Chapter 35: The Seven-Day Great Calamity!
A Talisman of Evil Dispelling and Fortune Enhancement ignited at Chen Yan’s fingertips, turning to ash in an instant.
As the faint wisp of blue smoke curled into the air, his eyes sharpened, the last remnants of confusion cast away. The eerie chill buried deep within his bones seemed to subside ever so slightly. Without hesitation, he activated his Heaven’s Eye Qi-Observing Technique and silently calculated with Fate Circulation Treatise. A few heartbeats later, he gazed upward at his own Celestial Crown—
A mass of misfortune-blackened clouds thickened ominously above him.
“Damn it…!”
Chen Yan’s emotions surged, cursing aloud without restraint.
Stay calm!
Do not panic!
He inhaled deeply, steadying his breath, then burned another Talisman of Evil Dispelling and Fortune Enhancement over himself. Once again, he meticulously divined his fortune using Fate Circulation Treatise.
A minute later, he was dumbstruck.
His Five Elements—wood, fire, earth, metal, and water—were all in disarray!
His fortune was a storm of calamities, laced with the crimson shadow of imminent bloodshed. Disaster after disaster, an unbroken cycle of misfortune…
Upon further calculation, he realized—all Five Damages and Seven Wounds had befallen him. Every single one!
If someone were to use Qi Observation on him at that moment, they would see calamity upon calamity, each stacking upon the last, an endless tide of tribulation.
“…Are you kidding me?!”
Chen Yan’s lips curled into a wry smile. He understood now.
For reasons unknown, his Fake Death Technique had severed Lu Si Si’s fate from the Heavenly Dao’s cycles. The misfortunes that once clung to her had dissipated, leaving her path clear.
Yet fate was unyielding—causality, inexorable!
And now, all those calamities had rebounded onto him, the instigator!
Where was the promised rise in cultivation, fortune, and karmic merit?
Wait…
Chen Yan narrowed his gaze, recalculating. His heart gradually steadied.
The bad news? His calculations were correct. Disaster loomed over him like a sword poised to fall.
The good news? Seven days.
—
It seemed the Heavenly Dao, rather than dispersing Lu Si Si’s eighteen years of accumulated misfortune, had instead placed the entire weight upon him, the architect of the deception.
Eighteen years of suffering, compressed into seven days.
If he survived this span, he would defy fate and emerge with supreme fortune!
All the karmic rewards from averting Lu Si Si’s calamity—fortune, cultivation, and merit—would come crashing down upon him, a windfall beyond measure.
“…Damn it, is the Heavenly Dao trying to welch on its debt by killing me first?”
Chen Yan stroked his chin, deep in thought.
—
His first instinct was to use the Fake Death Technique.
If he cast the same spell upon himself—sealing his six senses, deceiving fate—perhaps he could slip past Heaven’s wrath. His tribulation might dissipate entirely.
But…
He couldn’t perform the technique on himself.
Not due to any cosmic restriction, but because the moment he severed his spiritual awareness, he would lose the ability to burn talismans. A corpse could not light its own fire.
And even if he sought help from another cultivator—
He knew no one capable.
Time was pressing. Where would he even find someone trustworthy?
—
“Seven days… I’ll grit my teeth and endure.”
“If it’s a Death is Coming scenario, then so be it.”
Chen Yan had one defining trait: the greater the storm, the steadier his heart.
With a path set, his mind raced through countermeasures. A person under extreme misfortune was akin to Lu Si Si’s past state—
Every action risked catastrophe. And with eighteen years of ill fortune condensed into seven, his trials would be far deadlier than hers.
This was no minor streak of bad luck—this was death shadowing his every step.
First priority: find a secure location and stay there.
Avoid any setting rife with potential accidents—
Electricity, water, sharp-edged furniture, unstable objects that could fall and crush him…
His eyes swept across his lavish mansion.
Two words: a death trap.
Luxurious and well-equipped, yes.
But also perilous in ways he had never considered.
“No, absolutely not.”
Remaining here was suicide.
A thought struck him—his short-term rental!
Without hesitation, Chen Yan sprang into motion, gathering the bare essentials for his seven-day siege against fate.
—
Preparation complete, he stepped out, burning another Talisman of Evil Dispelling and Fortune Enhancement before leaving. The talisman dissolved in an instant, its protective effect thinning.
Chen Yan sensed it—the speed at which his misfortune amassed was accelerating. Each talisman’s blessing now barely lasted five minutes.
He booked a ride. The moment he climbed into the car, he turned to the driver and asked:
“Hey, do you mind if I smoke in here?”
The driver hesitated, as if about to say something, but Chen Yan cut him off by pulling out his phone. With a swift scan of the payment code on the dashboard—
Beep. One hundred.
Instantly, the driver’s demeanor shifted. “Brother, are you about to make it big? Want me to light some incense for you?”
“Just drive.” Chen Yan settled into the back seat and buckled up.
Then, he lit a cigarette. Yet beneath the veil of curling smoke, hidden by his leg, his fingers silently pressed a talisman onto his body.
The rune burned into a wisp of blue smoke, melding seamlessly into the cigarette haze. The driver remained oblivious.
—
From his home to the short-rent house, the journey took no more than thirty minutes. Yet, in that brief span, Chen Yan had already activated eight talismans!
The protective runes were losing their effectiveness at an alarming rate. As he neared his destination, he calculated—the effect of each talisman barely lasted three minutes now.
Once out of the car, he fixed his gaze on the direction of his temporary lodging. The midnight streets were deserted. Without hesitation, he invoked Command of Evasion.
His figure flickered, a shadow darting like wind through the empty streets!
In the blink of an eye, he arrived outside the rental house. Keys in hand, he unlocked the door and stepped inside. Without missing a beat, he reinforced himself with another talisman.
First, the power switch—off! Even the fuse was removed.
Next, the water—shut tight! No, not enough. He turned the main valve off entirely.
Grabbing the bedding from the bed, he tore it apart and wrapped it around the sharp edges of cabinets and tables. Using the leftover adhesive tape, he secured the padding into place—an improvised safety barrier.
His gaze landed on the ceiling light. Without a second thought, he unscrewed the bulb, yanked out the tube, and discarded them.
What else? What else?
Food and water…
A whole case of instant noodles and bottled water sat untouched from his last grocery run. That would have to do.
Seven days. No cooking.
Survival mode. Dry instant noodles for meals. Bottled water for thirst.
Tough? Yes. But living came first!
Right—Lu Si Si had once mentioned that when surviving on dry food, one had to chew slowly. Otherwise, it could get lodged in the throat and lead to choking.
He had stocked up on essential medicine—antibiotics, fever reducers, trauma ointments… No major health issues, no heart conditions, no high blood pressure. Even if misfortune itself struck, it couldn’t conjure ailments out of thin air.
Chen Yan mentally ran through everything one last time. Then, taking a deep breath, he locked every door and window.
The windows were already shut, and the old-fashioned metal bars made them sturdy. For extra measure, he dismantled a chair, pulled out a few wooden slats, and hammered them across the window frames.
He even wrapped the ends of the slats with fabric from the torn bedding—no sharp edges allowed.
Every potential hazard was meticulously removed.
Plates, chopsticks, knives—packed up.
Sealed tight and tossed into the trash bin outside.
Finally, he re-entered, locked the door behind him, and exhaled sharply.
“From now on, I don’t step out of this room.
For seven days, I stand against Heaven’s Will itself!”
—
Day One
Chen Yan spent the entire day lying on the bed.
Aside from a few bathroom trips, he barely moved.
With the water supply cut, the toilet tank still held some reserve water. He used it sparingly, flushing only after multiple uses.
He knew well—once that water ran out, even flushing would be a luxury.
He kept his movements minimal. When hunger struck, he broke open a pack of noodles and chewed slowly. Sipped only small amounts of water—eat less, drink less, fewer trips to the bathroom.
By evening, an odd sound emerged from the corner of the room.
Squeak.
Looking down, he caught a glimpse of a mouse vanishing into the shadows.
Chen Yan sneered. Striding over, he nudged the cabinet aside—
Sure enough, a crack had formed in the wall, and a chewed-up segment of electrical wire peeked out from the gap.
“…Good thing I was thorough.”
He silently congratulated himself.
The power was already off. The fuse was removed.
Otherwise, the mouse gnawing through the wiring could have caused a short circuit, leading to a fire.
—
Midnight
CRASH!
A shelf collapsed, its contents spilling onto the floor.
It had once held plates, chopsticks, and kitchen knives.
If this had been any other night, shattered ceramic shards and a rogue blade could have ricocheted across the room—
Perhaps even striking a slumbering figure in the bed.
—
Day Two
Holding his breath, Chen Yan stepped into the bathroom.
Two days without flushing—despite the cold weather, the stench was unbearable.
As he stood up from the toilet, something happened.
The toilet’s water tank suddenly detached and crashed onto the floor, shattering on impact.
Chen Yan watched, expressionless.
Had he left the water supply on, that shattered tank would have spilled water everywhere. The floor would have become slick—
And he might have slipped.
He examined the broken edges. As expected, the rubber seals and screws had degraded over time.
“Hmph.”
On the third day, Chen Yan leaned against his bed, gnawing on a block of instant noodles, when suddenly, the ceiling above him trembled. A chunk of plaster broke away, revealing a loose wire dangling ominously.
He raised his gaze, his eyes dark and cold. That chandelier—I had removed it myself days ago.
If it had still been hanging there… it would have crashed right onto my skull. And if it had been live with electricity… Heh!
The fourth day. The fifth day. The sixth day…
By the night of the sixth day, at precisely the eleventh hour, Chen Yan had barely closed his eyes. This curse was like a blade pressed against his throat—how could he dare to sleep?
Each day, he meditated, circulating his Vital Energy, stealing mere moments of rest before jerking awake in vigilance. His phone was off, preserving its last bit of battery for the final day. He hadn’t even brought a power bank—too great a risk of fire or explosion.
At this point, time itself felt blurred. He had no means of measuring the passing hours with certainty.
Despite his utmost caution, hardship still found him.
That afternoon, exhaustion finally claimed him, and he dozed off—only for his bed to collapse beneath him! Upon inspection, it was the rotted bed frame that had given out.
Instinct saved him. The moment the bed cracked, he rolled away, his muscles coiling like a serpent ready to strike. But even so, he was not unscathed.
A jagged nail, exposed from the wreckage, tore into his hand, sinking deep.
Had he not raised his palm in time, that nail would have pierced his eye.
He cleaned the wound with iodine and alcohol. Infection? Tetanus? Bah—those wouldn’t kill me in a day.
One more day. After that, all misfortune would scatter like morning mist.
—
On the seventh day, as the sun crested the horizon, Chen Yan was a shadow of himself. His hair, unwashed for days, clung to his scalp with an oily sheen. His breath, unchecked, turned stale in his mouth.
One last pack of instant noodles. One final bottle of water.
This must last until the curse lifts.
His body had weakened—days of rationing, of cold meals and measured sips. Vital Energy sustained him, but he had not yet mastered the art of fasting. His Cycles of Qi Fortune whispered to him: Six hours remained. Twelve more turns of the clock.
He lay upon what remained of his bed—just the mattress now, directly on the ground. The splintered frame had been shoved into the bathroom, lest its jagged edges bring further peril.
Morning passed without incident.
Chen Yan frowned. Could it be that Heaven’s Will had exhausted its tricks?
That made sense…
Magical calamities required magical avenues. But he had neutralized all physical dangers. Perhaps the heavens had run out of ways to strike him down?
Then, in the afternoon, his fever came.
A slow, seething heat spread through him, followed by sharp cramps twisting his gut.
From his bed, he glared at the window. “Come on! Come on!
“A fever? You think this will force me out? Make me rush to a hospital?
“I WON’T GO!
“My stomach hurts? I’ve barely eaten! What’s left to purge? Ha! HAHAHAHAHA!”
His bloodshot eyes burned as he laughed, voice hoarse with exhaustion. Six days—less than ten hours of sleep in total. His mind wavered at the precipice of madness.
The fever dragged him under for two hours, a sluggish, suffocating haze. But by dusk, it had receded, leaving only the persistent sting in his wounded hand.
The flesh was swollen, red, and angry. Infection had set in.
Chen Yan bared his teeth in a grin. “Four hours left. Even if this gets worse, it won’t kill me in four hours! You hear that?! IT WON’T WORK!”
Though his body trembled, his will remained ironclad. Even if this wound festered, even if the doctors later warned of amputation—he would endure.
Because come morning, his Fate would revert to normal. And with it, Heaven’s Will would no longer have the authority to alter his destiny.
Even Heaven cannot defy its own rules.
—
The final countdown began.
He powered on his phone, watching the minutes tick away.
Thirty minutes left. The air turned stifling, despite the winter chill.
Twenty minutes. Ten. Five.
Chen Yan smirked. “Heaven, it seems you’ve lost this battle.”
Then—the bed trembled beneath him.
A slow, shuddering motion. Once. Twice.
Then the walls swayed. The floor heaved.
Chen Yan’s grin stiffened. His pupils shrank.
“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”
The entire house shook violently.
“An earthquake?! NOW?!”
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