Shen Changsheng once said: "Rule One — gang up, never duel."
Today, young Lin Ce would experience the full weight behind those words for the first time.
Northern Frontier, Ghost Demon Ridge.
The sky was dark, clouds like black ink. A lone figure stumbled through the forest—desperate, ragged.
Lin Ce, eighteen, a low-tier freelance cultivator. No background, messy spiritual roots. Slung over his shoulder was a worn cloth sack bulging with something. Inside lay a hand-copied book titled The Survival Rules of the Cultivation World. He didn't know who wrote it, only that it had saved him twice.
The first time, three days ago, he accidentally stumbled into the Jade Sun Sect's dueling grounds.
The second, just last night, a "benevolent Daoist"
tried to steal his spirit stones—but Lin Ce had spotted him first and frightened him away with mud-crafted "poison insects."
Rule Five: Learn all the shady arts—you never know when they'll save your life.
Now, his task was his third brush with death: a blood-ritual at the top of Ghost Demon Ridge.
Not to pledge himself to a sect—but to pay respects at the grave of a dead demon lord.
Legend said a demon cultivator had died here, leaving no bones—only blood-soaked rain. And afterward, this very book appeared in the world.
He retrieved the book from a dying black-market cultivator and read through the night. One line burned into his memory:
"As long as you don't die, you're still the protagonist."
Now, at the mountain's peak, the blood-fog still swirled. Beyond that, the demon lord's cave loomed.
Lin Ce trembled as he knelt, kowtowing three times and reciting the ritual written in the book:
"Junior Lin Ce humbly pledges to walk the Path of Survival. I beg for a way to survive!"
The wind stirred.
The fog parted.
A blood-red gate slowly emerged, with three characters carved into it:
SURVIVE·OR·LIE
Swallowing, Lin Ce gathered his courage and stepped through.
Inside, the hall was sparsely furnished. Only a black stone stele stood there, inscribed with ten rules.
He approached it. Suddenly, the stele vibrated and a spectral figure emerged—not a wandering ghost, but a lingering thought.
It was Shen Changsheng.
"Hey, kid," the voice was calm.
"You want to live?"
Lin Ce knelt deeper. "Senior! I… I have no talent, no one will recruit me…but I want to live… I want to live a long time!"
Shen Changsheng's spirit scrutinized him, then smiled slightly.
"Good. You've got a bit of how I used to be."
"Remember this: from now on, you're the lowest—a survival worm in this world."
"You're no hero. No lofty ideals. Don't stand out."
"You'll live like a dog—but you'll outlive the dogs."
"Get up."
A blood-red beam shot into Lin Ce's forehead, marking the first of the Survival Rules.
"Learn Rule One: gang up, never duel."
"You have three days. Go down that mountain. Find a mid-stage Xiantian cultivator named Ding Hai. Kill him."
"Any means you like."
Lin Ce's eyes widened. "He's two tiers above me…I…"
"Stop talking. Whether you can kill one person determines if you survive past Chapter Two."
— Shen Changsheng spoke, chilling and precise.
Three days later, at Rockfall Ridge.
Lin Ce crouched in the trees, a wine jug in hand.
Down below, Ding Hai joked with two female disciples. They were drinking.
Lin Ce's lips curled into a smile. He flicked the cork. Three faint puffs of powder drifted into the fire pit.
The flames burst, smoke rose thick—and the three cultivators collapsed.
Lin Ce charged out and drove a blade through Ding Hai's chest. He followed quickly with a killing blow—burning corpse, breaking soul, scattering ashes—in one ruthless motion.
He bowed over the ashes, voice trembling:
"Senior, spare me… No, Senior— I've done it."
The blood-fog stirred in the distance. A voice echoed softly:
"Good. Next: Rule Two. Always carry weapons—never go unarmed."
Shen Changsheng's legacy continued.
The Path of Survival had only begun.