Chapter 246: Contract

**Chapter 246: The Contract**

Mount Wuwang, Judgment Cliff.

January 14th, a heavy snowstorm.

The towering cliffs on either side loomed like drawn swords, steep and unyielding. The northern wind howled through the gorge, carrying stinging ice pellets that sliced through the air, leaving knife-like welts on exposed skin. This was a notoriously forbidden territory, its climate so harsh that not even birds or wild grass could survive for long.

For hundreds of miles, there was not a trace of human presence—only the wind’s ghostly howl, enough to raise goosebumps on one’s skin.

Yet within these cliffs, two figures trudged forward, dragging a box-like contraption between them.

The shorter of the two tightened his coat and growled, “Goddamn this weather! The wind’s strong enough to snap a person in two. Those old farts are all cozy in their palaces, stuffing their faces while we’re out here doing the dirty work.”

He continued to spout a stream of curses, seemingly unable to vent his grievances fully.

The taller man scoffed. “Enough. Keep your voice down. We’re nearing the Palace Lord’s domain now. If anyone overhears us blabbering, you might find yourself in the Abyss Prison for some ‘relaxation.’ And I’ve no interest in joining you.”

The shorter man shrank back. “Right, right. Best finish the task the Palace Lord assigned first. If he gets angry, the Abyss Prison will be the least of our worries.”

He glanced back at the object they were dragging. “The Palace Lord said to bring this one back intact, but look at him—barely alive as it is. Think he’ll even make it to the palace?”

As the snowstorm gradually subsided, the box-like contraption came into view—a ramshackle wooden cage, barely large enough to hold a single person curled up inside. And within that cage lay a man.

A beautiful man.

His features were so striking they were rare even among immortals and demons. Though his posture was wretched, his white robes stained with blood, his silver hairpiece disheveled, and his dark hair tangled with mud, his face still retained a nobility as cold and pure as winter frost.

Yet, his obsidian eyes were marred by cloudy white films—he was blind.

The taller man mused, “Well, he *was* an unparalleled genius of the immortal sects, and his cultivation was peerless. Maybe he’ll survive?”

The shorter one sneered. “Peerless, my foot! If he were still that strong, we wouldn’t be standing here—he’d have cut us down with a single stroke. Now? His meridians are shattered. He’s weaker than a commoner, just a useless cripple who can’t even cultivate. I heard his own sect, Shangling Sect, acts like he never existed. The moment our Palace Lord asked for him, they handed him over without a second thought.”

He shot a disgusted look at the cage. “But what does our Palace Lord even want with him? He’s completely ruined—can’t even hold a sword steady now. Aside from his good looks, there’s nothing special about him.”

The taller man lowered his voice. “If you ask me, it’s revenge. You know, there’s a score to settle between our Palace Lord and him.”

“Oh? What kind of score?”

“Decades ago, during the Immortal-Demon Grand Tournament, both sides produced an unparalleled genius—one was our Palace Lord, and the other was this Lord Pingwu.”

“These two swept through every opponent, unmatched until the final battle. Our Palace Lord got grazed by his blade—still has a long scar on his waist from it.”

The man in the cage stirred slightly, his eyelashes trembling.

The shorter man let out a low whistle.

The taller one continued, “And you know our Palace Lord—he holds grudges like a dragon hoards gold… uh, I mean, he’s quick to exact vengeance.”

He caught himself awkwardly before adding, “Over the years, everyone who ever harmed him has been wiped out. Only Lord Pingwu remained. And now that his meridians are ruined, our Palace Lord finally got his hands on him.”

He sighed ominously. “Looks like Lord Pingwu’s gonna endure every torture in the Abyss Prison.”

The man in the cage remained still, curled up like a lifeless husk.

They trudged on for another dozen miles, finally leaving the snowbound mountains behind. In the distance, jagged cliffs of varying shapes rose sharply, barren of any vegetation, their rocks a deep, inky black. And atop the highest peak among the thousand stood a towering palace, its walls constructed from alternating red and black stone—ominous and grand.

The short one said, "We've arrived at Wuwang Palace."

He took out a bell from his waist and shook it. A strange, dry melody rang out as the transparent barrier slowly split apart on both sides, allowing the prison cart to enter Wuwang Palace's grounds.

The tall one kicked the cart and sneered, "Best of luck, Immortal Lord."

They all knew this wasn’t going to end well.

*

Meanwhile, in the central hall of the Bureau of Transmigration, 66 drifted toward the entrance of the mainframe room in the exact curled-up posture of Lord Pingwu, peeking around sneakily.

It clung to the doorframe, cautiously checking inside.

—Good, no coworkers around!

Even though 66 had checked out, it still had some pride left. If its colleagues saw its score, how could it ever live that down? QAQ.

In the hall, the mainframe let out a sigh.

"Alright, 66, no other systems are around. Come in."

"Oh." 66 carefully nudged the door open and slunk in, defeated.

Mainframe: "66, do you have any idea about this record-breaking score?"

66 hesitantly peeked at the screen through its electronic eyelids.

"33"

"…"

Yeah, a real record-breaker, QAQ.

As bizarre as this number was, 66 wasn’t surprised at all. Wen Xian’s actions were like a loose cannon—every move went completely off-script. From initial outrage to numbness, and finally getting swayed by chocolate bribes into forgiving everything, 66 had seen this coming all along.

66 drooped in defeat.

Mainframe: "...So, what exactly made you break the Bureau’s long-standing record, 66?"

66 mumbled, "Well… maybe… it’s just… my host is a total mess."

By now, 66 had figured it out. Wen Xian’s so-called 'hatred' had been a complete sham from start to finish. Otherwise, when he heard that familiar voice in the alley, he should’ve walked away—but instead, he charged forward shouting, “Who the hell are you hitting?!” and slapped every thug across the face.

It recalled those suspicious details before their binding. When 66 asked if Wen Xian wanted to escape Shen Zhao for good, he stayed silent. But when asked if he wanted to know why Shen Zhao got married, he suddenly agreed. Putting two and two together, there was only one explanation—Wen Xian’s hatred was fake through and through!

66: "That damn liar, QAQ."

God, it was so dumb, really.

This host never had any intention of following the mission properly!

The mainframe looked absolutely done.

A huge sweat bead popped up on its display: "Look, 66, this is already your eighth mission. If you keep bombing these assignments, by the tenth, you’ll get a punishment mission."

66: "Yes, Boss, I understand."

A punishment mission… terrifying, QAQ.

No system had ever flunked nine straight missions, and none had ever triggered a punishment task. What fresh hell could that be?

—Don't tell me we have to make it vomit up all the chocolate it ate?!

Central AI: "...Forget it. I'll try my best to find you a good, responsible host."

66 nodded like crazy.

Then they both closed their eyes. Characters flickered on the screen as oceans of data flashed through the system. Then the Central AI's voice sounded: "Got one."

A name appeared at the center of the screen.

Xie Shu.

Central AI: "Your past hosts either had no attachments or were ice-cold, indifferent to returning to their original world. System rewards didn't tempt them one bit. But this one is different—he definitely wants to go back."

66 blinked confusedly: "Why?"

Central AI: "He's the CEO of a gaming company, and next month, a game he poured his heart and soul into is set for global launch. As a professional developer, he must want to see how the market receives his work."

66: "Makes sense!"

Central AI: "Moreover, in real life, he's already achieved fame and fortune, is set for life, and wants for nothing. After this game's release, he originally planned to step down as CEO and retire early to enjoy life. In such a scenario, making him start over in a new world would be pure torture."

66: "True that!"

Retirement! Who could possibly say no to retirement?!

Central AI: "So if he becomes a host, he'll go all out to complete the tasks successfully in order to return to the real world."

66 smacked its head: "Oh right!"

Its motivation skyrocketed: "So where is this host?"

Central AI: "Jin Central Hospital, ICU."

66: "?"

Central AI: "If you're twenty minutes later, he'll be a corpse in the morgue."

66: "???"

Central AI: "Forgot to mention—he's a workaholic with almost no leisure life. The workload was massive before the game's launch, so he worked himself straight into intensive care."

66 fell silent.

Alright.

Sounds like our perfect host.

And so, a ball of light winked out from the Central Management Bureau's hall, streaking like a meteor into the intensive care unit of Jin Central Hospital.

Through the observation window, 66 quietly observed its host for this life.

He looked about thirty, with bookish good looks. His sharp nose and prominent brow ridges gave him a commanding presence, but the scholarly air between his brows softened the intensity, making him seem gentle and approachable. Looking at him, 66 could sum him up in three words: wily old fox.

The kind of sly fox who'd ruin you with a smile.

66 approved.

Cooperating with an old fox hell-bent on getting home was bound to be more pleasant than dealing with a loose cannon.

It drifted through the glass and hovered above Xie Shu.

Xie Shu knew he was going to die.

His mind was hazy, memories flashing by like a silent film, scenes from his life playing silently. His body felt as heavy as iron, devoid of any strength—even lifting his eyelids seemed exhausting. In this nearly empty helplessness, Xie Shu thought, *So this is death?*

The corner of his lips twitched silently, though whether in mockery or something else, no one could tell. A gravely ill person's world was separated from reality by thick frosted glass—untouchable, unreachable.

Just as he was about to lose consciousness, a peppy electronic voice rang out.

"Hello~ Abused Protagonist NPC Role-Playing System 66 is at your service~ Want to restart your life and reclaim your glory? Dream of becoming a CEO and achieving financial freedom? Quickly bind with 66, become an Abused Protagonist NPC, complete system tasks, and exchange for a chance at rebirth!"

Xie Shu: "..."

This felt like a ghostly encounter.

Out of nowhere, a floating rectangular device materialized with a sudden pop. On its electronic screen was a large smiley face: "Host, please sign the contract."

Xie Shu paused briefly but didn't hesitate.

Living another life was too good a deal to pass up. As for who—or what—he was signing a contract with, it hardly mattered.

66 sighed in relief: "Great, the system will now initiate the transport procedure. Please be prepared."

"5, 4, 3..."

At the last second of the countdown, 66 glanced at the desk, where a printed character profile document lay—apparently a draft for the first round of public testing. 66 faintly caught sight of the character *"Wu."*