Flames erupted, the powerful recoil propelling the spacecraft steadily through the starry void. Earth and Mars resided within the same solar system, a distance hardly significant for interstellar travel measured in light-years, so there was no need to navigate through wormholes. It was precisely for this reason that Feng Lin could behold such breathtaking scenery before him. A colossal fireball floated in the dark expanse of space, radiating boundless light and heat. Jupiter, Mars, Mercury—the five major planets revolved endlessly around the sun. In the distance, the starry sky glittered, adorning the darkness with brilliance. The wonder, splendor, and vastness of the universe unfolded all at once before his eyes. But even the most beautiful scenery grows tiresome after prolonged viewing. Though the starry sky was magnificent, it was also too monotonous, its changes imperceptible within the human timescale. After gazing for a while, Feng Lin withdrew his gaze. At that moment, the people around him all wore expressions of utter boredom, as if they had long lost interest in this sight. Feng Lin’s face flushed slightly. Fortunately, he hadn’t shown any sign of being impressed earlier, or he would have been laughed at. The journey from Earth to Mars took six hours. He had rested enough the night before, and sitting idly was no solution. Feng Lin’s eyes turned to the virtual device. A luxury cabin was indeed a luxury cabin—the conditions were top-notch. It just so happened that yesterday, when he entered the virtual universe, he had lamented not having time to explore it. Now he had the chance. Six hours were more than enough. After all, one hour in reality was equivalent to a day in the virtual universe. Calculated that way, he could stay inside for six days, until the virtual ban forced him offline. Feng Lin closed the door to his cabin and connected to the virtual device. Familiar streams of data flashed into his vision, and before he knew it, he had re-entered the virtual universe. Standing on the void, Feng Lin pondered what to do next. This was indeed a headache-inducing question. The virtual universe was a multiverse, containing countless elements, with gameplay that was virtually endless. If you could imagine it, you could achieve it. Falling in love with a protagonist in a movie world, experiencing game levels firsthand, exploring worlds in animations—there were no limits, only absolute freedom. A thousand people would have a thousand ways to play, with infinite possibilities. This was precisely what made the virtual universe so captivating—it never grew boring. If he tried to explore everything one by one, it would dazzle his eyes, and a lifetime wouldn’t be enough. So he had to make choices. Falling in love with movie protagonists, exploring comics, playing games—Feng Lin had no interest in any of it. It was time-consuming and effort-intensive, yet utterly useless. He wouldn’t waste his energy on things that drained his life; that was indulging in distractions. The virtual was ultimately just virtual, unable to replace reality. But the virtual universe could mimic the real world. So Feng Lin had an idea: he had to engage in things that were beneficial to him. In reality, he was just an apprentice cultivator. What in the virtual universe could aid his cultivation or deepen his understanding of the path? Right! Since the virtual universe mimicked the real world, could genes also be simulated? The answer was yes. With this goal in mind, he searched for information. The virtual universe was constantly updating, scanning and converting real-world elements into corresponding data, simulating them in real time. Mythical genes, something everyone in the real universe longed to awaken, naturally wouldn’t be overlooked. But unlike awakening in the real universe, the virtual universe was entirely data-driven, like a game. Genes weren’t awakened but existed as virtual data modules. Players could equip gene modules to simulate real-world abilities and switch between different modules to use various powers. Feng Lin found this fascinating. Such gene modules undoubtedly allowed one to experience the differences between various genetic abilities to the fullest. But how did one obtain gene modules? Feng Lin searched and found that the most common method was to spend money. In the virtual universe, as long as you were willing to pay, you could do anything—even simulate mythical goddesses to live with you, with no moral boundaries whatsoever. When the virtual universe was first established, it called on humanity to enter and build a second world. A famous advertisement had long been known to every interstellar human. “Young one, want to stand at the pinnacle of the stars, omnipotent? Spend money! Young one, want to lie drunk in a beauty’s lap by night and wield power over the world by day? Spend money! Young one, want to command warships and conquer infinite realms? Spend money! …” Simple, direct, violent—it laid bare human desires, an unabashed temptation. In short, if you wanted to make a name for yourself in the virtual universe, don’t overthink it—just spend money! So what if money was everything! Feng Lin grumbled inwardly, a mix of envy and resentment, because he really had no money to spend… He could only choose the second method, which was extremely difficult: hunting in the gene battlefield. That was a unique space carved out within the virtual universe, simulating all kinds of cosmic creatures. Humans could enter to hunt, gaining experience in battling alien races, and randomly obtain gene modules. How exactly it worked, Feng Lin hadn’t yet figured out. His current body was a blank slate, equipped with no gene modules at all. Without overthinking, Feng Lin directly input the coordinates and entered. The next moment, his figure reappeared, standing on a desolate desert. Dust rolled, yellow winds howled—a scene of utter barrenness. There was nothing. Feng Lin’s heart tightened. The interstellar hunting ground was filled with terrifying cosmic races; he couldn’t afford to be careless. Though he could revive after being killed, it cost money. This virtual universe was utterly money-grubbing. Feng Lin didn’t want to waste star coins due to a moment of carelessness. Squeak, squeak, squeak! A sharp, piercing sound. Feng Lin grew alert. A sand mound on the ground swelled rapidly, then burst open. A scorpion over a meter tall leaped out, brandishing massive pincers, its tail tipped with a sharp venomous stinger, charging at Feng Lin. “Come on!” Though this simulated body had an initial life force of only 1 and no genetic power, Feng Lin’s combat instincts remained. He crouched low, stomped his right leg hard on the ground, and executed a move called “Skyward Step,” lifting his foot high to kick the scorpion squarely in the abdomen, sending it flying. Feng Lin leaped up, quick and sharp, grabbing the scorpion’s spear-like stinger as it thrust toward him. With a sudden burst of strength, he lifted its massive body high and slammed it heavily to the ground. Bang! Bang! Bang! Once, twice, three times… He used the giant scorpion like a hammer, pounding it repeatedly into the earth, creating craters in the sand and kicking up clouds of dust. Before long, the scorpion was shattered by the brute force, dissipating into streams of data. A spherical orb of light materialized out of thin air. Feng Lin caught it with his hand, and a line of information appeared before his eyes. “Gene: Sand Gene Grade: Medium Basic Gene Ability: Control Sand” This was clearly a data module for the Sand Gene. Feng Lin’s mouth twitched slightly. What was this? Killing monsters for loot? No, it should be… Killing monsters for genes!