On the first floor of the Tower of Infinite Enlightenment, six months passed in the blink of an eye.

The gray wastelands had not changed—still filled with drifting mists of resentment, still filled with ghostly cries that never ceased—but Wang Chen had.

After half a year of endless battles, sleepless vigilance, and enough curses to make even the heavens blush, he had finally done it.

"Finally… it's fully repaired."

His voice trembled with excitement as he stared at the Thousand Souls Flag in his hand.

The once-tattered relic, fragile like burnt paper, now pulsed with life. Golden radiance streamed from its surface, the glow soft yet divine, illuminating the desolate world around him. Countless runes, each filled with tremendous power, rippled across the flag like living veins. They intertwined to form sacred sigils that shimmered faintly, bending the air around them.

Even the atmosphere warped—space itself seemed to ripple in awe of the artifact's rebirth.

Then—

A cold, melodic voice brushed against his ear like the edge of a blade.

"A low-quality realm gate, huh… Little cultivator, do you have some connection with the Upper Realm?"

By the time her sentence ended, the void was saturated with faint killing intent.

Wang Chen's lips twitched violently. His brain screamed danger, and before his mouth could betray him, he shook his head like a man possessed.

"Nah, big sister, I have no connection with the Upper Realm whatsoever."

He wasn't lying—at least, not entirely. But he had long since learned one truth about Mo Huayan: she hated the Upper Realm. Not just dislike—pure, seething, world-ending hatred. The mere mention of it was like throwing oil on divine flame.

For six months, she had hovered around him like a phantom shadow—never too close, never too far.

Some men would have gone insane from loneliness. Wang Chen, however, had discovered that being accompanied by Mo Huayan was far worse. Her cold, oppressive presence followed him like the danger of a drawn sword. He often wondered if the Tower intended to break his mind before testing his strength.

He managed a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his neck.

"I'm just a lowly cultivator, big sister. What kind of connection could I possibly have with the upper realm?"

Mo Huayan's eyes—violet and unreadable—narrowed. Her smile didn't reach them.

"Hmph. As if I'd believe that."

Her voice was a flick of frost, and Wang Chen knew better than to reply.

When she finally turned away with a dismissive snort, he exhaled long and hard, his entire body sagging with relief.

The task he'd come here for had been accomplished—the flag was restored. Now, all that remained was to leave this cursed floor alive.

And to leave, there were only two paths: kill every last resentful ghost… or die trying.

Naturally, Wang Chen preferred the first option.

After that brief exchange, he dove back into routine: endless ghost hunting, nonstop combat, and experimenting with whatever ridiculous "Gardener" skills the Tower had thrown his way.

[Ding! New skill unlocked: Gentle Watering (Level 1) – Slightly accelerates plant growth.]

[Ding! New skill unlocked: Harvest Blessing – Increases yield by 20%.]

He stared at the glowing blue text, dumbfounded.

"Yeah, because watering plants will definitely help me kill ghost kings," he muttered dryly.

Still, he continued leveling, and before long, his disbelief began to fade.

At Level 40, he unlocked something more promising:

[Herbalist's Intuition (Passive) – Identify medicinal value in all flora.]

That one, he had to admit, was useful.

Then, after countless hunts, sleepless days, and near-death encounters, he reached Level 100.\

A feat that took full fifty years.

And that was when everything changed.

The air itself seemed to tremble as the notification appeared before his eyes.

[Garden of Eternity (Transcendental) – Create a permanent living realm bound to your soul.]

For a long moment, Wang Chen could only stare. His mind went blank, then filled with a single incredulous thought.

"What the hell… I can create a new world? Isn't that a bit too extreme?"

The Gardener class, which he had cursed since day one, suddenly didn't seem so laughable.

For the first time in months, excitement—true excitement—stirred in his chest.

He had done it. The resentful ghosts were gone. The Thousand Souls Flag was whole. The first floor was cleared.

It was finally time to leave.

He turned, scanning the dead landscape one last time. His eyes caught on a familiar figure standing not far away.

Mo Huayan.

Even after so many years, she looked exactly the same—eerily, impossibly the same. Time seemed afraid to touch her.

Her long hair swayed gently in the ghostly wind, her white robes untouched by dust or decay. When her gaze met his, she smiled.

It was a smile so radiant, so unearthly beautiful, that even Wang Chen—who had witnessed countless divine beings through his lifetimes—found his breath catch. For one unguarded heartbeat, he forgot the desolation, the exhaustion, the countless battles.

Then—

[Task Completed. Master failed to break his own record.]

The Tower's mechanical voice snapped him back to reality.

Relief washed over him like rain after a drought.

Perhaps it was the joy of finally leaving or the madness that came with survival, but Wang Chen actually laughed.

He glanced at her and said with a grin, "Damn vixen, thank you for tormenting me all this time. I hope I never see you again!"

His voice echoed across the empty realm, raw with years of pent-up frustration. He wanted to add another insult, maybe two, but before he could—

His body dissolved into countless motes of light.

Gone.

Vanished from that world as abruptly as he had arrived.

Mo Huayan stood still, her eyes fixed on the space where he had been.

His laughter and final words lingered faintly in the air, the echoes wrapping around her like invisible chains.

The world began to fragment. The cracked earth split apart into ribbons of light, the fog receded, and the realm itself began to fold inward—collapsing into nothingness.

Everything—mountains, winds, screams—vanished.

Everything except her.

Mo Huayan remained, untouched, unbroken.

The collapsing space couldn't consume her; the erasure of reality couldn't reach her.

As the last fragment of the world disintegrated into void, she stood alone, violet eyes glimmering faintly.

"Interesting little cultivator," she murmured softly. "You think you've escaped… but we'll meet again."

Her voice was a whisper of amusement and promise, fading into silence.

...

"Thank god I finally managed to get away from that vixen."

Wang Chen exhaled sharply, collapsing back into the Tower's waiting space. His body trembled slightly—not from exhaustion, but relief.

Rows of glowing icons floated before him, cascading across the darkness.

He rubbed his temples, muttering under his breath, "If every floor has a woman like that, I'm never clearing this Tower…"

The memory of Mo Huayan—her laughter, her cold eyes, that unnerving smile—still clung to him like smoke. But he pushed it away.

For now, there was only one thing on his mind:

Rewards.

No matter how the Tower mocked him for failing to break his record, completion meant one thing—and one thing only.

A reward was coming.

And Wang Chen had learned one universal truth:

in this Tower, rewards were always worth bleeding for.

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