Senior Brother Sun was gracious and smooth-spoken, and Li Qingyun, in good spirits, listened to his explanations while touring the blessed land of Yuanchen Mountain.
This realm was indeed small. In essence it was much like the site Duan Kecheng was building: an extra-dimensional pocket stabilized by blending multiple concepts—"interstice," "illusion-realm," "formation," and "treasure." It really didn't qualify as a "heaven," much less a true "world."
It was a bottle—yes, a world in a jar. A hidden refuge like a Peach Blossom Spring, clinging to a quiet corner.
The mortals here lived a self-sufficient peasant life: up at sunrise, rest at sunset—pastoral, picture-book, a little "land of plenty."
But generation after generation had been born within this handful of space; none had ever seen the outside sky. Forget technological breakthroughs and innovation—socially it remained a feudal, pastoral existence.
Objectively, there were no conditions for climbing a tech tree or developing a civilization.
There weren't even true stars or sun and moon, let alone natural resources.
All this pretty scenery—mountain, water, breeze—was, at bottom, the work of spells.
There were mountains, rivers, and settlements—nothing more.
Even if you walked toward the sunrise without ever turning back—over every ridge and the ridges beyond—you would never get out.
You would simply loop again and again, circling Yuanchen Mountain's leyline, and wind up back at the start.
Because it was, fundamentally, a jar, a well—a bounded space.
A set stage, a fenced pasture, a snake biting its tail, a Möbius strip that can only return to its origin.
Yes—rather than a "world," "prison" or "sheepfold" fit better.
But what's wrong with a prison?
Most people, in their entire lives, never escape the vast prison that cages them—the company, do they?
And beyond the bars here, there truly was nothing left.
Besides, the Taishang Dao Sect—proper orthodox Daoists—did "pasture" humans like the Blood Register Church did, yet differed in practice.
Penglai bottled these hundreds of thousands or millions of people not to fatten "lambs" for slaughter,
but to grow dao-seeds.
That was also why disciples like Sun Chuantao of the Taishang Xuanzhen line weren't on Penglai cultivating qi and refining treasures; they buried themselves in jars, doing work for the sect.
Simply put: propagate mortals, test roots and aptitudes, select those gifted with the dao seed, then train them—feeding the sect new blood.
Recruitment, in other words.
It may not look flashy, but in any organization recruitment is an epic main quest—with rewards and merit points. Every disciple must do it eventually.
Naturally, Senior Brother Sun hid nothing. Treating it as mentoring a junior, he led Li Qingyun up to the Xuanzhen Monastery on Yuanchen's Cloud-Terrace Peak to watch instruction.
Hundreds of cultivators were meditating, calculating dao, refining pills, tempering skills. It was bustling.
They boxed and body-trained, then cultivated and refined qi; for a moment Li Pan felt like he'd wandered into a specialized academy.
Sun Chuantao said with quiet pride,
"My Yuanchen Mountain houses 260,000 households—1.2 million souls. Every ten years we hold an Opening-the-Mountain Grand Selection, which yields over a thousand sincerely dao-seeking talents.
"Those with upper third-grade roots and ninth-grade aptitudes are one in ten thousand; even so, after a thousand siftings we can still take a few dozen as pages and train them carefully.
"From these pages, the diligent and clever will naturally 'refine essence into qi' and achieve the Golden Core realm.
"Then we hold the Cloud-Terrace Grand Competition and choose the three most brilliant of the lot.
"The three paragons chosen thus from 1.2 million are true dao-seeds, qualified to enter our Taishang Xuanzhen Palace as outer sect disciples and descend to Penglai's foot to pursue the Way."
Li Qingyun swallowed. "One point two million… and only three dao-seeds?"
Senior Brother Sun corrected him with a smile,
"Dao-seeds. Our outer sect disciples are not yet dao-children. They have the qualification and foundation to attain the dao, but whether they do depends on fate.
"So, beyond cultivating our orthodox methods, outer disciples roam the heavens, trial with our peers, face tribulations, and defend the Way.
"Only those who survive lightning tribulation and form a Nascent Soul may enter the inner sect, become true-transmission of the Three Mountains, and have their names inscribed upon the Penglai Jade Wall.
"Then they may call themselves dao-children of our Taishang Nine True.
"To my shame, of the three 'Qing-generation' juniors admitted to Xuanzhen this cycle, only two came up through this process. The other suffered a fatal calamity while suppressing the demonic cult and was reborn from the previous generation through corpse-liberation."
Li Qingyun clicked his tongue, did a little mental math, and began to see the shape of it.
A jar of one million yielding only three dao-seeds didn't mean there were only three; outside resources were the choke point.
Even at "three in 1.2 million," compared to 0791—where ten billion might not produce a hundred dao-seeds—Yuanchen's yield was at least three hundred times better.
And the outer Xuanzhen Palace had dozens—maybe a hundred—such jars: that's hundreds of millions of people.
From those hundreds of millions, every sixty years Xuanzhen alone would select several hundred outer disciples.
Add the branches of the Taishang Nine True, and each cohort's outer disciples numbered in the thousands.
And from those thousands, only fifteen made the inner sect as the Taishang Nine True's Qing-generation dao-children.
Brutal.
Before Li Qingyun could praise Penglai's "breeding program," Sun Chuantao had already pulled him into a Dao-palace study stacked high with exam papers.
"Haha, junior brother, just in time. The Qing generation's done; we're preparing the next intake.
"Yuanchen Mountain has just opened the grand selection—a hundred thousand are testing for Xuanzhen this year. I was grading when I heard you'd arrived.
"Many hands, light work. I've got candied fruit and iced tea—let's grade and chat."
"A hundred thousand…? Wait, we?"
Careless—he'd stepped right into it. No wonder Senior Brother was so warm; he wanted free labor.
Still, Li Qingyun wanted to learn this blessed-land craft and was embarrassed to refuse. Sun Chuantao kept him at it until they'd marked over three thousand scripts. Only then did Li Qingyun plead a bathroom break, slip past the ward, and pop back to his main body—fleeing the infinite grading hell.
Staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling, Li Pan let out a long breath.
"Mr. Li, you were shouting quite loudly just now. Nightmare?"
He turned. At the bedside stood a woman in formalwear—black nylons, heels—wearing an NCPA gold badge and a "First Investigative Division, First-Grade Investigator" tab; black frames, blonde hair swept back… Huh? Angela Reagan?
Wow—how many months has it been? Already in First Division? Rocket fuel much? Now that's what "connections" looks like. Chief of Police in a couple years?
"So it's Inspector Reagan. We meet again."
She looked down at him. "Mr. Li, have we met?"
Hey now—sure, he didn't look great the first time, but they met outside the hospital too. Truly, the great are forgetful…
Li Pan didn't blink. "Fair enough—you're NCPA's rising star. Busy being on air every day. Why would a simple traffic incident trouble you?"
She flipped the badge.
Police Superintendent, First Investigative Division — Eileen Reagan.
Hiss… Police Superintendent! Section Chief of NCPA First Division!
Okay then… "Reagan" really is nine generations of cops. Wait—niece? So she's also… an aunt? More mature than Angela, too.
Li Pan was drifting when Superintendent Reagan flicked her hand and threw up an NCHK news holo.
"And this is not a mere traffic incident. The shuttle you were riding detonated a nuclear device over downtown Night City. Do you have anything to say?"
NCHK and other stations looped the blast. Whether the masked man carried a micro-nuke or had a BRW-series inbuilt nuclear reactor, this was basically a low-yield tactical detonation—destructive radius within ten kilometers.
Though it hit a dense urban core, the blast occurred along the high-altitude shuttle lane; direct casualties were fewer. Shuttles near ground zero vaporized; shock and EMP nearly paralyzed half a district.
The worst casualties came earlier: during the fight between the masked man and Li Xuehong, a sudden hand-cannon swipe severed the load-bearing walls of three skyscrapers. Before repair bots could deploy, a second nuke dropped—taking the buildings down completely.
Those towers were mixed-use: offices, residences, retail. Collapse crushed countless overpasses and neighborhoods; downtown seized up, a dusty ruin; rescues were still ongoing.
NCHC and private hospitals already counted 160,000 casualties, deaths climbing.
And these weren't "cockroaches" this time—mostly tax-paying civilians, with no shortage of company personnel. Many firms reported losses. Someone would have to answer.
Li Pan wasn't taking the fall.
"You should ask Paradise Group. They provided the car. I'm a victim too. With something this big, shouldn't the Security Bureau take point?"
Superintendent Reagan studied him, paused, then said,
"You think they don't want to? But your face carries weight, Mr. Li. Two Security teams came to snatch you; deadlock doesn't help, so I'm here on behalf of the Metropolitan Police to take a preliminary statement.
"By the way—no enhanced implants at all? Rare. Are you a pure-natural?"
Li Pan had noticed: he was fully restored—presumably HQ had rolled him back. Which meant all implants and brain-jack data had been wiped again.
He'd lost a few hundred thousand, but it may have saved his life. Otherwise, while unconscious, someone could've cracked his skull and pulled any chip logs admissible as evidence.
As a bare-fleshed human with no chips or telemetry, he was worth much less.
Hmm—clearing plug-ins does have one upside…
"It's proprietary technology. I can't disclose it. Please send a formal inquiry to Legal."
He wasn't about to lock horns with a ninth-generation cop. He did his civic duty—gave a statement to the NCPA.
He was a victim. They broke traffic regs, rammed him, beat him half to death, then blew thirty city blocks like lunatics—took out one of his Blood God Child avatars. What could he do? Who could he complain to?
And if he was right, Paradise had internal footage—after all, the shuttle wasn't hacked or pried; it opened itself and let the man in.
A shuttle like that would have full-time monitoring. With a disaster this big, Paradise wouldn't want the liability; they'd have coordinated with the Security Bureau already. Otherwise the officials wouldn't be so polite—letting him lie in bed while a beautiful superintendent took his statement.
"Any enemies?"
"Akatengu. They're the ones who hit me again, no?"
"Mr. Li, is your firm waging a company war?"
"Operational strategy. I can't disclose. Please ask Legal."
She didn't press. As First Division chief she'd dealt with companies a long time; she knew she'd get nothing. Once the formalities ended, a second wave came in.
A flood of black-suited Security Bureau agents. Many familiar: Agent T from Security Section 3; the chief of Counter-espionage Section 4; Section 7 financial-crimes agents in black and white. Others he'd never met: Section 5 (Major Crimes), Section 6 (Biohazard), Section 9 (Cyber).
Forewarned by Superintendent Reagan, Li Pan could see two camps.
Section 4 led one; the chief himself showed. A downtown nuke is exactly an Akatengu kind of case, and with recent misses he wasn't passing on a live lead—insisting Li Pan come in.
But Sections 3, 5, 6, and 9 disagreed. "Akatengu" was fine for the news, but let's not fool ourselves.
The tech here was too high: an unregistered Level-7 bionic with an inbuilt tactical nuke; a single-soldier super-weapon that cut load-bearing walls built of ship-grade alloys; a cloaked luxury floater that stayed invisible to city traffic and security systems—
This was clearly a company war.
They wanted to discuss containment—keep the war scaled and sited in Night City, or better yet off-world.
Section 7 had slipped in to play sauce. They'd been watching Li Pan and found his account flows "irregular."
From nearly bankrupt—thirty-million in debt—to 8.6 billion in personal assets in three months? Not even a pulp business novel would.
They were here to sniff tax evasion and AML, and thus favored taking him in…
Li Pan had no personal beef with 3/5/6/9—even 4—but he had no love for 7.
Come on—those guys were targeting him personally, not corporate operations. The Tax Bureau hadn't moved; what business was it of Security? They were still mad about the burgers last time, huh?
Thankfully A-Qi squeezed in with them, used his robotic body to link HQ Legal into the call.
Turns out it pays to keep a phalanx of lawyers—Legal spammed ironclad replies, Li Pan stonewalled, the other Sections ran interference, and after all the shouting Section 4 still couldn't drag him back for pork cutlet rice. They left, frustrated.
A-Qi saw them out and finished Li Pan's discharge.
"Boss, everyone else made it back to the office safely. Also, Paradise Group has sent a formal notice to HQ with your attack video. They admit the attacker was a premium member, but he hid his identity, and the nuke destroyed the shuttle's EDR, so they can't identify him.
"They also promise not to participate in any hostile activity against the Company for one year, and signed an armistice.
"As personal compensation, Paradise will extend your premium membership and medical coverage by three months and has covered today's bills."
So, while he was out, the two HQs had settled it: Paradise won't bid, tosses in medicals, and this is over. What could Li Pan say?
"I see… Sigh. Guess I need a car…"
He'd holed up at Paradise to prep the Big Plan—mooching their security and a presidential suite. But if a masked assassin could roar up the freeway, pop the door, and attack, they could just as easily stride into his hotel room and shoot him in the head.
Looks like you really can't skimp on cars and ships. Hailing rides is convenient, but others have access, too—no early warning at all.
If he bought his own ICE, someone might still hack him—but at least he'd have defenses, instead of getting jumped.
And… a one-year armistice, huh…
"So HQ's read is?"
A-Qi nodded. "The Holy Grail bidding war has officially begun, boss."
.
.
.
⚠️ 30 CHAPTERS AHEAD — I'm Not a Cyberpsycho ⚠️
The system says: Kill.Mercs obey. Corporates obey. Monsters obey.One man didn't.
🧠💀 "I'm not a cyberpsycho. I just think... differently."
💥 High-voltage cyberpunk. Urban warfare. AI paranoia.Read 30 chapters ahead, only on Patreon.
🔗 patreon.com/DrManhattanEN