The iron grip of the law enforcement disciples felt like shackles around Ethan’s arms as they dragged him through the winding corridors of the Azure Origin Sect.
Each step echoed with the finality of his doom, the sound reverberating off ancient stone walls that had witnessed countless such processions over the centuries.
Ethan could feel the familiar warmth of his physical cultivation flowing through his bloodstream—the only power he possessed in this world of spiritual energy and mystical arts.
His body was his weapon, his fortress, the culmination of years of grueling training and conditioning. Yet for all his strength, he might as well have been a child struggling against giants.
He tried to wrench free from their grasp, muscles tensing and bulging as he called upon every ounce of his physical prowess.
But it was useless.
The two law enforcement disciples who held him were clearly operating on an entirely different level of power. Their casual grip was unbreakable, their pace unwavering despite his struggles.
This is a cultivation world, Ethan thought bitterly.
These bastards have probably lived for over a century easily. What chance does someone like me have against such monsters?
The path to Serene Mirror Lake wound through increasingly desolate terrain. What had started as well-maintained sect grounds gradually gave way to wild, untamed wilderness.
The very air seemed to grow colder with each step, as if they were walking toward the edge of the world itself.
Halfway through their grim journey, one of the law enforcement disciples suddenly spoke up, breaking the oppressive silence.
"You were indeed very lucky at that moment," he said conversationally, as if discussing the weather rather than escorting a condemned man to his doom.
"But gods know how your luck turned into something so catastrophically unlucky."
Ethan looked up at him, confusion evident on his face despite his dire circumstances. What could this man possibly mean by ’unlucky’?
Seeing Ethan’s puzzled expression, the other law enforcement disciple let out a low chuckle and decided to elaborate.
"You are the only disciple who has ever been caught peeking into the female hot spring area," he said matter-of-factly.
"The only one in the sect’s entire history."
The first disciple nodded grimly as he continued the explanation.
"I can say with absolute guarantee that more than forty percent of the male disciples in the Azure Origin Dao Sect have been to the female hot spring area at some point. You were just the only one unlucky enough to get caught."
Ethan’s eyes widened in shock.
Forty percent? The revelation hit him like a physical blow.
All those righteous-looking elders and peak masters in the hall, condemning him with their disapproving stares—how many of them had done exactly what they were punishing him for?
"The Empress was indeed excessively harsh for giving such a severe punishment for such a relatively minor violation," the first disciple continued, his voice carrying a note of genuine sympathy.
"I mean, fifty years at Serene Mirror Lake? For accidentally glimpsing something as a ten-year-old child? That’s—"
THWACK!
The second disciple’s hand connected solidly with the back of his companion’s head, the sharp sound echoing through the forest.
"Think before you open your mouth, you fool!" he hissed urgently, glancing around as if expecting the Empress herself to materialize from the shadows.
"The Empress could be listening to what you just said right now! Do you want to be the next one facing punishment after Ethan here?"
The first disciple immediately paled, his hand flying to his mouth as if he could somehow take back his words.
In a world where powerful cultivators could extend their senses across vast distances, criticizing the sect leader was tantamount to signing one’s own death warrant.
Listening to their hushed conversation, the full scope of his misfortune crashed down on Ethan like an avalanche.
Here he was, having just transmigrated into what should have been the fulfillment of every cultivation novel reader’s dreams—a world of martial arts, mystical powers, and boundless adventure.
After reading countless web novels about ordinary people becoming legendary cultivators, he had thought his own transportation to such a realm was the ultimate stroke of fortune.
Instead, it was all false hope. Cruel, mocking, devastating false hope.
The irony was so bitter it left a metallic taste in his mouth. Countless male disciples had committed the exact same ’crime’ he was being punished for, yet fate had conspired to make him the sole scapegoat.
Not only that, but his punishment was so disproportionately severe that even the law enforcement disciples—hardly known for their mercy—considered it excessive.
The unfairness of it all, the cosmic joke of his situation, the crushing weight of knowing he would never see his dreams realized—it all built up inside him like pressure in a sealed vessel until something finally snapped.
"AHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Ethan’s laughter erupted from deep within his chest, wild and unrestrained. It started as a bitter chuckle but quickly escalated into something far more disturbing—the kind of laugh that belonged to a man who had lost everything and found dark humor in his own destruction.
"HAHAHAHA! OH, THE IRONY! THE BEAUTIFUL, PERFECT IRONY!" His voice cracked as the laughter continued, echoing through the forest like the cry of some mad spirit.
"Forty percent! FORTY PERCENT! And I’m the one getting fed to the frozen tomb! AHAHAHAHAHA!"
The two law enforcement disciples exchanged alarmed glances as Ethan’s laughter took on an increasingly manic quality.
This wasn’t the sound of someone finding genuine amusement—it was the broken laughter of a shattered mind trying to cope with incomprehensible injustice.
"Has he already lost his mind?" the first disciple whispered nervously,
"Even before entering Serene Mirror Lake?"
The second disciple’s expression softened with something that might have been pity. "I can understand him," he replied quietly.
"After such a devastating blow to everything he had built in this sect, after having his entire future destroyed over something so trivial... honestly, anyone would lose their mind."
But Ethan wasn’t finished. His laughter gradually subsided into bitter, broken sobs that were somehow even more disturbing than his manic outburst.
"Seven years," he whispered hoarsely.
"Seven years of training, of dedication, of believing that hard work would pay off. Seven years of telling myself that even without spiritual roots, even without a Dantian, I could still make something of myself in this world."
His voice grew stronger, tinged with rage and despair.
"And it all comes crashing down because I was unlucky enough to be the one person who got caught doing what nearly half the sect has done! The one person whose innocent childhood mistake gets blown up into some grand moral failing!"
The law enforcement disciples said nothing, their grip on his arms remaining firm but somehow less harsh than before.
Even they could recognize the profound injustice of his situation, though they were powerless to change it.
As they continued their march toward the frozen wasteland that would become his tomb, Ethan’s laughter occasionally bubbled up again—sometimes bitter, sometimes hysterical, always tinged with the madness of a man who had discovered just how cruel and arbitrary fate could be.
The Serene Mirror Lake grew closer with each step, and with it, the end of all his dreams and the beginning of a nightmare that would slowly consume both his sanity and his life.
But still, he laughed, because sometimes laughter was the only response left when the universe revealed just how twisted its sense of humor truly was.