Chapter Fifteen: The Definition of a Good Person

Two days later, beside a ruined stretch of highway, a scene of carnage unfolded from a devastating car crash. The road had caved in, forming a pit three to four meters deep, within which traces of silvery liquid glimmered faintly. Three large trucks from Lang Sheng’s convoy had overturned, tangled together in the pit, their front ends shattered beyond recognition; the off-road vehicles, too, lay scattered, crashed and askew. Blood seeped slowly from the vehicles, mingling with the withered green wild shrubs at the roadside, casting a chilling shadow over the scene.

Only his armored vehicle stood intact, parked in the wilds below the road, untouched. Inside, the driver shivered uncontrollably, curled up in the cab with tightly shut eyes, as if traumatized by some unspeakable horror.

Lang Sheng himself stood before one of the overturned trucks, gazing at three companions slumped against its side, their legs twisted beneath them, already rendered immobile.

One man, gazing weakly at the sky, murmured, “Why? Didn’t you say you wanted to be a good person? Why are you more ruthless and swift than ever?”

“I do want to be a good person, but I never said I wanted to be a monk,” Lang Sheng shook his head, ignoring the blood-stained ground, and with swift, clean movements, broke the necks of the other two men.

“I am curious though—who gave you the courage to plot against me, even at the cost of so many brothers’ lives, setting such a trap? Were you possessed by some evil spirit?”

The tall, muscular man slowly placed his hand on the last survivor’s neck.

“I was wrong. You aren’t possessed at all,” the last man didn’t answer, but muttered, “I just didn’t expect you’d still be so hypocritical. You claim you want to be good, but your heart and hands remain as ruthless and precise as ever—more so, even.”

“How dull. Have you misunderstood what it means to be ‘good’?” Lang Sheng raised a finger and shook it, “The good person I wish to be, that unknown existence—or rather, myself—has a clear definition. Reward virtue with virtue, repay wrongs directly, suffocate evil and wrongdoing in their infancy, never allow them to flourish. Those who plot against me, who threaten me, are the worst of the wicked.”

“Though, I haven’t mastered the last part yet. I haven’t read enough to discern the faintest signs; if I had noticed your odd behavior earlier, fewer brothers would have died in vain.”

Lang Sheng spoke with a look of sorrow and compassion.

“You…you…” Before he could strike, the man spat blood and slumped dead, his organs shattered by Lang Sheng’s earlier blow.

“Sigh, when I return, I’ll have to clean house, rid myself of these rotten seeds,” Lang Sheng shook his head, thinking to himself:

System, oh system—if only you could help me distinguish good from evil, that would be miraculous.

System prompt: (Host number 70222, your current virtue score is insufficient. Recharge to activate the system and unlock relevant functions.)

It called itself a Title System, but it possessed basic logical judgment.

Alright, I’ll endure. After only a few days, it’s impossible to activate it. But I refuse to believe that being a good person for ten years won’t activate you.

Hearing the prompt in his mind, Lang Sheng reaffirmed his resolve to walk the path of goodness.

---

He had once doubted whether this so-called system was some evil spirit, disguising itself through the concept of a novel and manifesting in his mind. Yet those doubts soon vanished.

First, he could distinctly sense the presence of the system in his mind and engage in basic dialogue—something most evil spirits couldn’t manage; they only brought madness and havoc.

Second, through the Bronze-level meditation technique, he vaguely sensed a mysterious rule affixed to his soul: seemingly useless, but far more powerful than any evil spirit.

He even suspected that so-called gods were much the same.

He knew himself; while he might tempt lesser evil spirits—say, those of Silver rank—he would never attract anything so advanced.

His soul simply wasn’t that delectable.

He also considered that his luck couldn’t be so extravagant, to bind with a system on his first outing.

But when the system introduced itself with “Host number 70222,” his doubts evaporated.

He wasn’t the only one to bind with it. Others had failed to activate it, and so it passed to him; if he lacked perseverance, he too would fail, and it would move on.

Moreover, the system’s definition of a good person matched his own bottom line. If it required him to be like a monk—enduring all, feeding vultures with his flesh—he’d rather abandon it entirely.

Otherwise, it might ruin not just him, but his descendants for generations. Better to live boldly for a lifetime.

In any case, I must have patience, must endure. This Good Person System will not be easily unlocked. Only a true good person—not a pushover or indiscriminate do-gooder—can activate it.

Lang Sheng approached an overturned off-road vehicle, rescuing those inside while encouraging himself.

Over seventy thousand predecessors failed; the difficulty is evident. Yet the sages said, “Lay down your blade, become a Buddha,” and “A prodigal’s return is worth its weight in gold.” Though I’ve committed many wrongs—not to the point of heinous crimes, but I have oppressed the innocent—if I change now, perhaps I’ll gain immense merit.

With this mindset, he ignored the gore and filth, rescuing each injured teammate from the vehicles.

Not only that, he took out his best medicines, including some Bronze-level extraordinary drugs, to treat those brothers caught in the crossfire.

“Boss, I’m sorry. I overheard their plot, but I didn’t dare report it. I feared they’d kill me,” a small team member said softly as he was dragged out.

“It’s alright. As long as you didn’t participate, that’s enough. Most people lack courage; only a few are brave. God teaches us to forgive. Those who can be forgiven are like you: lacking the courage to save, but not complicit in wrongdoing,” Lang Sheng said through gritted teeth.

“Boss, I’m still afraid…”

“No need to fear. I truly forgive you…”

---

Lang Sheng tightly bound the man’s wounds, wrapping him up like a dumpling.

In this sweltering heat, the suffering was considerable.

Then he moved to rescue the next person.

Ultimately, though the crash seemed catastrophic, the number of deaths was surprisingly low.

After all, this was the thirty-fifth year of the Victory over Evil calendar; those who survived to now possessed exceptional constitution, willpower, and luck, and had trained in various circulated meditation techniques and martial arts, making their reactions swift.

…

Meanwhile, at Refuge 364.

After fighting for two days and nights, on the morning of July 10th, Fan Bei looked with satisfaction at his mental energy reserves, which had grown to a safe level of 535 points.

The agricultural sector was vast, with more than a thousand cultivation tanks. A tenth of these harbored hidden evil entities.

Some provided only one point; others gave three or four, evidently due to differences in type and quality.

“Luckily there’s a beginner’s village—or rather, the refuge itself is a beginner’s village. Otherwise, I’d have died long ago and wouldn’t have survived till now,” Fan Bei shook his head, then yawned deeply.

He decided to sleep, setting the alarm to wake in eight hours.

Lying in bed, filled with hope for tomorrow, Fan Bei closed his eyes, and heavy sleep quickly overtook his mind.

Faintly, he heard barking outside his bedroom door.

You mangy mutt, your system daddy needs sleep—stop barking.

With that thought, Fan Bei quickly drifted off.