rhythm that had become as familiar to him as his own heartbeat.
Please please please!
*Bwong... Bwong... Bwong... Bwong... Bwong...*
The fifth ring reverberated through the hall, its deep resonance settling into his bones like a last warning.
The final call.
Outside, the gathered crowd's excited murmurs carried on the morning breeze, a cruel counterpoint to the silence of defeat that hung heavy in the hall.
Through blurred vision, he caught glimpses of his fellow outer disciples.
Senior Sister Tang Min had already slumped against a pillar, her usually pristine robes soaked with sweat and grime. Junior brother Liu was pounding the floor weakly. Brother Chen stared vacantly at his half-finished section, the brush lying forgotten beside his trembling hands. Even the usually stoic Senior Brother Fan Wei had given up, his face a mask of resigned acceptance.
"Impossible..." Junior Brother Liu whispered from somewhere behind him, voice cracking with defeat. "We'll never make it now."
It was a moment signalling a collective surrender.
But something in Zhao Lingfeng's spirit refused to bend.
His previous life, that endless cycle of deadlines and last-minute victories, had taught him one immutable truth: there was always a way to beat the timer.
How many bosses had he taken down with just one percent HP remaining?
How many times had he snatched victory from the jaws of defeat?
The memories of countless all-nighters, of impossible odds overcome through sheer stubborn determination, burned in his chest like an ember refusing to die.
Through the grand doors, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed like rolling thunder. The Sect Master's procession drew near, their measured pace marking the countdown to his fate.
"The Sect Master is here!"
The cry came again, closer now, carrying with it the weight of imminent judgment.
Elder Chong's face had progressed from purple to an almost impressive shade of crimson, his long beard quivering with barely contained fury. The old cultivator's eyes blazed with the intensity of one who saw his own reputation crumbling before him. "Five breaths left! Five—"
No. Fuck this!
Zhao Lingfeng threw the brush aside with a clatter that echoed through the vast hall. His legs trembled as he forced himself to stand, muscles screaming in protest from hours of constant strain. His outer robes were soaked with sweat, his hair a dishevelled mess, and his hands raw from gripping the coarse brush.
"Outer Court Disciple Zhao Lingfeng! Where do you think you're—"
He didn't wait to hear the rest.
With the last reserves of his pitiful Qi, he burst into a stumbling run. The other disciples watched with wide eyes as he barrelled past Elder Chong, nearly catching the old man's beard in his wake.
The world blurred around him as he rushed through the corridor, his footsteps leaving wet marks on the floor. The sound of his heartbeat drowned out everything else. The approaching entourage of the Sect Master, the gasps of shocked inner-court disciples, even his own labored breathing.
He burst out into the outer courtyard, the sudden brightness causing him to squint. Through his blurred vision, he could make out a sea of faces—disciples, elders, servants—all turned to stare at this mad creature that had emerged from the main hall like a demon from the underworld. Their ears caught the demon huffing and puffing.
"Where..." he gasped, scanning the sky desperately. "Where is everyone? The departure... the secret realm..."
A young female disciple from the inner court, dressed in pristine white robes, took a step back at the sight of his disheveled appearance. "The last group left just moments ago," she said, her voice a mix of disdain and pity. "Surely you didn't think..."
Her last words faded into meaninglessness as Zhao Lingfeng's gaze drifted upward.
The morning sky stretched above him, vast and empty, mocking him with its peaceful blue world.
No sword lights.
No flying disciples.
No last chance at changing his fate.
Five years of preparation.
Five years of enduring humiliation and being under others to climb the ladder for the future.
Five years of hoping, planning, scraping together resources...
…all ended with him standing in a courtyard, looking like a mad man, watching his dreams disappear into that endless sky.
The world began to spin, colors bleeding into each other like a painting left in the rain.
Someone might have gasped.
Someone else might have laughed.
He couldn't tell anymore.
"Blurgh!"
Zhao Lingfeng coughed out a mouthful of blood!!
As consciousness slipped away from him like water through cupped hands, a single thought echoed in his mind:
Whether it's this life *cough* or the next... I, Zhao Lingfeng, refuse to let things end like this again!
Then the sky tilted, the ground rushed up to meet him, and everything faded to black.
Game Over.