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Chapter 2: The Cultivator's Masquerade
In the world's eyes, Tian Mo was just a fortunate young man who had miraculously awoken from a six-month coma. A survivor. A tragic genius.
But behind closed doors, his presence was a rising storm.
Anna—his first puppet—had performed admirably. Her once-spoiled arrogance had transformed into seductive obedience, amplified by the Lust Sigils etched into her body. Now, she played her role in high society with deadly precision.
Models, actresses, wives of politicians, heiresses—they all came to her. She filtered the ones of interest: those with latent physiques, lonely hearts, suppressed desires, or crumbling marriages. Each one a target. Each one, potential breeding soil for his chaotic seeds.
Tian Mo's penthouse became a temple of corruption.
By day, he trained his body. His Qi Condensation cultivation stabilized as he neared Foundation Establishment—a monumental realm in a low-grade world like Earth.
By night, he meditated upon his Primordial Chaos Divine Sins Emperor Technique, fusing Yin and Yang through acts of domination, feeding upon lust, obsession, and broken taboos. This path did not rely on pure pills or sect teachings.
His breakthroughs came with moans and madness.
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Elsewhere, in the underworld city of Xiangdu, the Hidden Circle stirred.
They were the remnants of old clans and sects from Earth's forgotten cultivation past. Once mighty, now shadows surviving in corporations, military labs, and underground auction houses. They smelled something unnatural.
Yin Hua—once one of their best spies—had vanished. Her last assignment had been Tian Mo.
They suspected nothing.
She returned weeks later, demeanor unchanged, but soulbound to the very man she once hunted.
Now, she whispered lies in their ears and fed secrets back to Tian Mo.
"Sir," Yin Hua knelt before him, robes clinging to her curves, blood from a recent kill still on her gloves. "The Zhu family is hosting a private gathering. Many from the Hidden Circle will be there. It's an opportunity."
Tian Mo smirked. "Excellent. Anna."
"Yes, my master?"
"You'll accompany me. Dress to kill, and draw their eyes. Yin Hua will secure our entrance. I want to meet the heirs. The mistresses. And their cultivators."
He rose from his meditation rug. His cultivation had surged again—Foundation Establishment (Early Stage).
Faster than any Earth-born cultivator.
Unnatural. Monstrous.
But masked under layers of Qi-concealing arts and modern technology.
He wore a sleek black suit that shimmered faintly under light. His aura? Mild. Unassuming. Yet every woman who met his eyes felt heat bloom between their thighs.
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The Zhu Estate. That Night.
Golden chandeliers. Expensive wine. Ancient jade artifacts carefully hidden behind bulletproof glass. Everyone here had some connection to cultivation—though few were beyond Core Formation.
Tian Mo walked in like a prince of shadows.
Anna by his side, a black slit dress clinging to her body like sin incarnate. Yin Hua trailed silently, a ghost in silk.
Heads turned. Whispers stirred.
That night, Tian Mo met:
Zhu Lei, the aloof young heir of the Zhu family, with a weak Nascent Soul and a weaker mind.
Elder Mu, a retired Spirit Severing cultivator clinging to life through pills.
And Su Wanying, widow of a deceased Void Shattering cultivator, hiding her cultivation beneath perfume and jewelry. Her Yin physique hadn't been touched in years.
They laughed. They toasted.
And they all underestimated him.
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Later that night, in the VIP chamber of the estate, Su Wanying found herself pressed against ancient wood paneling, legs trembling, eyes dazed.
"I… shouldn't," she whispered.
"You already have," Tian Mo breathed against her ear.
Her lips parted in silent surrender.
Her Qi flowed. Her core cracked.
As he took her, his Chaos Qi invaded her meridians, twisting her Dao, staining her path. She would never serve heaven again.
Only him.
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By the end of the night, Tian Mo had secured three new targets, dozens of contacts, and a firm foothold in the Hidden Circle.
Earth was beginning to bend.
But he wasn't done.
This world will not burn in war, he thought.
It will rot in silence, from within.
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