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Yin Xiu traveled to Hong Kong Island, where spells and steam engines roared.

Here, the ancient order of the East has collapsed, and the power called Civilization has brought deeper darkness.

In the era of the end of the law when the aura was thin, the story of the Taoist priests in Kyushu dealing with the chaos and evil

WuDuTaoist

Hong Kong Island, the Pearl of Pan-Asia, lay shrouded in the smoke belched from steam engines, its silhouette blurred and hazy.

Since the Anglians "borrowed" the island from the Emperor, it had blossomed into the Orient's most dazzling trading port—a place of clamor and chaos.

It was 8 p.m., the end of the day shift.

After twelve grueling hours, workers surged out of the factory gates, their steps weary yet urgent. There was no time to linger—night shift laborers were already crowding in.

At the entrance sat a red-haired foreman with hawk-like brown eyes, coldly scrutinizing every worker who passed. Hot-tempered yet meticulous, not a soul had ever smuggled factory property under his watch.

But those ruthless, sharp eyes occasionally softened—like when they fell on Yin Xiu.

"Same as always—not great, not terrible. You, Mike?"

Yin Xiu spoke while placing his wrenches and pliers on the inspection bench, a daily ritual. Yet Mike barely glanced at the tools, grinning at him instead.

"My job? What's to say? Four hours on duty, then drinks and women. Same routine." His eyes daggered into another worker depositing tools before turning back. Lowering his voice, he added, "Heard the Alchemist Guild wants you?"

"Congrats, buddy!" Mike clapped his shoulder. "You'd be their first Tangren!"

Yin Xiu remained calm. "I declined."

Mike gaped. "Why? Folks would kill for that spot! No fees—just say yes! The entry alone's five grand! You'd need a century here to save that!"

"Two. The labor brokers take half my wages."

Yin Xiu counted on his fingers. "They want an assistant, not an alchemist."

"An assistant? You? Those arrogant pricks—" Mike cut himself off, suddenly recalling Yin Xiu's status—a Tangren. While unwritten, no yellow-skinned alchemist had ever joined the guild. Talent wasn't the issue.

"Fools don't know what they're losing," Mike grumbled, indignant for his friend. Assistants toiled anonymously—low pay, no credits.

Yin Xiu shrugged. "Alchemy's not for me. All that smoke—bad for the lungs."

Mike frowned. "Join a guild soon. Rumor says new laws'll exile anyone without status within a year. Those South Pacific islands? Nightmares."

It baffled him—this sharp, handsome mechanic was a bonded laborer, barred from legal status.

"Try the Beggar's Guild. Easy entry. Smudge your face, play up your 'tragic past'—" Before he could finish, Yin Xiu vanished into the crowd.

Under moonlight, Yin Xiu dripped sweat, each punch slicing air with a whistle.

"Two hundred one… two-oh-two…"

A year since his transmigration, he'd practiced the Guiyuan Technique nightly on this rooftop—a martial foundation dismissed by Western apostles and Eastern cultivators alike. In an age of firearms and steel augments, this slow-burn discipline suited him.

It fortified his body—twelve-hour shifts now manageable. But what fool trains just to endure overtime?

Chugging water, he closed his eyes. Status text materialized:

[Level]: Mystic Pass, Second Layer

[Strength]: 13 (Average human: 5)

Power and speed grew, but spirit and defense stagnated. Raw stats mattered, but proper martial arts were key. He could thrash thugs, yet true masters required more than basic strikes.

If I land more side jobs this month… Savings might buy common combat implants—Hung Kuen, Choy Li Fut. But first, legal status. Without it, even guard companies were off-limits.

Footsteps pounded up the stairs. Yin Xiu yanked on his shirt as a teenage girl burst onto the roof, gasping.

"Breathe, Ah Hua." He patted her back. "And it's just 'Xiu.' What's wrong?"

The girl steadied herself. "It's Snake Boy Wei… He's dead. A demon sucked him dry!"

My identity