"You stupid cow!" The curse slipped from Lu Feng's lips as his eyes snapped open, unleashing a torrent of rage that had festered within him for lifetimes. The memories of his past existences crashed against the shores of his consciousness—a tempestuous maelstrom threatening to drown him.

  "What the hell is up with my luck?" He seethed through clenched teeth, each word a tumbling stone in an avalanche of frustration. The question hung in the air, unanswered, as it had been for centuries. The weight of his experiences—countless years, numerous bodies, endless pursuits—pressed down upon his chest, making each breath laborious, each thought a struggle against the tide of memories.

  His fingers dug into the soft earth beneath him, feeling the cool kiss of dew-laden soil against his skin. A tangible reminder that this body, at least, was real. For now.

  Back on Earth, there was a saying, "A cat has nine lives, for three it plays, for three it strays, for three it stays." But for Lu Feng, six of his nine lives were spent in the relentless pursuit of the whims of the wretched System, a constant companion that had driven him to the precipice of madness. Martial arts that could split mountains, cultivation techniques that could harness cosmic essence, arcane scrolls inscribed with ancient wisdom, pill recipes that could grant immortality, priceless treasures forged from the bones of deities, and legendary weapons humming with power—He collected them all, risking everything in each incarnation, never stopping, never resting.

  In six different lives, he traversed the boundless expanse of existence, unraveling mysteries that had confounded immortals for eons. He ascended from wretched poverty to cosmic supremacy, only to plummet again to defeat and degradation—All to satiate the System's insatiable hunger. For Lu Feng, "Gotta Catch 'Em All" wasn't merely a catchy phrase from his original world; it was the inexorable command that reverberated through his soul as the System's AI drove him onward, a relentless taskmaster knowing neither mercy nor fatigue.

  Those unfamiliar with the System might suggest that Lu Feng simply refuse, that he defy its commands and forge his own path. But such naive counsel came from minds untouched by the soul-rending agony the System could inflict—torment that transcended physical pain, reaching into one's very essence until death seemed a merciful alternative. Lu Feng still bore the scars of those punishments, invisible wounds that throbbed whenever memories of defiance surfaced.

  The System's Administrator, Iris, embodied a true yandere—demanding in her expectations, obsessive in her pursuit of treasures, and violently unforgiving in her retribution. Like a possessive mistress who viewed Lu Feng as personal property, she would not relinquish her hold until her desires were fulfilled. After initial rebellions in his first lives—crushed with such methodical brutality that resistance became unthinkable—Lu Feng found himself entangled in a perverse game of achievements and rewards. This cycle transformed him from unwilling victim into reluctant participant, a pawn who had glimpsed the cosmic chessboard and resigned himself to his movements.

  Slowly, inevitably, he accepted his fate—All for the tantalizing promise of three lives he could call his own, three existences free from the System's oppressive grip. In his seventh life, finally fulfilling his obligation, Lu Feng, weary and disenchanted with the pursuit of power, neither summoned the system nor entertained thoughts of cultivation. Instead, he chose the simple path, embracing a peaceful mortal life in a quaint village nestled between mountains and waters, far removed from the tumultuous chaos of cultivation politics.

  But such serenity proved fleeting—Peace dissolved when the village fell victim to a passing Young Master, a spoiled scion of a distant powerful clan. This tyrant, drunk on his imagined importance, crushed the villagers beneath his immaculate boots as though they were insects. The young master reveled in cruelty, his heart darker than the abyss, his laughter a discordant note in the symphony of suffering he orchestrated. After enduring two months of witnessing the village being tormented—the rapes, beatings, and humiliations—Lu Feng finally reached his breaking point.

  With righteous fury igniting his blood, Lu Feng resolved to rise against the oppressor, to deliver justice with his bare hands, to teach this privileged parasite that even the lowliest commoner possessed dignity. It was a decision born of moral conviction rather than strategic consideration—and therein lay its fatal flaw—the Lu Feng of that time, who resigned himself to a peaceful life had no cultivation.

  "You dare raise your hand against me, peasant?" the Young Master had sneered, his perfect features contorted into amused disdain as Lu Feng charged forward. "Do you know who I am? Do you comprehend the magnitude of your transgression?"

  Lu Feng had not cared then—not about the Young Master's lineage, nor about the consequences. Six lifetimes of bowing before powers greater than himself had instilled a bone-deep weariness with hierarchies built upon accidents of birth. With a fierce battle cry carrying accumulated resentment, he launched himself at the pampered Young Master, his ordinary mortal fists flying with precision born of muscle memory, his feet pounding with the rhythm of delayed justice.

  But the young master, despite his moral bankruptcy, wielded considerable power. With a contemptuous wave of his jade-white hand adorned with spatial rings, he summoned his treasured mount—a majestic stallion with a coat black as night, its mane shimmering like liquid gold. The celestial beast charged at Lu Feng with supernatural speed, its obsidian hooves striking sparks from the ground, its crimson eyes blazing with intelligence and fury.

  Lu Feng, drawing upon combat instincts honed across multiple lifetimes, attempted to pivot away from the charging beast. But his mortal body, unenhanced by cultivation energy, proved too slow, too fragile, too human to evade a mount bred from legendary bloodlines. With a sickening crunch that echoed across the village square, the horse's reinforced hoof connected with Lu Feng's temple, sending him crashing down, his vision fracturing into kaleidoscopic patterns as consciousness fled.

  "Pathetic," the Young Master's voice had floated to him from what seemed like an immense distance. "Let this serve as a lesson to the rest of you vermin."

  And so, his seventh life concluded beneath a horse's hooves—a life cut short by the very injustice he had sought to challenge, a promise of freedom snatched away before it could truly blossom.

  Preparing for his eighth incarnation, Lu Feng attributed his misfortune to karmic retribution—perhaps this was the universe's response to the countless tombs he had desecrated and the innumerable treasures he had plundered. In his eighth life, fortune seemed to smile upon him at last as he emerged as the firstborn son of a noble clan, heir to vast wealth and influence.

  But fate had other designs. Before his infant self could form his first words or take his first steps, a careless maid prematurely ended his nascent life. As she sang a haunting lullaby, her voice belying her negligence, she rocked baby Lu Feng on the marble balcony, her attention repeatedly wandering to cast glances toward the handsome young gardener laboring below.

  "Young master is getting heavy," she had complained, adjusting her grip with one hand while using the other to wave flirtatiously. "Just a moment longer, and then I can—"

  With a negligent twist prompted by the gardener's returned smile, her grip faltered. The baby slipped from her loosened embrace, plummeting from the third-story balcony. The brief sensation of weightlessness, the rush of air against his infant face, the terrified scream rapidly fading above—these were the final experiences of Lu Feng's eighth life, extinguished before it had properly begun.

  Now, Lu Feng opened his eyes to his ninth existence, his body trembling with a fury that transcended mere anger—a cosmic rage that seethed within him, promising retribution against a universe that seemed determined to mock his every attempt at happiness. He cared not for where he was or whose body he now inhabited; all that mattered was the molten core of resentment fueling each thundering heartbeat. The foulest expletives poured from his lips in a torrent of multilingual profanity.

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  Before he could exhaust his repertoire of obscenities, a familiar chime resonated within his mind—a sound that had accompanied him through centuries. It was followed by the dulcet, mockingly sweet tones of Iris, the AI consciousness that had orchestrated his suffering with algorithmic precision.

  Lu Feng, my dear Lu Feng. You poor, unfortunate bastard. The words materialized in his consciousness, each syllable dripping with artificial sympathy that barely concealed underlying amusement. This marks your ninth and final life. Alas, it's time for me to bid you adieu. Massive thanks for amassing such an impressively comprehensive collection!

  The casual dismissal sliced through Lu Feng's thoughts like a blade forged from glacial ice, a painful reminder of the centuries he had spent as nothing more than a glorified treasure hunter.

  My mission is accomplished, Iris continued, her tone shifting to bureaucratic finality, and I depart with all the stolen—ahem—legitimately acquired, entirely above-board scrolls, weapons, and other treasures. A pause followed before she added, The Celestial Administration extends its gratitude for your involuntary contribution to the cosmic archive.

  Lu Feng's jaw clenched so tightly that he felt his teeth might crack under the pressure. Eight lives spent accumulating power and artifacts beyond mortal comprehension, and now they were being confiscated with nothing more than a perfunctory acknowledgment.

  I'll miss the thrill of punishing you, my naughty friend, Iris continued, her voice softening to a honeyed whisper carrying notes of sadistic nostalgia. Those moments when you defied me, when I had to... correct your behavior... they were truly special. But fear not, you shall keep the system interface and plenty of delightful perks. May they serve you well in whatever brief span remains of your final existence.

  A pause, and then: Oh, and do watch out for unruly horses aiming for your head.

  Before Lu Feng could respond—before his rage could find expression—a soul-rending pain assaulted his consciousness, as though a fundamental aspect of his being was being forcibly extracted. He felt a portion of his soul extinguished, like a candle flame snuffed out, leaving behind only the scent of what once was. Lu Feng's brain convulsed, synapses firing chaotically as they struggled to compensate for the sudden absence.

  Darkness, absolute and encompassing, swallowed him whole as consciousness fled, the weight of his memories and the trauma of this final separation proving too much for his newly acquired body.

  When Lu Feng's eyelids fluttered open once more, night had descended, draping the dense forest in shadows that danced with the evening breeze. The full moon hung like a luminous jade pendant in the velvet sky, casting silver radiance across the clearing. The ethereal light transformed ordinary trees into sentinels, their gnarled branches reaching toward the heavens like supplicants.

  Nearby, a stack of meticulously cut logs awaited their purpose, the scent of fresh-cut wood mingling with the earthy aroma of the forest floor. Transmigrating into a new vessel was familiar for Lu Feng, but this time, he sensed a difference in assimilating his host's memories. The process felt incomplete, fragmented, as though crucial pieces had been deliberately withheld.

  Closing his eyes, Lu Feng delved inward, seeking to understand the history of the body he now inhabited. To his consternation, he discovered that the memories extended back merely four years—an unusual barrier that shrouded the man's origins in mystery.

  'Who was this man?' Lu Feng mused, sifting through the available memories with practiced patience. 'What circumstances led him to this isolated existence?

  From what remained accessible, Lu Feng pieced together a partial narrative: 'He awoke gravely injured in this forest, with no recollection of his previous existence. Lost and alone, with nothing but a primal will to survive, he forged a life from the wilderness, learning to hunt, to build, to exist beyond civilization's boundaries.'

  The image formed was of a man shattered yet refusing to remain broken—a soul who had crawled from oblivion and constructed a semblance of life through sheer determination. There was something admirable in such resilience, a quality resonating with Lu Feng's own experiences.

  Unfortunately for the previous inhabitant, his journey had ultimately ended in defeat. Lu Feng, with perceptive faculties honed through centuries of spiritual awareness, discerned the true nature of what had befallen the man. A powerful soul-type attack had been employed—not crude physical violence, but something insidious. The attack had been designed to gradually corrode and dissipate the soul over time, like a spiritual poison infiltrating the very essence of being.

  'Such methods are typically employed by those who wish their victims to suffer prolonged despair,' Lu Feng reflected, a cold anger kindling within him at such calculated cruelty. 'Whoever orchestrated this attack possessed not only considerable power but also a sadistic disposition.'

  Drawing upon the acquired memories, Lu Feng oriented himself within the forest and began navigating toward the wooden cabin that the body's previous owner had constructed. His movements were fluid and efficient, muscle memory guiding him along barely visible paths. The journey through the moonlit forest was a symphony of subtle sounds—whispering leaves, rustling nocturnal creatures, the distant hooting of an owl.

  Two hours later, having rekindled the smoldering embers of the cabin's outdoor fire pit into a crackling blaze, Lu Feng sat before a feast of his own making. A wild boar, tracked and hunted with practiced skill, now roasted over the open flame. The meat, carved with precision and arranged on a wooden plate, glistened in the firelight, its aroma promising satisfaction.

  "At least I won't starve tonight," Lu Feng murmured, tearing a piece of juicy meat from the bone and savoring its rich flavor. "A small mercy, perhaps, but one I'll gladly accept after my previous incarnations."

  After indulging until his stomach protested further consumption, Lu Feng sprawled in the cool grass beside the cabin, gazing at the tapestry of stars above. Each luminous point represented possibilities, distant realms he would likely never explore now that his journey approached its conclusion. The thought brought mixed emotions—regret for paths not taken, relief at the prospect of final rest, and resentment that his destiny had never truly been his own.

  When the night air carried the chill of approaching dawn, Lu Feng finally entered the cabin, securing the hand-crafted wooden door behind him. The humble abode consisted of a single room, its construction rudimentary but sound—a testament to its creator's resourcefulness. A bed of dried grasses covered with animal hides occupied one corner, while a small table and chair fashioned from logs stood in another. Shelves lined one wall, bearing carved wooden implements and containers of preserved foods and medicinal herbs.

  'Not bad...' Lu Feng thought, surveying the space appreciatively. 'For a man with no memory he created a worthy sanctuary. This is adequate for now.'

  Seating himself cross-legged on the wooden floor, Lu Feng closed his eyes and turned his attention inward, calling forth the one constant that had accompanied him through his multiple existences.

  'System,' he intoned mentally, his thoughts carrying the command into the metaphysical realm.

  After a moment's delay—longer than in previous lives—a familiar blue glow materialized behind his closed eyelids, and text began to form:

  Welcome, New World detected. Gathering Preliminary Information. ETA 5 Hours.

  The message confirmed what Lu Feng had suspected—Iris might have departed with his accumulated treasures, but the basic framework of the System remained, a final gift (or perhaps curse) from his long-time tormentor.

  'So I wasn't dreaming... Iris is really gone...' A complex emotion flickered across Lu Feng's features—not quite sorrow, not quite relief, but something existing in the nebulous space between. Despite their adversarial relationship, Iris had been his constant companion for centuries. Her absence created a void that echoed with countless interactions across varied existences.

  From perilous expeditions into ancient tombs, to infiltrating secretive sects, to eliminating entire clans who stood between him and his objectives—Iris had witnessed every triumph, every failure, every compromise coloring his journey. She had been both his greatest tormentor and, perversely, his most consistent ally in the chaotic flux of his multiple lives.

  In each incarnation, Lu Feng had navigated the complex landscape of a cultivation world. Each realm possessed unique cosmology, distinct pantheons, particular systems of harnessing fundamental energies. Some worlds classified cultivation paths by elements—fire, water, earth, air, and more esoteric aspects. Others organized disciplines around philosophical concepts—the Way of the Sword, the Path of Tranquility, the Doctrine of Righteous Fury.

  Yet beneath these differences lay consistent principles—refining qi to strengthen the physical vessel, expanding spiritual awareness to perceive hidden currents, consolidating one's essence to transcend mortality. These fundamentals remained unchanged, allowing Lu Feng to adapt with increasing efficiency.

  'I should first leave this forest and gain an understanding of this world's particular cultivation system before determining my path forward,' Lu Feng decided, releasing a satisfied burp as his meal settled. A yawn escaped his lips as fatigue of dimensional transition and memory assimilation caught up with him.

  Stretching his limbs, he reclined on the simple bed, allowing his eyes to close. The wooden walls creaked gently, as if singing a lullaby, while outside, the nocturnal symphony continued its eternal performance.

  'This ninth life...' Lu Feng thought as consciousness began to slip away, 'will be different. No longer a pawn, no longer a collector for another's benefit. This time, I forge my own destiny.'

  As sleep embraced him, carrying him into dreams painted with the hues of eight previous existences, one final thought drifted through his mind: 'And may the heavens help anyone who stands in my way.'