My SSS-Rank Skill and System is too OP in Modern Cultivation world

He grinned. The world was wide, people were predictable, and feelings were everywhere. That night, as stars blinked awake, Kent stood alone beside the field. Seedlings glowed a soft green under moonlight. He fingered the bone whistle at his throat.

"Tonight," he promised the shadows, "we go again. New streets, new fears, new SP."

The whistle felt cold, but not cruel. Tools, he reminded himself, were only as wicked as the hand that held them. He pocketed it, turned toward the house where Nima's laughter filtered through an open window, and smiled.

The first rays of dawn slipped over the eastern ridge and washed the little homestead in soft gold, turning the carrot seedlings in Kent's makeshift garden into glowing slivers of lime‑colored glass. The air still carried a crisp chill, so every breath seemed to sparkle as it left his lips. He stood barefoot on the porch splinterboards, cradling a chipped mug of instant coffee, and allowed himself a small, quiet smile.

Only days ago these garden beds had been barren ash; now three neat patches thrived, each sprouting proof that even scorched soil could be coaxed back to life with the right mix of stubbornness, compost, and hope.

A sudden ding whispered inside his skull.

[System notifications: Join request approved.

Immortal Chat Group. Temporary name: "Newcomer‑1443."]

Kent very nearly spilled hot coffee onto his toes. "They let me in!" he breathed, clutching the mug to his chest as if it were a trophy.

From the open window of Nima's room, Auri stuck out his head, eyes still glazed with sleep. "Cheep?" he chirped, more yawn than question.

"Big news," Kent whispered back, tapping frantically at the empty air only he could see. "Time to make some immortal friends."

The system stretched a pale window across his vision, its border shimmering like moonlight on water. Down the left edge marched dozens of small pearl‑shaped avatars, each labeled with an impossibly grand Dao title like, Sword‑Turns‑Autumn, Thousand‑Petal Fairy, Nine‑Freeze Scholar, Gold‑Core Carpenter, and a dozen more equally lofty names. Beside the word Temporary Name blinked a lonely cursor.

Kent rubbed the back of his neck. Need a stylish Dao name, he thought. Something that earns respect but doesn't make them suspect I'm just a Level‑C rookie. He typed Sword Immortal.

[Error: Already taken.]

He tried Sword Immortal.

[Error: Taken.]

Then Fire Immortal.

[Error: Taken.]

From the kitchen drifted Nima's singsong call. "Big Bro, sweet‑potato pancakes are ready!"

"Later!" Kent shouted without looking up and kept typing. Billion‑Dollar Immortal? Too showy. Investing Immortal? Boring. A grin tugged at his mouth. Money Immortal… simple, greedy, and easy to remember. He hit Confirm.

[Name set: Money Immortal has joined the chat.]

"Perfect," he murmured, pumping a quiet fist in the air.

Lines of text immediately scrolled into existence:

Sword‑Turns‑Autumn: Welcome, new Dao friend.

Thousand‑Petal Fairy: Ah, a fresh soul. Have tea, please. 🌸

Iron‑Ox Hermit: Hope you brought good stories.

Heart hammering, Kent typed with exaggerated care:

Money Immortal: Greetings, seniors. I wander the mortal realms gathering… ahem… fortune energy. Happy to learn from you. 🙏

More messages popped like firecrackers:

Nine‑Freeze Scholar: Fortune energy? Interesting pursuit.

Copper‑Silk Daoist: Another merchant? We have a few.

Gold‑Core Carpenter: If you run into rare timber, ping me. Always buying.

Kent chuckled under his breath. "They think I'm a traveling immortal, not bad." He scrolled upward, skimming earlier discussions. To his surprise, the topics bounced wildly: someone traded recipes for three‑step Void Pills; another argued which grade of heavenly crane feathers made the best calligraphy brushes; two elders debated the optimal worlds for raising "seed civilizations" to harvest insight points.

That last phrase struck like a struck match. They cultivate tiny worlds for world energy… just like my SP system harvests emotion.

A plan flickered to life at once. "Maybe I can try this. But how? They need world energy. I need people's feelings. I might be able to create a small place with my SSS-RANK architect of creation skill. But what about life?

…. Bacteria, easy to breed, countless, capable of quick emotional shifts if engineered right."

Before he could ask questions, Nima poked her head around the porch door, a pancake balanced on a spatula like a golden shield. "Field duty, Stupid brother, what are you doing? Why are you talking by yourself?" she teased, dimples flashing.

Kent laughed, "Nothing." he logged out, and wolfed the pancake in three bites. The morning blurred into chores: he and Nima forked compost under Xian Yu's watchful eye while Auri dozed on the fence post, feathers puffed like a sleepy judge. By noon a fresh strip of earth showed green buds, and Kent's mind whirred the whole time, sketching micro‑world schematics behind his eyes.

"Need a container. Need a way to provoke tiny creatures into feeling things. Need to convert those feelings into SP," he recited silently, punctuating each shovel of soil.

At lunch they packed into Auntie Zhou's steamy noodle shack, the window glass fogged by chili broth. Kent slurped a mouthful, then ventured carefully, "Grandpa Xian Yu, did old cultivators ever grow spirit herbs inside glass jars or tiny gardens you could hold in one hand?"

The old man's eyebrows rose. "Certainly. Some eccentrics even kept ant colonies in palm‑sized realms to test alchemy flames."

Kent's chopsticks paused mid‑air. "Could a jar hold… creatures even smaller than ants? Something like Bacteria?"

Xian Yu laughed, beard twitching. "In theory, yes, if the walls are delicate and you feed them spiritual water. Why?"

Kent shrugged, trying to look casual. "Just a fertilizer experiment." Nima snorted and flicked a bean sprout at his forehead. "Stop talking and Eat."

Night spread a velvet net across the rooftops. Kent crept to his room and summoned ten Forsaken disciples. They knelt like carved shadows. "Same job as last night," he whispered. "Frighten thieves, scare bullies, earn me SP. Remember, no killing." They nodded as one. A single note from his bone whistle sent them slipping into the dark.

He stretched on his cot, opened the system map, and watched colored sparks ripple across the district:

[Disciple 04 frightened a loan shark +130 SP copied from xxx (Terror)

Disciple 06 slapped a corrupt parking officer +85 SP copied from xxx (Pain)

Disciple 10 exposed a fake charity scam +140 SP copied from xxx (Shame)]

Fuel, glorious fuel. He felt richer than any banker. Just past midnight he reopened the Immortal Chat. A rapid‑fire auction for stardust pearls raged, bid emojis flying. When the scroll finally slowed, he slipped in a question:

Money Immortal: Esteemed seniors, does anyone sell realm‑glass spheres the size of a fist, strong enough to shelter microscopic life yet porous to spiritual energy?

Responses came instantly:

Gold‑Core Carpenter: Realm‑glass spheres? Crafted and blessed. Ten spirit jades each.

Moss‑Roof Granny: Too pricey! I'll part with mine for eight.

Cloud‑Thread Alchemist: Use teardrop gourds, cheaper and compostable.

Kent's brows knit. "Spirit jade? What is that?" He typed:

Money Immortal: I trade in mortal notes. Dollar equivalent?

Gold‑Core Carpenter: 🤔 What is dollars? Whatever, I will give you one as a welcoming gift. You will owe me a favour.

Money Immortal: Deal, Method of delivery?

Gold‑Core Carpenter: Mark a spatial beacon; I'll drop them through a fog gate in three nights. Coordinates attached.

The chat rolled onward into heavier theory. Heaven‑Mirror Monk lectured on something. Kent's system gives him a notification. That system will take care of the trade. Kent toggled a private notebook window and scribbled:

1. Get realm‑glass spheres.

2. Fill with nutrient gel + spiritual water.

3. Introducing engineered bacteria.

4. Alternate heat/cold to swing between hunger and feast.

5. Let the system siphon SP from each emotional swing.

"If a single microbe's frustration equals even a fraction of an SP," he reasoned, "a million microbes per cycle could flood my bar like a busted dam."

But one doubt remained: could unconscious organisms truly feel? He posed it in the chat.

Money Immortal: Seniors, if a being cannot think, can it still emit emotional waves?

Thousand‑Petal Fairy: A sprout basks in sun and shivers at frost. All life feels, however simple. 🌸

Iron‑Ox Hermit: Give them a single urge, hunger, warmth, light, and their response will echo through the void. Why are you asking this?

Money Immortal: Seniors, I am doing some experiential work for people who became vegetables.

Kent's smile spread until his cheeks hurt. Hunger meant frustration; sudden feast meant joy. Two emotions, flip‑flopping forever. An engine.

Near dawn the ten demonic disciples returned, breathless, robes flecked with city dust. The SP tally blinked a satisfying total: 248k, nearly double last night's haul. "Excellent," Kent murmured. "Rest." They dissolved like smoke.

Outside, the sky cracked open in a blaze of rose and tangerine. Kent joined Nima at the garden beds, each of them hefting a dented watering can. Dew clustered on the seedling leaves like beads of silver mercy; every droplet caught the sunrise and flared, momentarily brighter than gemstones.

He lingered a moment longer, watching the water soak into the earth, imagining the roots below twitching in response, just like his microbes would, once the spheres arrived.