For Ling Bo the wait was true torture, a veritable torment.

He spent his day and night dozing off, the creeping paralysis rendering his legs immobile only as of now. He made great progress in his recovery; as great as a man could when something akin to literal fire ravaged throughout his body and left it as a mere husk.

Literally.

As of now Ling Bo could feel... nothing. Not nothing as in: 'nothing wrong'. He simply had no... -very hard to describe- feeling IN his body anymore. He couldn't feel his undulating guts, his pumping heart, rythmic lungs and much less the mystical Meridian and Dantian.

Everything was incinerated, infertile ground smeared in charcoal-black, though his mind's eye found a certain pecularity.

A demonic fortress, standing tall with hybris and arrogance etched into every nook and cranny. Each cut adorning the rampart, each ingenious stroke of artisanship, oozed with unfathomable conceit.

The Profaned Castle

This ungodly Castle sits atop the World; with nine spires skyward, piercing nine vaults and seven heavens.

Mortality robs the cosmos of its life, The World takes the creeds and edicts to lay a foundation.

Mortality:

The First Spire: Flesh.

The Second Spire: Bones.

The Third Spire: Blood.

The World:

Spire of Laetitia. (Joy)

Spire of Tristia. (Grief)

Spire of Timor. (Fear)

Spire of Ira. (Wrath)

Spire of Cura. (Worry)

Spire of Caritas. (Affection)

These nine form the cornerstones, the foundation, of the Profaned Castle - a new genesis.

But it is far from over...

Once all nine Spires stand tall the unhallowed Cathredral opens its gates, the false Gods hungry for the divine, infernal and terrestrial; their banshee wails be harrowing to all kin.

Tiamat, The Sacrilege

Leviathan, The Hellion

Midgardorm, The World

Ling Bo contemplated on his future choices and decisions. Obviously the Profaned Castle would pay back its investment a hundred-fold, that much Ling Bo believed. But could it bestow him with enough strength to win the tournament?

That was a very pressing matter, one that needed careful calculation and thought as well as time. Time that he did not have.

He tarried in his cultivation for months now, the tournament approaching ever so quick, and with a cultivation dropped to the starting point -or even beyond that!- he couldn't use normal means to progress.

So, with a willing albeit heavy heart, Ling Bo accessed the Martial Shop to purchase remedies, pills and their recipes.

In a flash the information was transfered to his mind.

From muscle-memory to the scent and taste of the finished product or the right texture, everything got crammed inside Ling Bo's head, with a fitting scream of his.

At least the information was sorted orderly, packaged neatly and easily accessible, courtesy of the system.

What remained on Ling Bo's to-do list was the purchase of a cauldron worth its money. It shouldn't be to high-end but be able to withstand continous refinement without falling apart from attrition.

For a price of 20 MC Points he managed to purchase the 'Tiger Wavoom Kettle', an orange-black striped cauldron with two ferocious, ivory fangs as handles.

It came as a surprise when Ling Bo realised he could refine medicines inside his spiritual consciousness, in the virtual world of the 'Cheat Sheet'. That way he wouldn't have to worry about Little Xi or his father finding out about his new profession

For a few hours the Profaned Castle and its nine spires eluded and mystified Ling Bo, though fortunately he had enough common sense to put two and two together, concatenating the wording as well as the purpose of the 'Mortality' spires.

He bought any kind of concoction that had effects of raising one's vitality, strengthen one's blood essence and purify one's bone marrow.

And so, the days passed.

Ling Bo continued consuming medicines en masse, behind his father's and Little Xi's back, the only two visitors he had throughout his abed state.

Truthfully, it did pained his heart a bit. After all, those bullies he called 'friends' followed him for years and now, after a fatal injury and cripledom, they were nowhere near him.

In the end Ling Bo couldn't care less, they were scum just like he was, and he doubted another reincarnated soul would all of a sudden occupy one of their bodies, so change was almost certainly not happening.

...

Many moons passed and on an auspicious day, when it was neither to cold nor to warm, when the birds and the bees, the trees and their leaves, concerted wondrous melodies, the Red Feather ranking tournament began.