One year passed.
Shen Li sat silently in his candlelit study, the flames casting swollen shadows across his massive form. He had done dozens of simulations since that day—each one different in detail, yet always ending the same.
He could not pass through the gates of Wuhan City. No matter how he tried—disguise, stealth, brute force, diplomacy—he was always discovered and executed before even speaking to anyone.
The system offered no explanation. The city seemed to possess some unknowable method of identifying Weirds. A method Shen Li couldn't detect, couldn't understand, and, most infuriatingly, couldn't circumvent.
What disturbed him more was the later years of his simulation:
[ in every timeline past year 12, Qinghe County became impossible to live in. unknown forces hunted you down. no matter how many mercenaries, guards, or martial artists you hired—death was inevitable. ]
[ a mysterious figure appeared without fail—his identity unknown. you have never met this man in your real life. he could withstand your pseudo-first-grade strength and kill you in just 3–4 punches. ]
Even in his strongest form, Shen Li couldn't survive.
He had fought with every ounce of his strength, every drop of meat, tendon, and strange power the Skincrawler template gave him. It didn't matter.
That man… was on a different level.
And so, Shen Li had changed his approach. He stopped testing brute force. He stopped trying to enter Wuhan head-on. He no longer chased fame or gold in the simulations. Instead:
[ you spent most of the simulations hiding, studying, and cultivating your Yin Soul in solitude. progress was slow—as if dragging your soul through molasses—but it was steady. ]
Though there were no visible signs, Shen Li felt it. The cold, condensed pressure of his soul. The coiling Yin energy woven through the marrow of his bones. The instinctive whispers of danger now felt clearer—like a sixth sense developing behind his eyes.
But even now, he could not simulate a path that survived beyond year 12.
Shen Li rubbed his forehead.
He gazed toward his mirror—at the heavy-set, powerful, unnatural form that stared back.
"…Something's coming."
By the time Shen Li reached the age of 20, the critical year of the predicted bandit invasion had arrived.
But Shen Li was no longer the same man he had been just a year ago.
Thanks to countless simulations and carefully selected rewards, he had chosen multiple times to take both body and cultivation advancements. His current physique—though still heavyset—was vastly more refined. His muscles were dense, his tissues resilient, and his internal flow of energy more stable than ever.
He could now stand toe-to-toe with a true first-grade martial artist. Perhaps not win outright—but hold his ground, and more importantly, escape with his life.
Moreover, the accumulated memory imprints from his simulations had given him an expert understanding of how to wield this bizarre body. He no longer stumbled under the weight of his size. His movements, though unconventional, were sharp and controlled. His strange strength could now be directed with surgical precision.
Even his infamous belly had undergone transformation. Through trial, error, and a few painful experiments during memory simulations, Shen Li had finally learned how to compress the excess mass, redistribute it, and reinforce it.
He was still fat. That was undeniable.
But now, he looked like a powerful merchant with an indulgent appetite—not a walking mound of meat. His silhouette no longer turned heads in horror, just mild surprise.
Shen Li stepped out of his residence, flanked by six bodyguards—each a seasoned second-grade martial artist. Their presence wasn't for show.
Over the past year, Shen Li had acted with increasing boldness, some would say arrogance. Bolstered by his mounting strength and wealth, he had moved with the confidence of a man untouchable by mortal law. He monopolized trade routes, bought out competitors, and used his stockpile of land deeds with brazen openness.
Naturally, his actions ignited public outrage. He had drawn the ire of nearly every faction in Qinghe—peasants, merchants, and even the top three noble families. And yet, with strength to back his words, Shen Li held his head high. He was no longer a man who bowed to threats.
He glanced at his guards and gave a simple nod."Let's go."
When Shen Li arrived at his real estate business that morning, he wasn't surprised to find the building surrounded.
Dozens of men in black stood like a wall in front of the door. At their center was a man with one blind eye and a missing ear—Meng Mingyu, one of the Meng family's coldest blades.
Shen Li narrowed his eyes. He had seen this moment before—in the simulations. He knew it would come, and he had prepared accordingly.
Meng Mingyu stepped forward with a thin smile. "So… you didn't run. Good. At last, we meet."
Shen Li tilted his head, unfazed. Behind him, his own forces gathered:24 second-grade martial artists. 300 third-grade fighters.His entire security force was mobilized.
On paper, the Meng family still held the advantage—40 second-grade and over 500 third-grade martial artists. It was a show of overwhelming force. Normally, Shen Li would never risk such an imbalance.
But today was different.
He had already foreseen the thread to survival in this very conflict. He had already planned where he would win, and how.
Shen Li raised one heavy arm and clapped his hands together. The thick golden rings on his fingers made a loud, clear sound that echoed through the street.
With a practiced, smug grin, he said loudly:"Welcome to Shen Li's humble little real estate business. So tell me—what has the great Meng family brought me today?"
The street held its breath.
Meng Mingyu swept his cold gaze across Shen Li's guards. "Looks like we have a mole in the Meng family," he said dryly. "No matter. I'm here for justice. I don't know what vile methods you used, but those deeds you're holding—they're forged. And today, you're going to explain yourself."
Shen Li folded his arms, golden rings gleaming. "Explain what, exactly? These deeds bear the authentic seal. Whoever holds them owns the land. Isn't that the rule your family taught this county?"
Meng Mingyu's face twisted in disgust. "You think you can hide behind a few stamped documents, you disgusting fat pig?" His voice rose. "Mobilizing all your dogs here—what, you planning to challenge the Meng family outright?"
Shen Li's eyes narrowed, voice calm but sharp. "I've never pledged servitude to the Mengs. Maybe your family forgot—there are two other top clans in this county. And above you all, there's still Governor Shin."
He gestured to a nearby figure.
The young man, dressed in clean official robes with an ornamental earring in his left ear, stood in silence—Governor Shin, neutral as always, but very much present. If Shen Li fell today, the governor would be the first to feast on the corpse.
Shen Li didn't comment on the governor's presence. He simply turned back to Meng Mingyu and said:"Do you really want to fight me? You might win—but you'll bleed. Steel has a price."
Meng Mingyu sneered. "You calculated everything… but missed one detail."
"Oh?" Shen Li raised an eyebrow. "Do tell."
Meng Mingyu struck.
His palm shot forward like lightning, crashing into Shen Li's chest with terrifying force. But—no scream. No collapse. Just the faint splatter of blood from Shen Li's lips… and a smile.
"You've fallen for it… idiot."
Meng Mingyu frowned. His palm had sunk an inch into Shen Li's flesh. Normally, such a blow would cave a man's ribs and stop his heart. But Shen Li's body hadn't budged.
And worse—his hand was stuck.
"What… is this?" Meng Mingyu muttered.
He tried to pull away. But Shen Li's meat was alive—flesh wrapped around his fingers, sinews twisting, bending the bones inward. He felt pressure like steel clamps tightening around his wrist.
In truth, Shen Li could have killed him right then. The Skincrawler form, once latched onto a victim, rarely let go.
But he couldn't expose that.
Instead, he let Meng Mingyu feel the threat—the silent, grotesque terror. Just enough to make him doubt. Just enough to show the crowd:
Shen Li doesn't fall so easily.
Meng Mingyu stared at his mangled hand, then at Shen Li's unmoving chest—the place he had struck with full force. His expression twisted.
"What… are you hiding inside your chest?"
Shen Li let out a breathy, mocking laugh."Haha… does it matter?" His thick fingers slowly tapped the dent in his chest. "Looks like one hand wasn't enough of a lesson. Do you want me to break the other one too?"
Mengyu's eyes narrowed. His instincts screamed that something was deeply unnatural here. What he had hit… wasn't Shen Li. It didn't feel like flesh. There was no ribcage. No bone. Just dense, springy resistance, like something alive but inhuman.
His gaze drifted to Shen Li's bulging belly."Is this his trick?" he thought. "Hiding something under that monstrous gut?"
His pride burned. He wanted nothing more than to lash out again—but with one crippled hand and no clarity on what he was facing… it wasn't a gamble worth taking.
"Tch." He spat to the side.
"It seems…" Mengyu exhaled through gritted teeth, then slowly raised his remaining hand in a placating gesture, "we misjudged you, Mister Shen."
The crowd murmured, tension easing ever so slightly.
Shen Li narrowed his eyes.He knew this was the turning point. Push further, and Mengyu would retaliate with all the Meng family's strength. And in every simulation, open war meant certain death—not just for him, but for everything he'd built.
He stepped forward—his heavy body shaking the floorboards slightly—and gave a short, exaggerated bow."It's only natural to be cautious when large sums and greater names are involved," he said, voice steady. "But I am no thief. All my deeds are stamped and signed. If there's a dispute…" He turned briefly to Governor Shin, whose fan now hid a half-smile. "...the court is always open."
Then, flashing a gold-ringed grin, he added,"Though I do hope next time, we keep our hands out of each other's chests."
After the showdown ended, Meng Mingyu left with his forces—his disfigured hand wrapped tightly in cloth, face like a storm about to break. The black-clothed guards followed in silence, their numbers still greater than Shen Li's, but their morale visibly shaken.
For those who understood martial hierarchy, the meaning was clear and grim.
A first-grade martial artist had taken action and failed.
In the unspoken rules of the county, first-grades were aces—symbols of absolute power. They only moved when the outcome was guaranteed, when humiliation wasn't an option. Once they acted and failed, it meant one thing:
Their family's dominance had cracked.
Now, the Meng family was exposed. Everyone would begin watching them like vultures—neighbors, enemies, even "allies" waiting for weakness. And Shen Li had struck that blow.
He didn't kill Meng Mingyu.
He didn't need to.
The reputation damage alone would shake the foundation of their power.
Back inside the agency, Shen Li slowly walked up the steps of his real estate building. Each step made his golden rings clack, the sound now a symbol—not just of wealth, but of a man no longer to be trifled with.
Inside, he sat with a heavy sigh, a hand on his stomach.
Shen Li leaned back slightly, wiping the blood from his lips as his gaze swept across the crowd, then back to Meng Mingyu.
He knew.
This was the end of the performance.
"I can't afford to turn this into a real war. Not yet."
All of this—every insult swallowed, every gold coin spent, every muscle simulated, every inch of flesh stitched—was for survival and ascension, not a public massacre. The simulator had shown him enough:If he entered a full conflict now, he would die.Every time.
The only reason he stood here intact was because Meng Mingyu underestimated him.
That palm strike?
It was supposed to collapse his heart.But Shen Li had shifted his vital points.It was supposed to rupture his organs.But Shen Li's body wasn't even human anymore—skin and meat twisted under his will, not by nature.
If Meng Mingyu had chosen to crush his throat, or step back and strike again instead of planting his hand in Shen Li's chest,Shen Li would've lost.
But the moment that hand sunk even an inch inside…
He could've ended it. Right there.SkinCrawler's power would have devoured the flesh, and dragged Meng Mingyu down like quicksand.Victory—bloody, brutal, and absolute.
But not clean.Not quiet.And not secret.
"I can't let them see what I am," Shen Li thought.
Let the moment pass.Let Meng Mingyu retreat alive, injured and humiliated.
That was enough.
After the confrontation, Shen Li retreated to the secured room in his real estate agency—one that only he had the key to. The thick door shut behind him, sealing away the murmurs of onlookers and the distant chatter of guards. Finally alone, he collapsed into the chair, his breath short and ragged.
His fingers trembled as sensation began to return to his body—slowly, tingling and burning.
"Here it comes…" he muttered, bracing himself.
The first wave hit: a dull, throbbing ache in his chest, radiating outward like slow fire. Then his right cheek flared in agony, a hot pulse that spread into his jaw.
He touched it gently.Even that made him flinch.
"Fractured," he hissed. "Cracked clean through…"
Using his muscle and nerve control, Shen Li wrapped layers of flesh over the broken side, cushioning the bone, trying to isolate the damage. But it wasn't enough. The fracture wasn't shallow—Meng's punch had nearly dislocated his entire jawline.
Without hesitation, Shen Li directed his internal nerves, forcing them into temporary dormancy again. Then, gritting his teeth—what remained of them—he pulled on his facial muscles and tendon anchors, snapping the fractured bones back into alignment.
A crunch echoed in the room.
He bit down on a rolled piece of cloth to avoid screaming.Sweat poured down his temples.
"At least… four months to heal properly," he whispered. "Damn you, Meng."
Once he finished stabilizing his injuries and ensured no permanent damage had occurred, he allowed himself a single deep breath.
Then he pushed himself upright.
This wasn't the end of the day. Not even close.
"Now, back to the real business," Shen Li muttered as he limped toward the strongbox.
Today was the true event—the Half-Price Land Deed Sellout.
The reason Meng came.
By the time Shen Li stepped out of the secure room, his swollen cheek hidden under a veil and his gait stable but heavy, the real estate hall was already full.
Buyers from all corners of the county were waiting, clutching their pouches, speaking in hushed tones. Many weren't common folk—these were agents, brokers, and servants sent by smaller families hoping to buy up land before the storm hit.
And Shen Li…He was the storm.
He limped forward and placed a thick ledger on the desk. Behind him, his trusted men locked the main doors—no new entrants, no exits until the game was played.
"Let's not waste time," Shen Li's voice rang out. "Today, I'm selling it all."
The hall went dead silent.
A few mouths dropped. A man in the corner cursed under his breath. Another stood and tried to leave—but the locked doors said otherwise.
"Those deeds are sealed and verified," Shen Li continued, tapping the thick scrolls beside him. "And I'm letting them go for half price."
One merchant from the east side was the first to move. He pulled a chest of silver and placed it at Shen Li's feet.
"I'll take two farms in the south valley. Both Meng-owned."
Shen Li stamped the deeds.
Another stepped forward.Then another.
And just like that, the flood began.
He was burning bridges, names, and power structures—turning ancestral estates into coin, shattering the last illusions of peace.
And as the gold piled before him, Shen Li thought: