Wang Lin's Foundation Liquid Storm

Wang Lin walked down the main street of Suotuo City, clad in white robes as pristine as snow. His hair, dark as ink, was bound by a white jade hairpin, with a few stray locks brushing against his ears and dancing in the gentle breeze. His face was pale and delicate, his features deep and sculpted, carrying an indefinable, feminine grace in his brows and eyes.

To call him a man, he was too refined.

To call him a woman, he was too cold and sharp.

This unique temperament, hovering between the genders, made him stand out in the crowd.

He turned every head.

Men looked at him, and women looked at him too.

Men looked at him out of jealousy—how could such a beautiful man exist in this world?

Women looked at him out of infatuation—how could such a beautiful man exist in this world?

Wang Lin ignored these gazes entirely.

His face remained expressionless, his eyes as calm as stagnant water. His pace was steady and unhurried, each step measuring the earth beneath him. His white robes fluttered in the breeze, his sleeves billowing as if he were an immortal descended from the heavens.

If not for the fact that this world lacked cultivators, his appearance on these streets would surely have led people to believe an immortal had walked among them.

"Look, is that guy a man or a woman?" a shrill voice drifted from the roadside.

Wang Lin did not stop, but his ears twitched ever so slightly.

"Should be a man, look at his height and the width of his shoulders..." a second voice replied.

"But his face is too pretty, prettier than any woman's," a third voice added.

"His face is as white as a ghost's; he must be wearing powder."

"Right! Definitely powder! Look at that white—it's like he's been whitewashed."

"Sissy. A grown man wearing makeup, disgusting."

Three voices, three sentences.

Every word pierced Wang Lin's ears like a needle.

Sissy.

It was a word he had heard countless times in his previous life.

In the Immortal World, those who envied his talent cursed him this way; on the path of defying the heavens, those who looked down on him cursed him this way; amidst the slaughter, those who refused to accept their defeat before death cursed him this way.

Every time he heard this word, Wang Lin made them pay the price.

In the Immortal World, the price was life.

Here, what was the price?

Wang Lin's footsteps came to a halt.

He stood in the middle of the street, motionless, like a sculpture suddenly frozen in ice.

Pedestrians detoured around him; some cast suspicious glances, but no one dared to approach—the aura emanating from the man in white made people feel instinctively uneasy.

The three passersby who had spoken did not realize the danger approaching.

They were crouched by a breakfast stall on the side of the road, wolfing down fried dough sticks and drinking soy milk, completely unaware that disaster was upon them.

Wang Lin turned around.

A smile graced his face.

But it was not a smile of goodwill; it was the smile of a hunter locking onto his prey. The smile was faint, light, perhaps even gentle, but if one looked closely into his eyes, they would find no warmth there.

Cold, hollow, like two bottomless abysses.

He walked toward the three men.

His pace was steady and unhurried, his white robes fluttering, his demeanor elegant.

Yet with every step he took, the ground vibrated slightly—not a physical tremor, but a deeper, soul-reaching shudder.

The owner of the breakfast stall was the first to sense something was wrong.

He looked up to see Wang Lin approaching, and the ladle in his hand clattered into the pot. It wasn't because Wang Lin looked terrifying; on the contrary, it was because Wang Lin was so beautiful—so beautiful that he didn't seem real, so beautiful that it made one's heart crawl with dread.

"Gentlemen..." the owner wanted to warn the three passersby.

But it was too late.

Wang Lin had already reached them.

He looked down at the three men crouched on the ground, smiling, his tone as gentle as if he were greeting an old friend: "What did you say just now?"

The three men looked up.

The first passerby was a man in his thirties, thin and tall, wearing grey cloth clothes, his face covered in pockmarks. He stared at Wang Lin's face, stunned for a moment, then curled his lip: "What did we say? We were talking about you, so what?"

The second passerby was a short, fat man in his forties, wearing a greasy apron; he looked like a butcher. He looked Wang Lin up and down and let out a snicker: "Young man, how much powder did you put on that face? You're as white as a ghost."

The third passerby was the youngest, in his early twenties, wearing flashy, colorful clothes; he looked like a hoodlum. He stood up, met Wang Lin's gaze, and said insolently: "So what if we called you a sissy? You got a problem with that?"

Wang Lin's smile deepened.

The corners of his mouth lifted to the perfect arc, neither making him look like he was fawning nor like he was mocking. The smile was just right, as perfect as if it had been practiced a thousand times.

"This Seat's actions," Wang Lin's voice was light and soft, like a feather landing on water, "why would I need to explain them to you?"

Before the words had even faded, he raised his right hand, his slender, fair fingers flicking gently in the air.

Three grey, thread-like lines shot from his fingertips, moving so fast they were nearly impossible for the naked eye to track.

The threads traced three eerie arcs through the air, sinking directly into the space between the brows of the three men.

Fast, accurate, ruthless.

There was no blood, no wounds, not even a single mark.

Yet, the reaction of the three men was violent.

The pockmarked man was the first to collapse. His body convulsed as if struck by lightning, limbs flailing wildly, mouth agape as white foam bubbled from his lips.

The short, fat man fell second. He clutched his head, rolling on the ground and letting out agonizing howls like a slaughtered pig.

The thug in the floral shirt was the third to fall. He rolled his eyes back, foaming at the mouth, his limbs stiffening as if he were suffering from an epileptic seizure.

Pedestrians around the breakfast stall screamed and scattered, knocking over tables and chairs, sending bowls and dishes crashing to the ground. The owner hid behind his stall, trembling, not even daring to peek out.

Wang Lin stood where he was, hands behind his back, his white robes unstained by a speck of dust, his smile remaining gentle.

He looked at the three convulsing men on the ground, his eyes devoid of any emotion—no anger, no satisfaction, not even pity.

He was like a painter looking at a finished work: satisfied, but unmoved.

"I am merely letting them know what it means to 'invite disaster through loose speech'." He muttered to himself, his voice as light as a breeze.

Just then, a white figure rushed out from the crowd.

Dai Mubai.

He was on patrol in Suotuo City today, and just as he reached this street, he heard the screaming and wailing. He arrived just in time to see the three men collapse to the ground.

Dai Mubai's expression was grim.

He knelt to check the condition of the three—weak breathing, dilated pupils, convulsing bodies, foaming at the mouth; these were classic symptoms of an attack by a mental-type soul skill.

"Wang Lin!" Dai Mubai stood up, his tiger eyes glaring at Wang Lin, "What did you do to them?"

Wang Lin tilted his head to look at Dai Mubai, maintaining that same gentle smile: "Just a minor punishment."

"Minor punishment?" Dai Mubai pointed at the three men twitching on the ground, "You call this a minor punishment?"

"Mm." Wang Lin nodded, "If I had chosen a major punishment, they would be three corpses by now."

Dai Mubai took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing his rage.

He knew Wang Lin was telling the truth—this man was absolutely capable of killing.

"Wang Lin, they are ordinary people, not soul masters." Dai Mubai said, enunciating each word, "The academy rules state that one must not attack ordinary people."

"This Seat is not a student of the academy." Wang Lin said indifferently.

"You are now!"

"This Seat does not recall signing any enrollment agreement."

Dai Mubai: "..."

He was left speechless.

It was true; Flender had never made the four of them—Wang Lin, Han Li, Xiao Yan, and Shi Hao—sign any agreements, nor had they gone through formal enrollment procedures. They were "special supernumeraries" in name, but had no legal relationship with the academy.

But that was not the point.

"Regardless of whether you are a student," Dai Mubai stepped forward, releasing the aura of his White Tiger Martial Soul, the pressure bearing down on Wang Lin like a mountain, "attacking ordinary people is wrong. You are coming back to the academy with me now to await the Dean's judgment."

Wang Lin did not retreat.

He did not even move.

He simply stood there, white robes fluttering, a smile on his face, allowing Dai Mubai's pressure to weigh upon him without budging an inch. It felt as if a breeze were blowing against a great mountain; the mountain would not move a fraction because of the wind's passing.

"You intend to raise your hand against This Seat for the sake of three mortals?" Wang Lin's voice remained soft, yet every word carried an unquestionable pressure.

Dai Mubai's footsteps faltered.

He was not afraid of Wang Lin—in terms of Soul Power Level, he was higher than Wang Lin; in terms of combat experience, he was no worse. But Wang Lin was simply too bizarre.

The Heavenly Inverse Bead, the Power of Cause and Effect, those grey, misty threads—these things did not belong to any system on the Douluo Continent, and Dai Mubai had no idea how to deal with them.

The two stood in a standoff, the atmosphere tense.

Just then, a deep, resonant voice came from afar.

"Stop!"

Flender descended from the sky—not truly flying, but leaping with soul power, jumping all the way from the rooftops.

He landed between the two, looking at Dai Mubai, then at Wang Lin, his brows furrowed so tightly they could crush a fly.

"What is going on?"

Dai Mubai briefly recounted what had happened.

After listening, Flender walked over to the three men lying on the ground and knelt to examine them. His expression grew increasingly grave, his brows furrowing even tighter.

"Their soul power has been sealed." Flender stood up and looked at Wang Lin. "Did you do this?"

"Yes." Wang Lin admitted it candidly.

"How long until it recovers?"

"Three months."

"Three months..." Flender's mouth twitched. "Do you know what it means for an ordinary person to have their soul power sealed for three months?"

"I don't know," Wang Lin said, "and I don't want to know."

Flender took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

He looked at Wang Lin's face, which was so exquisite it felt unreal, and remained silent for a long time.

"Wang Lin, I know you aren't afraid of me, and I know you have your own code of conduct." Flender's tone was uncharacteristically serious. "But in this world, on this continent, there is a fundamental rule: soul masters must not attack ordinary people at will. I didn't set this rule; Martial Soul Hall did. If you violate it, Martial Soul Hall will come looking for trouble. When that happens, even I won't be able to protect you."

Wang Lin looked into Flender's eyes and remained silent for a few seconds.

Then, he smiled.

That smile carried a hint of mockery, a trace of disdain, and a touch of coldness.

"This Seat has noted it."

When he said these four words, his tone was exactly the same as Han Li's when recording in his ledger—not a promise to follow the rules, but a declaration of, "I have recorded this debt, and I will settle it slowly in the future."

Flender caught the implication, but he did not point it out.

"Take them to get treated," Flender said to Dai Mubai.

Dai Mubai nodded, called over a few patrolling soul masters, and had the three unlucky fellows carried away.

Flender glanced at Wang Lin again, wanting to say more but stopping himself. Finally, he just sighed, turned, and left.

Wang Lin stood on the street, his white robes like snow, a smile on his face.

Pedestrians gave him a wide berth, and no one dared to approach. The owner of the breakfast stall was still trembling; tables and chairs were overturned, and soy milk and fried dough sticks were scattered everywhere, but he didn't even dare to clean up, cowering behind his stall in terror.

Wang Lin glanced at him, took a gold coin from his sleeve, and placed it gently on the table.

"Compensation."

Then he turned, his white robes fluttering, and disappeared at the end of the street.

This day in Suotuo City was destined to be anything but peaceful.

The moniker of the "White-Clad Menace" began to spread through the streets and alleys of Suotuo City from that day on.

That evening.

Shrek Academy, student dormitory.

Wang Lin's room was in the corner on the far east side, which he had chosen specifically—to be away from the others and enjoy some peace. The room was sparsely furnished: a bed, a table, a chair, and a wardrobe.

However, on the table sat something that should not have existed on the Douluo Continent.

A bronze mirror.

The mirror was small, the size of a palm, with primitive patterns carved along its edges. The surface was polished to a high shine, clearly reflecting one's features.

Wang Lin sat at the table, facing the bronze mirror, examining his own face carefully.

It was a beautiful face.

His skin was as white as congealed fat, without a single blemish. His eyebrows were like distant mountains, his eyes like stars, his nose bridge high and straight, and his lip line distinct. His features were so exquisite they looked like the work of a creator who had carved them with meticulous care; every detail was just right.

If this face belonged to a woman, it would be enough to topple cities and kingdoms.

But it belonged to Wang Lin.

Wang Lin looked at himself in the mirror, his brows slightly furrowed.

"This Seat's face," he muttered to himself, his fingers gently stroking his cheek, "how does it look like a woman's?"

He tilted his head, changing the angle.

The reflection in the mirror also tilted its head, long hair falling down and shimmering with a soft luster under the lamplight.

"Hmm... the eyebrows are a man's eyebrows, the nose is a man's nose, the chin is a man's chin." Wang Lin checked off each item. "So what if the skin is fair? Which cultivator doesn't have fair skin?"

He put down the bronze mirror, picked up the white porcelain bottle on the table, poured some liquid into his palm, and patted it gently onto his face.

It was a skincare spirit liquid he had concocted himself, made from some of the medicinal herbs of this world, and its effects were even better than what he had used in his previous life. He used it every morning and evening to maintain the fairness and delicacy of his skin.

Wang Lin patted his face, looked at the bronze mirror again, and nodded with satisfaction.

Then, his expression suddenly turned cold.

"That pockmarked face, that dead fatty, that gaudy little punk... saying This Seat is a sissy?"

His fingers tapped on the tabletop, making a "clack, clack, clack" sound.

"This Seat has remembered it."

He added the names of those three people to his little book—not a ledger like Han Li's, but a Karmic Ledger that only he could understand, recording everyone who had formed "karma" with him.

Wang Lin put away the Karmic Ledger and picked up the bronze mirror again, studying it for a moment.

"Forget it," he said, setting down the bronze mirror, blowing out the oil lamp, and lying down on the bed. "I still have to cultivate tomorrow."

In the darkness, his eyes glowed with a faint, eerie light, like two flickering ghost fires.

"This Seat shall sleep."

The next day.

Academy cafeteria.

Ma Hongjun carried his tray and sat down opposite Wang Lin, wearing a fawning smile.

"Brother Wang Lin, eating breakfast?"

Wang Lin looked up at him, his gaze like that of someone looking at a dead man. "Who are you calling brother?"

"You, of course." Ma Hongjun was completely oblivious to the danger. "Brother Wang Lin, I heard you showed off your might in Suotuo City yesterday and took care of three people who insulted you?"

Wang Lin didn't answer, lowering his head to drink his porridge.

Ma Hongjun leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "Brother Wang Lin, I want to ask you something..."

"Speak."

"What kind of foundation do you use? It looks so naturally pale; I want to buy some too."

Wang Lin's chopsticks stopped.

He slowly raised his head and looked into Ma Hongjun's eyes.

There was no expression in those eyes, empty like two deep abysses.

Ma Hongjun's smile froze on his face.

He felt as if he had been targeted by a venomous snake; his entire body stiffened, his hair stood on end, and cold sweat broke out across his back.

"W-what's wrong with you?" Ma Hongjun stammered.

Wang Lin set down his chopsticks, stood up slowly, and raised his right hand, gray light coalescing between his slender fingers.

"You just said... foundation?"

Ma Hongjun's brain finally caught up at that moment.

He jumped up violently, knocking over his tray, sending porridge and pickles scattering across the floor. He sprinted toward the cafeteria exit at the fastest speed of his life, shouting as he ran, "Dean, help! Wang Lin is trying to kill me!"

Wang Lin stood where he was, watching Ma Hongjun's retreating back as the gray light between his fingers slowly dissipated.

He sat back down in his chair, picked up his chopsticks again, and continued drinking his porridge.

"Consider yourself lucky you ran fast."

Oscar, sitting at the next table, had witnessed the whole thing. His face turned pale with fright, and he silently moved his tray to the furthest possible spot from Wang Lin.

Dai Mubai sat in the corner and shook his head. "With a brain like that, Ma Hongjun is bound to get into trouble sooner or later."

Zhu Zhuqing ate her breakfast expressionlessly, as if she hadn't seen a thing.

Han Li sat in the furthest corner, holding a ledger. His pen hovered over the paper for a moment of hesitation before he wrote down a line.

"Subject 306, Wang Lin. Note: This person is extremely dangerous, temperamental, and must not be provoked. Also—he does not wear foundation; it is natural. Correction made to avoid misjudgment."

After writing, he closed the ledger, glanced at the grim-faced Wang Lin in the distance, stood up silently, and slipped out through the back door of the cafeteria.

Shi Hao was the last to enter the cafeteria. Seeing the overturned tray and the porridge on the floor, he scratched his head. "Who was fighting? Why didn't you call me?"

No one answered him.

Tang San was sharing a steamed bun with Xiao Wu in the corner. Seeing all this, he whispered to Xiao Wu, "I think the people in this academy aren't quite right in the head."

Xiao Wu nodded. "You aren't the first person to notice."

Tang San: "...Thanks for the compliment?"

Xiao Wu: "That wasn't a compliment."

Tang San: "..."