The underground bunker beneath Skyview Manor was silent, save for the rhythmic humming of the air filtration system.
Lin Hao stood in the center of the concrete floor. He wasn't breathing hard. In fact, he was barely breathing at all.
At Level 9: The Perfect Foundation, his body had achieved a terrifying efficiency. His metabolic rate was 100% efficient. His pores were sealed tight, locking every scrap of thermal energy and Qi inside his frame.
He felt like a pressurized vessel.
He clenched his fist. There was no "build-up." The power was instant, present at his fingertips the nanosecond he thought of it.
"This is the peak," he whispered. His voice didn't echo; his control was so absolute that he projected the sound only as far as he intended.
He was the strongest human on Earth. He was certain of it. The "Prodigies" were likely scrambling to hit Level 5, maybe touching Level 6 if they were force-fed resources by their families. He was Level 9.
But he didn't feel triumphant. He felt... cramped.
It was a physical sensation. He felt like a man who had grown too large for his house. His head was scraping the ceiling. His shoulders were brushing the walls. The ambient Reiki in the room, which had felt rich and heavy a week ago, now felt thin. Wispy.
"I need more," he said.
He checked his balance.
[Upgrade Points (UP): 3,176,080]
He had three million points. He had the resources.
He opened the [Self Upgrade] tab, eager to burst through the roof of this cramped mortal house and step into the open sky of the Xiantian Realm.
He looked for the button.
[Current Status: Level 9 (Peak Houtian)] [Next Stage: Realm 1: Qi Gathering (Layer 1)]
There it was. The golden gate to immortality. The stage where cultivators learned to fly, to live for centuries, to wield the elements directly.
He reached out with his mind to press it.
CLUNK.
Nothing happened.
The button didn't depress. It didn't glow. It sat there, dull and grey, lifeless against the blue interface.
Lin Hao frowned. "System. Confirm upgrade."
BZZT.
A harsh, dissonant sound grated in his skull. The interface flickered, the blue light turning a warning shade of crimson.
[UPGRADE FAILED.]
A new text box slammed into his vision, pulsing with a slow, red beat.
[ERROR: ENVIRONMENTAL RESTRICTION.] [Upgrade LOCKED.] [Reason: Ambient Mana Density Insufficient.]
Lin Hao stared at the words. "Insufficient?"
[Analysis: The Host has reached the pinnacle of the 'Body Refining' (Houtian) stage. This stage relies on internal biological energy.] [The next stage, 'Qi Gathering' (Xiantian), requires the constant, high-pressure absorption of external environmental Qi to sustain the spirit body.]
The text scrolled, cold and merciless.
[Current Planetary Status: Low Spiritual Plane (Early Phase).] [Environment cannot support Xiantian existence. Attempting to ascend now would result in spiritual asphyxiation and death.]
[Requirement for Unlock: MIDDLE SPIRITUAL PLANE.]
Lin Hao stepped back, the invisible weight of the ceiling pressing down on him.
He understood.
He was a deep-sea fish trying to swim in a puddle.
If he upgraded now, his body would demand a level of fuel that the Earth simply didn't possess. He wouldn't become a god; he would starve to death in seconds, gasping for energy that wasn't there.
He was trapped.
He wasn't trapped by his talent. He wasn't trapped by his points.
He was trapped by the planet itself.
He navigated frantically to the [World Upgrade] tab. He scrolled past the daily 0.01% boosts he had been spamming for two weeks.
He found the main entry at the bottom.
[World Upgrade: Planar Ascension (Middle Spiritual Plane)] [Status: LOCKED] [Cost: 10,000,000 UP]
Ten million.
He looked at his balance: 3,176,080 UP.
He was at 31%.
He looked up at the reinforced concrete ceiling of the bunker. It felt heavy. The miles of rock above him, the atmosphere of the entire planet... it was all a cage.
He couldn't just improve himself anymore. To take the next step, he had to drag the entire world up with him.
"Seven million more," he whispered, his voice tight.
He did the math again. The exponential loop was powerful.
Tomorrow: ~4.7M total. Day after: ~7.9M total. Day 18: ~14.3M total.
Three days.
It sounded so short. Just three more days of hiding in the fog, letting the numbers tick up, waiting for the interest to compound.
But as he stared at the red [LOCKED] text, a deep, primal instinct, the instinct of a Level 9 apex predator, flared in his gut.
The universe hated a vacuum. And it hated waiting.
Something was coming. He could feel it in the thin air. The world wasn't going to let him sit quietly and wait for his ten million.
"Three days," Lin Hao said to the empty room, clenching his fist until the air cracked. "Hold together for three days."
But the red warning light pulsed on, silent and ominous.
The Ceiling had been hit. And the only way out was up.