SSS-Rank 10x Reward System: Accepting Disciples to Live Forever Chapter 1: SSS-Rank 10x Lifespan System

"So if i want to live, i have to accept disciples and hope their cultivation increases, for example if their lifespan incrsesed by hundred years because of the system mine would increases by one thousand years." Excitent clear, for him the most important thing was Lifespan.

Wang Chen asked out loud, however the system didn’t respond, seeing that Wang Chen’s face darkened.

Lifespan was sothing that he was most concerned about, after finding himself suddenly in the world of cultivation, Wang Chen also wanted to pursue immortality.

His thoughts were simple, he may be born in this world on the whims and fancies of others, but he would go on his own terms, however reality was cruel, because of so inexplicable curse, he had been unable to live past thirty.

Bang!

However before he could continue thinking the sound of soone striking the door forcefully ca from outside.

Suddenly interrupted by the sound a frown appeared on his face, pissed he got up from his ditative position to see just who it was so rude, not even let him think in peace.

...

anwhile outside the courtyard, stood five or six burly figures each radiating sinister aura.

Today a steward of the blood fang gang had co to see just who dared to not pay the protection fees.

"Yes, boss! This is the place I told you about!" one of the lackeys shouted.

"Soone actually took over our area and even opened a dojo! Didn’t pay a single coin of protection money either!"

"Seems like this fool doesn’t put the Blood Fang Gang in his eyes at all!" another lackey added, dripping with mockery, clearly trying to add fuel to the fire.

The steward’s face was colder than carved ice. Repeated knocks had gone unanswered, and with each silent second, a stripe of anger crept up his spine until it burned. Nobody made him wait. He snorted, a short, dangerous sound, and flicked his eyes toward the man at his side.

As if reading the signal, the short, broad henchman with the long vertical scar running down his face let out a snicker. The mark made him look sinister and misshapen, a walking map of old cruelty. He brandished an iron club with a relish that showed a streak of feral delight.

"Kekek... just like the old days, boss," he spat. "If that rat doesn’t co out himself, we’ll break the gate and drag him out."

The steward’s smile was a thin, twisted thing when he answered, voice oily with nace. "If there’s any tender playthings inside, I’ll have my fun with them." An ugly light burned behind his eyes, the implication behind his words were clear as day.

The henchman licked his lips. His grin spread into sothing close to a snarl. The other thug nearby let out a sickening, eager laugh. Their hunger was plain as the iron club in their hands.

A soft creak split the charged air as the giant wooden gate swung inward. An unassuming young man stepped out—simple robes, plain bearing, a look of calm on his face like a placid lake. Wang Chen’s eyes t the n’s, cool and steady; he raised his brows as if mildly puzzled. The confusion on his face was practiced, polite, a mask worn by soone who’d dealt with fools before.

"How can I help you, gentlen?" he asked, voice even. He didn’t let the smallest tremor show.

The steward paid him no mind. The henchn closed in with deliberate nace, clubs cocked in raised hands. One of them sneered, hatred in every crooked syllable. "Look at him—playing innocent. He dared take over our place. He’ll learn his lesson."

The steward’s anger hardened; faint threads of killing intent bled from him like cold mist. "Good... good. Does he think the Blood Fang are a pack of mutts to be scorned? First we’ll break his legs, then toss him to the Bloodfang bulls." His words were grueso enough that even the henchn drew a little closer, the notion of brutality turning their eyes hard and hungry.

Wang Chen’s face darkened at the ntion of those bulls. He felt a bitter disgust curl under his ribs. There was nothing to be gained by wasting ti with this lot. He hadn’t co to bargain.

At once the three henchn moved as one. The heavy clubs—thick as an arm—whistled through the air. If one struck Wang Chen’s skull it would have burst like a ripe lon.

The steward watched with cruel satisfaction and gave no sign of stopping them. If Wang Chen died, it was only a body to be disposed of.

Then, as the clubs fell, the steward felt sothing shift in his chest. The strikes missed—hitting only empty air, their force making the arms that swung them tremble. A gust of wind howled, and Wang Chen’s figure was nowhere to be found.

He had vanished without a sound.

The steward’s voice tightened into a panicked bark. "Where did he go?" He spun, eyes frantic, but there was no sign of the young man—no robe, no shadow—nothing. A cold prickling ran down his spine. He glanced at his n and saw them standing, pallid, sweat beading on foreheads.

"What is it?" he demanded, too loud and too small.

One of the henchn pointed with trembling fingers and croaked in near-unison, "Behind you!"

"Behind ?" The steward craned his neck. The space behind him was empty. But if he had been watching his n instead, he would have seen their faces drain of color as if the life was being pulled out of them.

Wang Chen materialized there like a question—silent, composed, impossibly close. He stared at the three henchn, a smile sliding across his face that plainly did not match the bloodless efficiency of what followed. In his head he cataloged them—slow qi refiner cultivators, clumsy and predictable as the resentful ghosts on the first floor. He’d sized them in a breath, and the amusent in him deepened.

That smile was enough to unnerve them; it turned into a blade. Without drama, Wang Chen flicked his wrist. A white flash, quick as a match strike, and three heads rolled on the ground—eyes wide, mouths frozen in the last second of terror. Blood pool whispered across the floor where they fell.

The steward’s eyes bulged. "What have you done?" he shrieked, voice tearing like a banshee. "Do you know what you’ve done? The Blood Fang won’t let this pass. Every mber of your household will—"

A hand like iron closed around his throat before he could finish. He was lifted as easily as a sack of grain. The steward tried to struggle, his face going pale, blood leaving his lips.

Wang Chen’s eyes were flat and indifferent, predator-cold as he stared into the steward’s panic-stricken face. The steward’s knees trembled as the reality of his situation sank in.

Inside, his mind raced. He’d survived by cunning and cruelty; now he plotted frenzied bargains. "Fellow Daoist—there is no enmity between us. I was only following Vice Head Zhang’s orders. Please—spare !" His words were flung like a desperate net. He watched Wang Chen’s face for any sign—a twitch, an answer—but none ca.

Wang Chen’s expression didn’t change. He didn’t even know who Vice Head Zhang was. The steward’s last hope curled and died inside him. Wang Chen’s lips twitched into a colder smile.

The steward’s voice tried one last ploy. "Everything has a price..." he began, greed and fear blending in his tone. Then his eyes widened; a different thought had struck him. His face brightened into a sick hope. Wang Chen’s smile grew deeper, amused now in earnest.

"Lead to your place," Wang Chen said, as casual as asking for tea.

Reality’s predecessor had been penniless and hungry; Wang Chen’s mouth ford a rueful, mocking thought: "I’m broke," he murmured. "Guess I’ll just rob them instead." He smiled at the steward, a small, unsettling curve that made the man’s blood run cold.

The steward staggered back, muttering, "You can’t—this is Blood Fang territory," his voice thin. He couldn’t imagine that the predator before him was laughing off the gang’s na as if it were a trifle.

But Wang Chen only tightened his grip slightly, enough to remind the man of how fragile bargains were when made against one who had already chosen violence as language.

However there was one more thing that he needed to know.

Next mont with a small smile he asked, "What year is it?"