The soul-freezing cold was colder than any flesh could bear; it was pain carved straight into the spirit.

  Kong Nanfei had no idea why Qin Guang City existed, or what those soul-lashes were meant to forge.

  But one thing he knew for certain: every impact hammered his divine sense into steel. His very soul grew denser, tougher, brighter.

  The plunge into that frozen pool had stolen time itself.

  When the world finally thawed, Kong Nanfei snapped open his eyes and sucked down air like a drowning man.

  He stood atop the city wall, one step from the stone-faced jailer.

  “I… made it.”

  A hundred lashes endured.

  He had set foot inside the City of the Dead: Qin Guang City.

  The triumph tasted like ash.

  First gate of the Nine Hells, and already this brutal?

  Then the palace gates deep inside the city yawned open.

  A pressure thick as doom rolled out. Kong Nanfei’s soul quivered.

  Within the gloom, a ten-zhang titan sat enthroned. Every wandering soul looked like ants before him.

  “Qin Guang King, Lord of this city,” the jailer intoned with rare reverence.

  The distant sovereign’s gaze pinned Kong Nanfei. A voice like bronze bells tolled—words he couldn’t parse.

  A massive palm lifted. A violet crystal drifted forth, warm as heartbeat.

  Kong Nanfei caught it. First purple spirit crystal ever awarded.

  He bowed, palms clasped. “Many thanks, Your Majesty.”

  The gates boomed shut. The mountain of pressure vanished.

  Under the jailer’s guidance he entered the city proper.

  At its heart rose a towering stele etched with names.

  “Your rankings in the Nine Hells,” the jailer said. “First to reach Qin Guang City earns an extra prize.”

  “Each challenger walks a private layer of hell; you rarely meet. Only here, inside the city, do paths converge.”

  The jailer melted into shadow.

  Compared to the ghost village, the city thrummed. Specters haggled, strutted, groveled—death had not erased class.

  Kong Nanfei ignored the bustle, sat cross-legged, and studied the stele.

  > Kong Nanfei — Progress: Complete — Rank 1

  He grinned—then the list updated.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  > Feng Yilou — Complete — Rank 2

  > Zhong Nan — Complete — Rank 3

  Two heartbeats later and he’d nearly been shoved to third.

  Nie Changqing locked fourth; Condensing Zhao was overtaken by Xiao Yue’er.

  The city gates thundered open.

  Kong Nanfei squinted through tatters of scholar robes.

  Figures poured in, each one a furnace of power.

  A violet-robed spearman blazed like noon. Yang qi rolled off him, crushing the city’s gloom.

  Feng Yilou.

  Next came a black-shirted knife-bearer, blade short, aura razor-long.

  Zhong Nan, Absolute Blade Sect, top of the Tianyuan Human Roll.

  Feng Yilou’s lips curled. “I beat you here, knife-boy.”

  Zhong Nan’s reply was a glance—cold, wordless—then his eyes slid to Kong Nanfei.

  “First place yours?”

  Kong Nanfei gave a lazy shrug.

  Steel sang. Zhong Nan drew.

  Invisible knife qi carved furrows across stone.

  Feng Yilou stepped back, smiling like a spectator at a cockfight.

  Before steel kissed flesh, jailers erupted from the ground, chains rattling.

  “No fighting in the city.”

  “Penalty: soul-branding.”

  Zhong Nan snarled, “Scram!”

  Eight-turn golden core flared. Knife light shattered chains into sparks.

  He was strong—stronger than any jailer.

  Then hooves of bone thundered.

  A war chariot wreathed in ghost-blue flame charged, pulled by skeletal steeds.

  The Warden-Captain had arrived.

  Zhong Nan’s scalp prickled. Nascent Soul pressure locked him like crosshairs.

  Instead of fear, ecstasy lit his face.

  He leveled his short blade and roared.

  Spear met knife.

  No contest.

  The blue-flame lance punched through Zhong Nan’s chest, pinned him to the street, dragged him three hundred meters through his own blood.

  The Warden swept one indifferent glance and wheeled away.

  Chains descended. Zhong Nan’s screams echoed as his soul sizzled on invisible irons.

  Feng Yilou and Kong Nanfei swallowed hard.

  More challengers flooded in—Nie Changqing among them.

  Kong Nanfei waved, relieved to see a friendly face.

  Every newcomer was a stranger, and every stranger was golden-core terrifying.

  “When did the world breed so many monsters?” Kong Nanfei muttered.

  …

  Lake-Heart Island, North Luo.

  Lu propped his chin, lines of light dancing across his pupils.

  He watched Qin Guang City’s drama unfold.

  “They’re finally meeting… Five Phoenixes talents still lag behind Tianyuan’s prodigies.”

  “But pressure forges diamonds.”

  He had banned fighting in the city.

  Now he changed the rule.

  With a thought he sank into the Preaching Platform and sculpted a new zone: the Hell Pit.

  Entry fee: one blue spirit crystal.

  Death inside: all crystals confiscated, banished for three days, progress reset.

  Cruel? Yes.

  Effective? Absolutely.

  Satisfied, Lu ignored the storm he’d unleashed and returned to the Thousand-Blade Chair.

  Across from him hovered the black-robed Demon Lord, hair and cloak whipping in phantom wind.

  Lu produced the Spirit Pressure Board from the Nether Profound Ring.

  Black and white stones clacked.

  Time slipped away like sand.

  Outside, Du Longyang, the Empress, and the rest honed their Intents beneath the steles—each day stronger, each breath deeper.

  Wolong Ridge had become the world’s crucible.

  Inside the Nine Hells, two camps crystallized: Tianyuan prodigies versus Five Phoenixes natives.

  Peace lasted until a Tianyuan hotshot taunted Overlord.

  They paid the fee, entered the Hell Pit, and fought.

  Overlord—Dual-Pole Heaven Lock—beat a fifth-turn golden core to death with his bare fists.

  The corpse vanished in light, crystals raining into the system’s coffers.

  Tianyuan’s camp exploded.

  War was declared without words.

  No one rushed the second gate. Everyone wanted the purple-crystal prize for first entry.

  When Kong Nanfei crushed his violet reward, a Dao stele crashed from the heavens, gifting him enlightenment time.

  The city emptied in a stampede toward the Second Prison.

  Two months blurred past.

  Outside, the continent stayed quiet.

  Xiliang and Great Xuan honored White Jade Capital’s wager—no large wars, only border scuffles.

  Great Xuan boomed under Tan Taixuan’s nine-zhang dragon qi.

  Xiliang held steady with Luo Mingsang’s steady hand.

  Body Storage cultivators multiplied; any power without them lost its voice.

  But the greatest change belonged to White Jade Capital.

  Spring rain fell like silk.

  Ripples danced across the Origin Lake.

  Lu sat atop the tower, two months of chess behind him.

  Every game with the Demon Lord had scraped away impatience, leaving only calm.

  The final stone fell—tengen.

  A pebble dropped into the lake of his soul.

  Ripples.

  A golden line surfaced:

  > Congratulations, Host.

  > Early completion bonus triggered.

  > Spirit Qi cashed in: 96,100 strands.