The lantern's flickering glow cast long shadows across Qin Ting's private chambers, its light dancing over tapestries depicting celestial beasts in eternal combat. The air held the sharp, invigorating scent of rare spirit tea, brewed from leaves plucked from cliffs bathed in morning sunlight.
Qin Ting sat in a high-backed sandalwood chair, his fingers tracing the rim of a jade teacup so delicate it seemed to glow. The tea's warmth seeped into his skin, yet it did little to calm the storm of ambition raging in his chest. To him, the world was a game of levers and fulcrums, and he intended to master them all.
'Fortune Points,' he thought, the words sparking hunger in his cool, calculating eyes. 'More precious than any hoard of spirit stones or Villain Points. They're the threads of fate itself—mine to seize, mine to weave.'
His gaze drifted to the open window, where the night sky stretched vast over the Eastern Wilderness, stars glinting like distant promises. Ye Qiu, that insufferable Child of Destiny, owed every triumph to those points—his plot armor, a shield woven from the heavens' favor.
Without it, he'd be nothing but ash scattered on the wind.
Take today, for instance. The chaos had been cataclysmic—a symphony of destruction. Flames roared like unleashed dragons, and the earth split as if to swallow the world. Qin Ting had orchestrated most of it, a perfect trap to crush his rival. Any other man would have perished a hundred times, their bones ground to dust.
Yet Ye Qiu emerged, bloodied and battered, but alive. Unbroken.
'That's the power of immense luck,' Qin Ting mused, his lips curling into a faint, sardonic smile. 'A cheat code woven into existence itself.'
In the stillness of his mind, he murmured, "System, how are Fortune Points calculated?"
The response came instantly, calm and precise, like a spectral voice: [Ye Qiu's total Fortune Points originally stood at 100. Due to your villainous actions, the Host has seized 20 points, reducing the Protagonist's current total to 80 Fortune Points.]
Clarity washed over Qin Ting like a relentless tide, sweeping away speculation. A surge of electric thrill raced through his veins, sharpening his senses. Colors grew vivid, sounds crisp, as if reality bent to his will.
The wind outside hummed in sync with his steady breaths. Candle flames tilted toward him, drawn by an unseen force. He felt a harmony, a resonance, as if the cosmos acknowledged his claim. For a moment, he was the heavens; the earth pulsed with his heartbeat.
Those nearby sensed it too. Guards beyond the silk-draped entrance exchanged wary glances, their grips tightening on polished spears. They couldn't name the shift, only felt its weight—an aura pressing against their instincts, hinting at a man unbound by mortal limits. Qin Ting's presence had always commanded respect, but now it carried a quiet menace that set the air trembling.
Nie You stepped forward, his boots clicking softly on the polished stone floor. His broad shoulders squared beneath night-black robes, his eyes glinting with a predator's calm ferocity.
"Young Master," Nie You said, his voice steady yet deferential, "my men have secured a perimeter around the Lian Yun Mountains. The camp is safe. We apprehended rogue cultivators near the medicinal gardens, attempting to steal our herbs. They're crucified in the courtyard—their screams now warn others."
He paused, his tone hardening. "Shall I deploy a Death Guard battalion to hunt down Ye Qiu?"
'Anyone who threatens the Young Master must die,' Nie You thought, his resolve as unyielding as tempered steel. His hand rested on his blade's hilt, fingers itching to draw it. After Ye Qiu slipped through their grasp like smoke, his wariness had sharpened into a cold, murderous edge.
Qin Ting tilted his head, a sly smile curling his lips. "No," he murmured, his tone laced with calculation, "we'd be wise to conserve our strength for now—let the pieces fall into place."
He set the teacup down with a delicate clink, the sound fading into the chamber's stillness. His gaze settled on the map sprawled across the table, its ink lines tracing the Eastern Wilderness—peaks, valleys, rivers, and ruins, all ripe for conquest.
He'd stripped Ye Qiu of 20 Fortune Points, a triumph that still sang in his blood. But 80 points remained—a formidable reserve, enough to twist fate in Ye Qiu's favor time and again. Sending a battalion to scour the wilds would be futile; they'd return empty-handed, battered by Ye Qiu's uncanny luck, perhaps even lured into a deadly trap.
More than that, Qin Ting knew Ye Qiu's heart. His rival hadn't abandoned his pursuit of the Earth Emperor's Mysterious Flame—a prize too potent to resist. The Mystic Sun Dragon Fruit he'd stolen was no mere trophy; it was a tool to tame that Strange Flame.
'Protagonists thrive on defying the impossible,' Qin Ting thought, his smile sharpening. 'It's their strength—and their fatal flaw. So predictable.'
Their paths would cross again, and soon. A premonition stirred in his chest, sharp and certain, like thunder before a storm. He leaned back, silken robes rustling faintly.
"Let him come to us," he murmured, his voice low and deliberate, each word a thread in his web. "He'll crawl right into the trap I've set."
Nie You bowed, though confusion flickered across his stern features. "As you command, Young Master. But… are you certain he'll seek the Flame so soon?"
"Absolutely," Qin Ting replied, his tone laced with dark amusement. "It's in his nature—like a moth drawn to a flame, or a fool stumbling toward his doom."
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
Deep within the shadowed folds of the Lian Yun Mountains, a small cave offered Ye Qiu fleeting refuge. The air hung damp and heavy, thick with moss and ancient earth. Jagged stone walls glistened with condensation, catching the dim glow of a spirit crystal wedged into a crevice.
Slumped against the cold stone, Ye Qiu was a shadow of his former self. His tattered robes, stained with blood and soot, clung to a frail frame. Each breath rattled in his chest, a testament to the gauntlet he'd endured.
The past days had been a descent into hell. The Crimson Pyre Warden—a hulking demon wreathed in molten flame—had hunted him relentlessly, its claws raking the earth inches from his heels, its roars shaking the sky.
Ye Qiu had burned through the Bloodreaver's Vile Prohibition repeatedly, each use searing his veins with agony, trading vitality for fleeting bursts of speed and strength. In desperate moments, Elder Ling had intervened, his waning soul power seizing Ye Qiu's body to drag them from ruin—through collapsing ravines, past ambushes of snarling beasts, and once beneath a shattering cliff face.
Eventually, the Warden's patience frayed. After a night-long rampage that left mountains smoldering and forests reduced to ash, it retreated into the range's depths, its bellows fading into an ominous echo. But the respite was brief.
Word of Ye Qiu's weakened state had spread across the Eastern Wilderness. A swarm of cultivators—opportunists and enemies alike—now hunted him, eager to claim the bounty on his head or the glory of his demise.
Once, he'd crushed Primordial Pill disciples and Divine Wheel masters with ease, their techniques crumbling beneath his blade. Now, he fled in terror, his steps faltering, his breath ragged. These weren't mere rogue cultivators with flawed arts.
These were prodigies of the holy lands—geniuses whose divine arts lit the night with blinding radiance, their weapons singing with lethal precision. Even in his prime, Ye Qiu had barely escaped them, leaving a trail of blood and shattered pride.
His blood-stained hands trembled as he pressed them against the cave wall. Exhaustion gnawed at his bones, threatening to drag him into oblivion. This hidden hollow was his last sanctuary, a fragile shield against the closing storm.
A frail voice rasped in his mind, faint as a whisper through brittle leaves: "Ye Qiu, refine the Mystic Sun Dragon Fruit at once. It'll restore your vitality. I'd hoped to save it for taming the Earth Emperor's Mysterious Flame, but we've no choice now."
"Yes, Master," Ye Qiu replied, his voice steady despite the weariness in his limbs.
Hesitation crept in, his brows furrowing as he studied the shadows. "Master, your condition… Are you alright?"
Elder Ling's tone wavered, threadbare and fading: "I'm afraid not. I've consumed too much soul power. I'll soon slip into a deep slumber. For the days ahead, Ye Qiu, you'll be on your own."
Tears welled in Ye Qiu's eyes, blurring the cave's dim ceiling. "Master… I've dragged you down."
The old man chuckled, warm yet weary, like embers in a dying fire. "Foolish boy, what nonsense is that? You and I are bound as master and disciple, heart and soul. This danger? It's a trifle compared to what we've faced. The Black Serpent Abyss, the Thousand Ghosts Formation—didn't we turn calamity into triumph each time?"
The words kindled a spark in Ye Qiu's chest, a faint ember flaring against the darkness. True, the odds were dire, but hadn't he stormed through dragon lairs and tiger dens before? He straightened, his spirit rekindled, fists clenching.
Seeing the fire in his disciple's eyes, Elder Ling sighed in relief, soft as a fading echo. "Good. Now, heed my final guidance: trust your instincts, but temper them with caution. The fruit will heal you, but your enemies are closing in. Move swiftly once you're restored."
His presence faded, sinking into silence, leaving Ye Qiu alone in the cave's stillness. He waited until the old man's essence stilled, then settled cross-legged on the uneven floor.
From a tattered pocket near his chest, he withdrew the Mystic Sun Dragon Fruit. Its faint golden glow cut through the dimness, casting intricate patterns across the stone walls. Fine, scale-like ridges on its surface pulsed with radiant warmth.
As he cradled it, resentment flared in his gaze, sharp and bitter. 'Qin Ting!' The name seared his thoughts, a brand of fury. 'If not for you, I wouldn't be this broken shell! If not for you, Master wouldn't lie dormant, his soul spent! I swear to the heavens—I'll flay you alive if it's the last thing I do!'
He steadied his breath, coiling the rage tightly as he prepared to refine the fruit. His fingers traced its surface, channeling spiritual energy into it. The glow intensified, a sweet fragrance easing the ache in his chest.
But a tremor shook his senses. The air thickened, oppressive and suffocating, as a towering aura surged toward the cave—vast, unyielding, and laced with killing intent.
'This presence… No!' His heart thudded, a frantic drumbeat. 'A powerhouse of the Divine Platform Realm!'
Panic seized him as the ground quaked, dust sifting from the ceiling. He scrambled to his feet, clutching the fruit, his mind racing. 'They've found me already. How? Elder Ling masked my tracks with his last spell!'
The aura was unmistakable—decades of cultivation distilled into a blade of menace. A deep voice boomed outside, rattling the cave walls: "Ye Qiu, you miserable bastard! Did you think parlor tricks could hide you? I can smell your coward's blood from miles away!"
Ye Qiu staggered back, the realization crashing down. This was no apprentice, no upstart—this was an elder, a being at the pinnacle of cultivation. Escape was no longer an option.