Ren looked at himself in the bathroom mirror.
He looked like hell.
Dark circles under his eyes that made him look like he'd been in a fight. Hair that refused to lie flat no matter how much he wet it down. A grey hoodie that smelled faintly of cinnabar ink and old smoke from his grandmother's all-night ritual preparations.
But the most annoying part wasn't the exhaustion.
It was the red text burning in the center of his vision like a dead pixel on a computer screen that he couldn't swipe away.
[ TIME UNTIL PURGE: 64 HOURS, 12 MINUTES. ]
It had been there when he woke up. Still there when he brushed his teeth. Still there now, counting down like a bomb timer he couldn't defuse.
"Stop blinking," Ren told his reflection. "You look guilty when you blink too much."
He splashed cold water on his face.
The water felt wrong. Thicker than it should be. Almost oily against his skin.
He ignored it.
Dried off with a towel that smelled like sage and something else—something older and darker that he didn't want to think about.
---
Downstairs, his grandmother was waiting by the front door.
She didn't offer him breakfast. Didn't ask if he'd slept okay. Just handed him a dented metal thermos that smelled like wet dirt and something bitter.
"Graveyard soil and ginger root," she said. Her face was grim, exhausted. Dark circles under her eyes that matched his own. "Drink all of it. It masks your living scent."
Ren unscrewed the cap and looked at the muddy brown liquid inside.
Something old stirred in the back of his mind.
Graveyard soil? Crude. Inefficient.
The thought wasn't entirely his. It had weight behind it. Centuries of disdain for folk magic and peasant rituals.
Ren tried to reach past the criticism. Tried to summon the power he'd felt last night when he'd crushed the Guardian with a single word.
He reached for his Spirit Core—the reservoir of energy that should have been there.
Sputter.
Nothing.
His core was completely dry. Empty. He was a Ferrari with no gas in the tank and the keys still in the ignition.
He knew the advanced spells. Could feel them in his inherited memories like phantom limbs. The *Veil of Nine Clouds* would have been perfect—a high-tier concealment technique that could hide him from even Heaven's surveillance networks.
But knowing how to cast a spell and having the spiritual energy to fuel it were two completely different things.
Without cultivation, he was just a mortal teenager with an ancient history book crammed into his skull.
He needed his grandmother's low-budget hedge magic whether the Shaman inside him liked it or not.
"Thanks," Ren muttered, raising the thermos in a half-hearted salute. "Beggars can't be choosers."
He chugged the liquid in three long gulps.
It tasted like mud mixed with spicy regret and something that might have been rotted ginger. He had to force himself not to gag.
"Go," his grandmother commanded. She was clutching her jade amulet so tight her knuckles were white. "And remember the rules. You are boring. You are invisible. You are nobody important."
"I am nobody," Ren repeated, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Good boy. Now go before you're late."
He walked out the door into the grey morning.
The city was waking up around him.
To a normal human, it was just a cloudy Tuesday morning. Overcast sky threatening rain. People heading to work with coffee cups and umbrellas.
To Ren, whose Spirit Sight was apparently permanently stuck in the ON position, it was a circus of horrors.
[ PASSIVE ABILITY: SPIRIT SIGHT (TIER 0) ]
[ WARNING: CANNOT BE DISABLED AT CURRENT CULTIVATION LEVEL ]
The mailbox at the corner wasn't just a mailbox.
A small, gremlin-like creature was crouched inside it, chewing on envelopes and spitting out soggy paper pulp. Its eyes glowed faint yellow in the shadows of the metal box.
[ ENTITY: MINOR IMP ]
Ren kept walking, eyes forward.
Don't engage. Don't acknowledge. You can't see them.
He passed a jogging couple going the opposite direction.
The woman looked normal—ponytail, expensive running shoes, wireless earbuds playing something with a heavy beat.
The man had a grey, translucent woman clinging to his back like a backpack. Her arms were wrapped around his throat, her mouth pressed against his ear, whispering something Ren couldn't hear but could guess.
[ ENTITY: CLINGY EX-GIRLFRIEND (CLASS: SPECTER) ]
[ THREAT LEVEL: EMOTIONAL DAMAGE ONLY ]
Have some dignity, Ren thought, adjusting his backpack straps. The contempt wasn't entirely his own—it had the weight of someone who'd seen empires fall. In my day, ghosts haunted entire provinces. Now they just ruin morning jogs.
He shook his head, trying to clear the intrusive thoughts.
The subway station loomed ahead.
Grey concrete. Flickering fluorescent lights. The smell of rain and exhaust mixing in the stairwell.
This was going to be the real test.
Ren swiped his transit card at the turnstile.
BEEP.
He descended into the underground station, taking the stairs two at a time. The air pressure dropped immediately, making his ears pop. Temperature fell by at least ten degrees.
The smell hit him like a physical wall.
Rust. Ozone. Unwashed bodies pressed too close together. Something else underneath—something sweet and rotten that made his stomach clench.
A brief wave of dizziness washed over him. Like his blood pressure had suddenly dropped. He grabbed the handrail to steady himself.
What was that?
The feeling passed as quickly as it came, but left a cold residue in his chest.
The train arrived with a screech of metal on metal that seemed too loud, too sharp.
The doors hissed open.
Ren squeezed into the crowded car with everyone else. Bodies pressed against him from all sides. The smell of coffee and cheap cologne and something underneath that smelled like formaldehyde.
He grabbed a handrail near the door.
Immediately, he felt something cold and slimy touch his hand.
Ren looked down slowly, carefully.
Sitting in the priority seat directly below him was a man in a grey business suit. Neat tie. Polished shoes. Leather briefcase resting on his lap.
Except his head was detached from his body.
The head was resting in his lap like a bowling ball, looking down at a smartphone with a badly cracked screen. The body's hand was blindly groping upward, searching for something to hold onto.
It found Ren's hand on the pole.
The fingers were cold. Wet. Like dead fish.
[ ENTITY: THE OVERWORKED SALARYMAN (CLASS: ECHO) ]
[ THREAT LEVEL: ZERO ]
The head looked up from its phone. Its eyes were glassy, unfocused.
"Excuse me," the head said politely. Its voice sounded normal. Tired. "Is this the Express line to Downtown?"
Ren's entire body went rigid.
Do not engage. You are camouflage. You cannot see them.
But the head was looking directly at him. Waiting patiently for an answer.
"I... I think so," Ren mumbled, looking away quickly.
"Thank you," the head sighed with genuine relief. "I'm going to be late again. My boss is going to kill me."
He already did, Ren thought.
"What was that?" the head asked.
"Nothing. Sorry."
Ren moved to the other end of the car, squeezing past a woman in a business suit who smelled like flowers and had too many fingers on her left hand.
The ancient presence in his mind was screaming.
This is chaos. Disorder. Where are the Spirit Magistrates? Why are the dead riding public transit? The Underworld's bureaucracy has completely collapsed.
The train screeched to a halt at Northwood Station.
Ren shoved his way out through the crowd, desperate for air that didn't smell like death and morning commutes.
He climbed the stairs three at a time, his backpack bouncing painfully against his shoulders.
At the top of the stairs, the System chimed.
DING.
[ LOCATION DISCOVERED: NORTHWOOD HIGH SCHOOL ]
[ SPIRITUAL DENSITY: ABNORMALLY HIGH ]
[ CAUTION ADVISED ]
Ren stopped at the crosswalk, breathing hard.
He looked at his high school across the street.
Most students probably saw a normal three-story red brick building. American flag on the pole. Faded paint on the gymnasium. Basketball hoops visible through the windows.
Ren saw something very different.
A thick, purple miasma was leaking out of the gymnasium vents like toxic smoke. It pooled on the flat roof, dripping down the walls in slow, viscous streams that left dark stains on the brick.
The decorative gargoyles on the roof corners weren't stone sculptures.
They were alive.
Actual gargoyles, grey-skinned and leathery, perched on the edge of the building. One was picking its teeth with what looked like a pigeon bone. Another was watching the arriving students with hungry, calculating eyes.
And at the front gate, the school security guard—Mr. Chen, a retired cop who usually spent his mornings reading the sports section—was asleep in his booth, newspaper open across his lap.
Standing directly behind him, visible only to Ren, was a ten-foot-tall shadow with too many arms. It was gently petting Mr. Chen's bald head with one hand. The other hands were doing something else, something Ren couldn't quite see but that made his skin crawl.
[ ENTITY: UNKNOWN ]
[ THREAT LEVEL: CALCULATING... ]
"Great," Ren whispered to himself. "My school is a feeding ground."
He adjusted his backpack straps and took a deep breath, tasting the bitter graveyard soil still coating his throat.
Camouflage. You're just another student. Boring. Invisible. Nobody special.
"Ren!"
A voice called out from behind him.
Smooth. Lazy. Amused.
Ren's entire body went rigid.
He knew that voice.
He turned around slowly.
Leaning against a lamppost like he'd been there for hours, looking like he'd just rolled out of bed five minutes ago, was Jian.
Jian was technically wearing the school uniform—white button-up shirt, dark pants, the school tie with its blue and gold stripes—but he made it look like expensive pajamas. His tie was loose and crooked. His shirt was untucked on one side. His hair stuck up at odd angles like he hadn't even looked in a mirror.
He was holding a Nintendo Switch in one hand and a steaming pork bun in the other, somehow managing both without dropping either.
Jian was Ren's best friend mainly because he was the only person Ren knew who could sleep more than Ren did and still maintain decent grades.
"You look like a zombie," Jian said, taking a casual bite of the pork bun. "Rough night?"
Ren forced a smile that felt like plastic stretching across his face.
"Something like that. You know. Studying."
Jian didn't smile back.
He stopped chewing.
He walked up to Ren with a strange intensity that didn't match his usual lazy demeanor. He didn't look at Ren's face. He looked around Ren. Inspecting the air.
Sniff.
Jian frowned.
You smell like dirt, Jian said flatly. "And cinnabar ink."
Ren's heart skipped a beat.
The tea didn't work? How can he smell through grandmother's masking ritual?
"Grandma's medicine," Ren lied quickly. "For... allergies. Seasonal thing."
Jian stared at him.
His eyes were dark. Almost black. For just a second, the lazy gamer-kid vibe completely vanished, replaced by something else.
His gaze felt heavy. Calculated. Like he was weighing Ren's soul on a scale and noting the exact measurement.
Then, just as quickly, Jian shrugged.
The darkness evaporated.
"Weird medicine," Jian mumbled, turning his attention back to his Nintendo Switch. "Come on. If we're late, Henderson gives us detention. And his classroom smells like old cheese and broken dreams."
Jian walked through the school gates, completely casual, still playing his game.
He walked right past the ten-foot shadow monster standing behind Mr. Chen's booth.
The monster noticed him.
Its multiple arms tensed. It raised one claw, hissing—a sound like steam escaping from a broken pipe.
Jian didn't even look up from his game.
He just lazily flicked his finger in the monster's general direction.
Snap.
The monster jerked backward like it had touched a hot stove. It whimpered—actually *whimpered*—and shrank back into the deeper shadows, its multiple arms curling protectively around itself.
Ren watched, completely stunned.
Jian kept walking, his eyes never leaving his game screen. Didn't even break stride.
Either he genuinely hadn't noticed what just happened, or he was the best actor Ren had ever seen.
"You coming?" Jian called back without turning around.
Ren stared at his best friend's back.
The System text flickered violently above Jian's head, glitching and reforming.
[ ENTITY DETECTED: HUMAN (?) ]
[ AFFILIATION: NETHERWORLD BUREAUCRACY (INTERN DIVISION) ]
[ THREAT LEVEL: DO NOT PROVOKE UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES ]
Ren swallowed hard.
His best friend of three years wasn't just a lazy gamer who slept through math class.
He was on the Underworld's payroll.
"Yeah," Ren called out, his voice cracking slightly. "I'm coming."
He followed Jian through the gates, past the whimpering shadow monster, and into the feeding ground that pretended to be a high school.
The countdown timer in his vision ticked down another minute.
[ TIME UNTIL PURGE: 64 HOURS, 03 MINUTES. ]