Wang Lin's Foundation Makeup Fiasco

Wang Lin walked down a street in Suotuo City, dressed in white as pristine as snow. His long, ink-black hair was tied up with a white jade hairpin, and a few strands fluttered beside his ears in the breeze. His face was pale and exquisitely delicate, his features sharply defined, and there was an indescribable, feminine beauty between his brows and eyes.

If you called him a man, he was far too pretty.

If you called him a woman, he was far too stern.

This unique quality, poised between masculine and feminine, made him stand out in any crowd.

Every head turned.

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

The men looked because they were jealous—how could there be a man this good-looking in the world?

The women looked because their hearts stirred—how could there be a man this good-looking in the world?

Wang Lin paid no attention to the gazes.

His face was expressionless, his eyes as still as a pool of stagnant water. He walked at an unhurried pace, each step as though measuring the earth beneath him. His white robes stirred gently in the breeze, their hems billowing like those of an Exiled Immortal.

If this world had cultivators, people would surely have mistaken him for an immortal descended to earth as he walked down the street.

"Can you tell if that person's a man or a woman?" a shrill voice came from the roadside.

Wang Lin didn't stop, but his ear twitched slightly.

"I'd say he's a man. Look at his height and the width of his shoulders..." a second voice said.

"But his face is way too pretty. Prettier than a woman's," said a third.

"His face is as white as a ghost's. He's definitely wearing makeup."

"Exactly! He's definitely wearing makeup! Look at how white he is—like someone's whitewashed a wall."

"What a sissy. It's disgusting for a grown man to put on makeup."

Three voices, three remarks.

Each one pricked Wang Lin's ears like a needle.

Sissy.

He had heard that word countless times in his previous life.

In the cultivation world, those who envied his talent had called him that; along the path of the reverse cultivator, those who looked down on him had called him that; amid the killing, even those who refused to yield as they died had called him that.

Whenever he heard that word, Wang Lin made them pay.

In the cultivation world, the price was their lives.

What would the price be here?

Wang Lin stopped walking.

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

Passersby went around him. Some cast puzzled glances his way, but no one dared approach. The aura radiating from this man in white made them uneasy on instinct.

The three people who had been talking had no idea danger was closing in.

They were squatting in front of a breakfast stall by the roadside, wolfing down fried dough sticks and drinking soy milk, completely unaware that disaster was about to strike.

Wang Lin turned around.

He was smiling.

But it wasn't a kind smile. It was the smile of a hunter setting his sights on prey. It was faint and gentle, almost tender, but if you looked closely at his eyes, you would find not a trace of warmth in them.

Cold and hollow, like two bottomless abysses.

He walked toward the three of them.

His steps were unhurried, his white robes fluttering, his bearing graceful.

Yet with every step, the ground trembled slightly—not with any physical vibration, but with something deeper, a quiver that touched the soul.

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

He looked up and saw Wang Lin approaching. The spoon in his hand clattered into the pot. It wasn't because Wang Lin looked frightening. Quite the opposite: Wang Lin was so good-looking that he didn't seem real, so good-looking that it made your skin crawl.

"Honored guests..." the owner tried to warn the three passersby.

But it was too late.

Wang Lin had already reached them.

He looked down at the three people squatting on the ground, smiling as he asked in a voice as gentle as if greeting old friends, "What were you saying just now?"

The three of them looked up.

The first was a man in his thirties, tall and thin, dressed in gray cloth and covered in pockmarks. He stared at Wang Lin's face for a moment, then curled his lip. "What were we saying? We were talking about you. What about it?"

The second was a short, stocky man in his forties, wearing a greasy apron. He looked like a butcher. He gave Wang Lin the once-over and chuckled. "Young man, how much powder did you put on your face? You're as white as a ghost."

The third was the youngest, barely in his twenties, dressed in a garish outfit and looking like a street thug. He stood up, met Wang Lin's gaze, and said insolently, "So what if I called you a sissy? Got a problem with that?"

Wang Lin's smile deepened.

The corners of his mouth lifted to just the right degree—not so much that anyone would think he was trying to please them, nor enough to seem mocking. It was a perfectly measured smile, flawless as if he had practiced it thousands of times.

"This honored one acts as he pleases," Wang Lin said softly, his voice as light as a feather falling on water. "Why should he explain himself to you?"

Before the last word had faded, he raised his right hand and flicked his long, pale fingers.

Three thin gray lines shot from his fingertips, moving too quickly for the naked eye to follow.

They traced three strange arcs through the air and sank into the foreheads of the three men.

Fast, accurate, ruthless.

There was no blood, no wound, not even a mark.

But the three men reacted violently.

The pockmarked man was the first to fall. His body convulsed as though electrocuted, arms and legs flailing. His mouth hung open, white foam spilling from its corners.

The stocky man fell second. Clutching his head, he rolled on the ground and let out a howl of pain like a pig being slaughtered.

The thug in the garish clothes fell third. His eyes rolled back, foam spilled from his mouth, and his limbs stiffened as if he were having an epileptic seizure.

The people around the breakfast stall screamed and scattered. Tables and chairs were knocked over, and bowls and plates shattered across the ground. The owner cowered behind his stall, trembling so hard he didn't dare show his face.

Wang Lin stood where he was, hands clasped behind his back. His white clothes were spotless, his smile still gentle.

He looked at the three men convulsing on the ground without a trace of emotion—no anger, no satisfaction, not even pity.

Like a painter gazing at a freshly finished work: pleased, but not excited.

"I only wanted them to learn what it means to bring disaster upon themselves with their own words," he murmured, his voice soft as a breeze.

Just then, a white-clad figure charged out of the crowd.

Dai Mubai.

He was on patrol in Suotuo City that day. He had just reached the street when he heard screams and cries of pain. By the time he arrived, he was met with the sight of three people sprawled on the ground.

Dai Mubai's expression was grim.

He crouched to examine them. Their breathing was weak, their pupils unfocused, their bodies convulsing, and foam spilling from their mouths—the typical symptoms of an attack by a mental Soul Skill.

"Wang Lin!" Dai Mubai stood and glared at him with tiger-like eyes. "What did you do to them?"

Wang Lin tilted his head to glance at Dai Mubai, his gentle smile unchanged. "I merely gave them a little punishment."

"A little punishment?" Dai Mubai pointed at the three men convulsing on the ground. "You call this a little punishment?"

"Mm." Wang Lin nodded. "If I had punished them severely, they would already be three corpses."

Dai Mubai drew a deep breath and forced down his anger.

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

"Wang Lin, they're ordinary people, not Soul Masters." Dai Mubai enunciated each word. "The academy's rules forbid attacking ordinary people."

"This honored one isn't a student of the academy," Wang Lin said calmly.

"You are now!"

"This honored one doesn't recall signing any enrollment agreement."

Dai Mubai: "..."

He was at a loss for words.

It was true. Flender had never made Wang Lin, Han Li, Xiao Yan, or Shi Hao sign any agreement, nor had he formally enrolled them. Officially, they were "special external members." In practice, they had no legal ties to the academy.

But that wasn't the point.

"Whether or not you're a student," Dai Mubai said, stepping forward as the aura of his White Tiger Martial Soul poured out, its pressure bearing down on Wang Lin like a mountain, "attacking ordinary people is wrong. You're coming back to the academy with me to await the dean's judgment."

Wang Lin didn't retreat.

He didn't even move.

He simply stood there in his fluttering white robes, wearing a faint smile as Dai Mubai's aura pressed down on him. He remained utterly still. It was like a gust of wind sweeping past a mountain—the mountain wouldn't shift an inch.

"You would fight this honored one over three mortals?" Wang Lin's voice was still soft, but every word carried an unquestionable weight.

Dai Mubai's steps faltered.

He wasn't afraid of Wang Lin—his Soul Power Level was higher, and he was no less experienced in battle. But Wang Lin was too strange.

The Heavenly Inverse Bead, the Power of Cause and Effect, those hazy gray threads—none of it belonged to any system on Douluo Continent. Dai Mubai had no idea how to deal with them.

The two stood facing off, tension crackling between them.

Just then, a deep voice rang out from a distance.

"Stop!"

Flender came leaping down from above—not literally flying, but bounding over from rooftop to rooftop with the help of his Soul Power.

He landed between the two men, looking from Dai Mubai to Wang Lin, his brow furrowed so deeply it could have crushed a fly.

"What happened?"

Dai Mubai briefly explained what had happened.

After listening, Flender went over to the three people lying on the ground and crouched to examine them. His expression grew more and more serious, his brow tightening with every moment.

"Their Soul Power has been sealed." Flender stood and looked at Wang Lin. "Did you do this?"

"Yes," Wang Lin admitted without hesitation.

"How long until they recover?"

"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?"

"No," Wang Lin said. "Nor do I care to know."

Flender took a deep breath, then slowly let it out.

He stared at Wang Lin's impossibly exquisite face and fell silent for a long time.

"Wang Lin, I know you're not afraid of me, and I know you have your own principles," Flender said, his tone unusually stern. "But in this world, on this continent, there's one fundamental rule: Soul Masters must not casually attack ordinary people. I didn't make that rule; Spirit Hall did. If you break it, Spirit Hall will come after you. 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.

There was a hint of mockery in that smile, a hint of disdain, and a touch of coldness.

"This honored one will remember that."

When he said those four words, his tone was exactly like Han Li's when he made an entry in his ledger—not a promise to follow the rules, but a way of saying, "I've made a note of this debt. I'll settle it in time."

Flender understood what he meant, but didn't call him out on it.

"Take them for treatment," Flender told Dai Mubai.

Dai Mubai nodded and called over several patrolling Soul Masters. They carried the three unlucky men away.

Flender looked at Wang Lin again, seeming as if he wanted to say something. In the end, he only sighed and turned to leave.

Wang Lin stood in the street, dressed in white as pristine as snow, wearing a faint smile.

The people nearby gave him a wide berth. Not one dared approach. The breakfast stall owner was still trembling. Tables and chairs lay toppled, soy milk and fried dough sticks were scattered everywhere, but he didn't even dare clean up. He huddled behind his stall, quaking.

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

"Compensation."

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

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

From that day onward, the name "White-Clad Menace" spread through the streets and alleys of Suotuo City.

That night.

Shrek Academy, student dormitory.

Wang Lin's room was in the far eastern corner. He had chosen it himself—farther from the others meant more peace and quiet. The room was simply furnished: a bed, a table, a chair, and a wardrobe.

But something that had no place on Douluo Continent sat on the table.

A bronze mirror.

The mirror was small, about the size of a palm, with archaic patterns etched around its edge. Its surface was polished until it gleamed, clearly reflecting anyone who looked into it.

Wang Lin sat at the table, staring closely at his reflection in the bronze mirror.

It was a beautiful face.

His skin was as white and smooth as jade, without a single blemish. His brows were like distant mountains, his eyes like stars, his nose high-bridged, his lips sharply defined. His features were so exquisite they seemed carefully sculpted by the Creator, every detail perfectly balanced.

If that face belonged to a woman, she would be a peerless beauty.

But it belonged to Wang Lin.

He studied his reflection, his brow furrowing slightly.

"This honored one's face," he murmured, gently touching his cheek with a finger. "What about it looks like a woman's?"

He tilted his head and tried a different angle.

His reflection tilted its head too, long hair falling over his shoulder and gleaming softly in the lamplight.

"Mm... A man's eyebrows, a man's nose, a man's chin." Wang Lin examined each feature in turn. "What's wrong with having fair skin? Which cultivator doesn't have fair skin?"

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

It was a skincare elixir he had made himself, blended from medicinal herbs found in this world. It worked even better than the products he had used in his previous life. He applied it every morning and evening to keep his skin fair and smooth.

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

Then his expression suddenly turned cold.

"That pockmarked man, that fat bastard, that flashy little thug... They called this honored one a sissy?"

His fingers tapped lightly on the tabletop, making a soft tok, tok, tok.

"This honored one will remember."

He wrote the three men's names in his little notebook—not a ledger like Han Li's, but a Karmic Ledger that only he could understand, recording everyone who had formed a "karmic tie" with him.

Wang Lin put away the Karmic Ledger, then picked up the bronze mirror and studied it for a while.

"Forget it." He set down the bronze mirror, blew out the oil lamp, and lay down on the bed. "I still have to cultivate tomorrow."

In the darkness, his eyes gleamed with a faint, ghostly light, like two will-o'-the-wisps.

"Your humble self shall sleep."

The next day.

The academy cafeteria.

Ma Hongjun carried his tray over and sat across from Wang Lin, a fawning smile on his face.

"Brother Wang Lin, having breakfast?"

Wang Lin glanced up at him, his eyes as if looking at a dead man. "Who did you call 'brother'?"

"You, of course." Ma Hongjun had no idea he was in danger. "Brother Wang Lin, I heard you made a huge show of your strength in Suotuo City yesterday and dealt with the three people who insulted you?"

Wang Lin didn't answer. He lowered his head and drank his porridge.

Ma Hongjun leaned in a little closer and lowered his voice. "Brother Wang Lin, there's something I wanted to ask you..."

"Go ahead."

"What foundation do you use? Your skin looks so naturally pale. I want to buy some too."

Wang Lin's chopsticks stopped.

He slowly lifted his head and looked Ma Hongjun in the eyes.

There was no expression in them. They were as empty as two abysses.

Ma Hongjun's smile froze on his face.

He felt as if a venomous snake had fixed its gaze on him. His whole body stiffened, his hair stood on end, and cold sweat poured down his back.

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

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

"You just said... foundation?"

At last, Ma Hongjun's brain caught up with what was happening.

He leapt to his feet, knocking over his tray. Porridge and pickled vegetables spilled across the floor. He bolted for the cafeteria entrance at the fastest speed of his life, shouting as he ran, "Dean, help! Wang Lin's trying to kill me!"

Wang Lin stood where he was and watched Ma Hongjun flee. The gray light between his fingers slowly faded.

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

"You're lucky you ran fast."

Oscar, at the next table, had witnessed the whole thing. His face had gone pale with fright, and he silently moved his tray as far from Wang Lin as possible.

Dai Mubai sat in a corner and shook his head. "With that brain of his, Ma Hongjun's 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 farthest corner, ledger in hand. He paused with his pen hovering above the page, then wrote a line.

"Person No. 306, Wang Lin. Note: Extremely dangerous. Moody and unpredictable. Do not provoke. Also—he doesn't wear foundation; that's his natural complexion. Correction noted to avoid misjudgment."

After writing, he closed the ledger, glanced at Wang Lin, whose face was dark with anger, then quietly got up and slipped out through the cafeteria's back door.

Shi Hao was the last to enter the cafeteria. Seeing the overturned tray and porridge covering the floor, he scratched his head. "Who got into a fight? Why didn't anyone call me?"

No one answered him.

In a corner, Tang San was sharing a steamed bun with Xiao Wu. Seeing all this, he whispered to her, "I think the people at this academy are all a little off in the head."

Xiao Wu nodded. "You're not the first to notice."

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

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

Tang San: "..."