"Asshole! I knew you were hiding something from me!"
The slap landed hard on the back of Wang Xian's head.
Wang Xian blinked. "...The hell was that for?"
His father scowled, face weathered with suspicion and frustration. "Don't play dumb. Show me. Your status panel. Now."
Wang Xian hesitated.
Just long enough.
That was enough to earn a second, harder slap.
"Okay, okay!" he muttered, rubbing his head. "But don't freak out. And for the love of everything, don't tell anyone."
He cast a glance toward the others. No one was paying attention. The sound of spells and combat still echoed down the ruined street.
Wang Xian flicked his wrist and opened his stat panel. He set it to temporary visibility.
His father leaned in—and froze.
"...Son," he whispered, eyes widening. "What... is that?"
Wang Xian winced. "Dad."
His father didn't blink. "What the hell is a 'Taboo-Level' talent? You have two of them! Is that... beyond Mythic? And four talents—four!?"
"DAD!"
The shout came out sharper than he meant, but it did the trick. His father snapped his mouth shut and looked around guiltily. A few heads turned, but no one pressed.
"I get it now," his father muttered, voice lower, serious. "You're bugged. You're... one of those glitched players, huh?"
Wang Xian raised an eyebrow. "You even know what a bug is?"
"I read forums. I'm not a complete caveman."
Wang Xian smiled despite himself. "Look, whether I am or not doesn't matter. You get it now, right? Take the damn petal. You and Mom both."
His father hesitated.
Then he took the [Shanyin Ancient Pagoda Flower] and swallowed it in a single motion, no further argument.
Wang Xian turned to his mother, who had been silent, watching the two with a ghost of a smile.
She nodded. "All right, son. I trust you."
The petals shimmered, then dissolved into their skin like smoke.
"What kind of talent did you get?" Wang Xian asked immediately.
"Don't know yet," his mother replied. "It's locked. Timer says twenty-four hours."
Wang Xian sighed. "Of course it is. Nothing's ever easy."
Half an hour later, the team was already back in the grind. Cheng Yao's legendary 600% buff had expired, and the fight had returned to a dull rhythm of clean pulls, focused burst, and constant vigilance.
The fire of transformation had passed. Now came the slow burn of progress.
At six a.m., the ghosts retreated to the Gate again, as they always did. But this time, no one returned to the small village house.
They relocated to the Taibai Restaurant.
A temporary base. But more importantly, it placed them close to the heart of the city—where the final event of the Zhongyuan Festival, the Wrath of the Ghost King, was about to begin.
Wang Xian had suggested the move. He was always thinking three moves ahead.
Even now.
Even when he pretended not to.
That evening, only the younger fighters and Wang Xian gathered in a private box upstairs. His parents stayed back at the restaurant's reserved rooms.
"Uncle," Nangong Wu said, tone quieter than usual. "Once the festival ends... I'll be leaving."
Wang Xian nodded. "Mm."
Nangong Wu stared at him.
"That's it?" she said, her voice thin with disappointment. "Nothing else?"
Wang Xian's eyes flicked to her. He was used to her games by now.
"Not like you're dying," he said flatly. "We're not writing your eulogy."
She sputtered. "I—! You—!"
The box erupted into laughter. Even Yue Rushuang cracked a rare grin.
Nangong Wu shot him a glare sharp enough to wound, then—perhaps to save face—pulled two shimmering petals from her bag and dropped them in his lap.
"My last bribe. Take it."
He raised an eyebrow. "You sure?"
"I'm sure."
He considered it.
Then picked up just one.
"You're not greedy?" she said, stunned.
"I only need one," he said. "I'm giving it to Su Mu. The brat's talent was 'elite' in the last life. He deserves better."
She didn't argue. Just nodded slowly.
"Uncle," she said again. "There's something else. A favor."
Wang Xian tilted his head.
"I'll be establishing a guild," she said. "Once we reach the city. And I want you to join me."
Wang Xian didn't even blink.
"Fine."
Nangong Wu froze. "That's it?"
"Did you want me to make a speech?" he said, shrugging.
She stared. "You're not even curious which guild?"
"I already know. Nine Heavens, right?"
Now she really froze.
"You're going to build it," he said. "It'll be one of the top three in the Dragon Kingdom. Maybe even the strongest. You'll lead it. I'll back you."
She opened her mouth to speak—then stopped. Because what was there to say?
He'd already seen it all.
He would never join the Dragon Realm Guild. Long Aotian was a narcissist surrounded by sociopaths.
The Dynasty Guild was clean, but distant. Too political.
But the Fengwu Nine Heavens Guild? All-women dominated, elite-focused, zero tolerance for incompetence. A guild that demanded power and delivered loyalty.
It was perfect.
Wang Xian didn't need power. He already had it.
He needed a shield strong enough to carry his future.
And a sword sharp enough to defend the human race when the stars finally turned black.
Which, if his dreams were right, would be very soon.