Opulence reigned supreme within the grand confines of the hall.
The chamber was a testament to excess: intricate ebony chairs cushioned in plush velvet, gilded chandeliers dripping with crystalline prisms that scattered light like captured stars, and marble floors polished to a mirror-like sheen. Every detail whispered of wealth and power, a silent eulogy to the extraordinary stature of its master.
At the heart of this splendor stood a young man, hands clasped behind his back, gazing through a towering arched window. He was draped in a regal purple robe, its hems embroidered with shimmering golden silk. With every subtle movement, golden dragons soared across the fabric, their scales glinting as if imbued with breath and life.
Tall and broad-shouldered, his physique spoke of strength honed by rigorous discipline. His features were chiseled—sharp cheekbones and a firm jaw that radiated an almost ethereal beauty. His raven-black hair, long and lustrous, was swept into an elegant bun secured by a golden dragon brooch that gleamed with quiet authority.
Yet, it was his eyes that truly captivated: twin sapphires, bright and piercing, sparkling with an otherworldly brilliance. To any observer, he was a dashing figure born of legend. But beneath this striking exterior, a shadow flickered.
His fine brows knitted together, a glimmer of bewilderment clouding those starry eyes.
"Have I traveled through time? Or… have I transmigrated?"
His voice, low and resonant, broke the heavy stillness of the hall.
His name was Qin Ting. In the life he once knew, he had been a nobody—an ordinary soul with no remarkable talents or lineage. Orphaned and adrift, his days had been colored only by the solace of fantasy novels, sprawling tales of magic and heroism that fueled his quiet dreams of another world.
How many nights did I lie awake, yearning to step into those pages? he thought, looking down at hands that were not his own. And now, inexplicably, I have awakened here—in this body, in this universe.
The initial wave of confusion ebbed, quickly replaced by a rising tide of exhilaration. In his past life, he had been a man with nothing—no family, no purpose, no legacy.
But now? This is the destiny I longed for, handed to me like a gift from the heavens.
Qin Ting closed his eyes, his breathing steadying as he delved into the fragmented memories of the body's former occupant. Silence enveloped the hall, broken only by the faint, silken rustle of his robe. When his eyes opened again, a spark of excitement danced within their depths.
To his astonishment, this Qin Ting was no downtrodden wretch, talentless outcast, or scorned bastard son—tropes so familiar from the stories he'd devoured. No, this Qin Ting had been born into the apex of privilege. He was a scion of a noble lineage whose life had unfolded like a silken thread, smooth and unbroken.
Power, status, and potential were his birthright.
He hailed from the ancient and illustrious Qin Family, a lineage revered across the Eastern Wilderness. As a True Disciple of the Profound Heaven Divine Sect—one of the realm's most sacred bastions of cultivation—he stood apart, a genius among geniuses.
Two years prior, at the tender age of sixteen, he had ascended to the Divine Wheel Realm, his talent a blazing beacon that outshone his peers. Now, he reigned as the undisputed leader of the Profound Heaven Divine Sect's younger generation, his name whispered with awe in the sect's halls.
Qin Ting's supremacy was more than just a high level of aptitude; it was an inherent law of his very being.
He bore the Sky Destroyer Immortal Physique—a legendary constitution that made the Grand Dao yield like water in his palms. This wasn't mere talent, but the strongest and rarest physique unseen through countless eras; a birthright alone that destined him to rule an era.
A terrifying heritage anchored this peerless potential: his father, Immortal Emperor Qin Yu, reigned as an unfathomable colossus within the Profound Heaven Divine Sect—a figure whose true depth remained beyond the reach of the world.
Beneath his composed exterior, Qin Ting harbored a flicker of wild joy. My birthright is a towering pedestal, a launchpad to the heavens. Could it be that destiny has already crowned me invincible?
[DING]
A sharp sound pierced the silence of his thoughts, reverberating through his mind like a struck bell.
[The Villain System has been activated. Binding to host complete.]
A rush of elation surged through him, warming his chest. A system! For a transmigrator like me, what could be more coveted than an omnipotent cheat code to bend the world to my will? With this unseen ally, the future stretched before him like a road paved in gold.
"Wait a minute…" He paused, his brow furrowing. "Villain System? Does that mean I'm the bad guy?"
As if privy to the storm brewing in his mind, the system's voice returned—cold, mechanical, and precise.
[Affirmative. The host is designated as the villain of this universe. Primary objective: defeat the Child of Destiny, seize his fortune, and accumulate Villain Points. Through this path, the host shall rise as an invincible force of villainy.]
A wry smile tugged at Qin Ting's lips, curling into something sharper, darker. So, he was the antagonist of this grand tale. The realization settled over him like a cloak, and to his surprise, it fit perfectly.
Bullying the weak, taming the proud… the more they fight, the sweeter the victory.
The thought of crushing foes and bending the defiant to his whims stirred a thrill deep within. A spark ignited in his eyes, glinting with dangerous delight. Perhaps I was born for this after all.
"System," he asked, his voice sharp with curiosity. "What is the purpose of these Villain Points?"
A ripple of energy pulsed in his mind, and the system's response unfurled like a scroll of ancient jade.
[Villain Points are your currency of dominion, Host. Exchange them for divine elixirs, lost cultivation arts, spiritual herbs, or celestial weapons. Accumulate 100,000 points for a Wheel of Fate turn—your first spin is complimentary.]
Before he could respond, a vision blazed to life within his sea of consciousness: a grand roulette, its edges wreathed in shimmering runes, hovering like a celestial artifact. The wheel spun with a thunderous hum, a blur of gold and shadow, until it slowed. The pointer trembled, finally settling on a radiant icon—a golden pill, pulsing with an aura that seemed to bend the air around it.
A chime rang out, crisp and triumphant.
[Congratulations, Host, for claiming a legendary item: Pill of the Five Aggregates.]
Qin Ting's breath caught as the pill materialized in his palm, its surface gleaming like molten sunlight and etched with patterns of an alchemy lost to history. Despite being the Young Master of the Profound Heaven Divine Sect—a place where spirit energy hung thick as mist and treasures flowed like rivers—he had never seen its equal.
Memories of the ancient world stirred within him, identifying the relic: the Pill of the Five Aggregates.
This was the legendary Transcendence Pill, a sovereign medicine that had not graced the world in countless millennia. While other divine pills promised breakthroughs, they often arrived with the shadow of hidden flaws or the threat of a violent backlash. This pill was different; it offered perfection—a flawless, absolute ascension that shattered bottlenecks without consequence or price.
Even for someone of Qin Ting's prestige, who could claim almost any treasure in the Eastern Wilderness, this was an impossibility made manifest.
A faint, incredulous smile touched his lips as he traced the pill's warm contours. To receive a relic lost to the eras from a mere spin of a wheel proved that this system was no trifling tool, but a power that defied the very history of cultivation.
Before he could further contemplate the weight of this gift, the system's voice pierced his reverie once more.
[New mission assigned: Gather detailed intelligence on your rival, Ye Qiu. Reward upon completion: 5,000 Villain Points.]
Qin Ting's eyes narrowed, the pill still cradled in his hand. Five thousand points—a respectable sum, yet a mere droplet compared to the ocean required for such a prize. The system had hinted that purchasing the Pill of the Five Aggregates outright would cost a staggering 500,000 points.
"Quite the road ahead," he murmured, voice low and threaded with ambition. The wheel had turned in his favor today, but this new life was a game of patience—and he intended to master it.
He sat down on a throne-like chair, brow furrowed as he sifted through the labyrinth of his memory, chasing a fleeting shadow named Ye Qiu. Slowly, like mist parting over a forgotten valley, the figure took shape in his mind—a nobody from some dust-choked borderland.
A flicker of recognition sparked. A memory from three months past unfurled.
It had been in the Sunken Moon Valley, an ancient ruin where the air thrummed with the echoes of lost epochs.
Jagged cliffs loomed like the bones of a fallen titan, their crevices cradling the glint of a rare treasure—the Five-Colored Precious Dew. Qin Ting, at the head of a Profound Heaven Divine Sect expedition, had descended into that shadowed abyss to claim it.
That was where he'd crossed paths with Ye Qiu and his ragtag band.
Qin Ting's gaze had snagged on a girl among them—lithe and unpolished, yet radiating a quiet talent that gleamed like uncut jade beneath the grime. She stood beside Ye Qiu, her eyes sharp with untapped potential.
His predecessor, ever the opportunist, had extended an offer cloaked as benevolence.
"You there," he had said, voice smooth as silk over steel. "Your gift is wasted by following this piece of trash. Join me as my maid, and I'll forge you into something greater."
The girl hesitated, her lips parting as if to protest, but then nodded—a tentative acquiescence born of awe or desperation. Ye Qiu, however, bristled like a cornered beast.
His face twisted with defiance, and he flung himself between them. "She's not yours to take! You think your name gives you the right to pluck lives like flowers?"
Qin Ting had barely spared him a glance. An ant daring to bite a dragon's claw—laughable. With a flick of his wrist, he signaled one of his attendants to deal with the nuisance.
The clash was brief: a blur of motion, a muffled cry, and Ye Qiu sprawled in the dirt, blood trickling from his lip. Yet even as he lay broken, he raised his head, eyes blazing with a fire that refused to die.
"Thirty years east of the river, thirty years west!" he bellowed, his voice raw with fury. "Do not mock a youth for his humble station! Qin Ting, mark my words—today's shame will be repaid a thousandfold! I swear it upon my very soul!"
The memory faded, leaving Qin Ting alone in the vastness of his hall. He leaned back, fingers drumming idly on the armrest.
The Child of Destiny, he mused, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. This Ye Qiu reeks of it—humble origins, unyielding spirit, a vow of vengeance. The heavens love their little puppets, don't they?
Qin Ting snapped his fingers, the sound crisp as fracturing ice.
The air before him rippled like a disturbed pond. From the shadows emerged a figure cloaked in robes so black they seemed to devour the light—a specter forged in silence and death. The man sank to one knee, his presence a blade unsheathed yet held in check.
"My lord," he rasped, his voice low and jagged, reverent as a prayer offered to a god.
Qin Ting's gaze fell upon him, cold and piercing. It was Nie You, Commander of the Death Guards—a legion of wraiths sculpted by Immortal Emperor Qin Yu's iron will.
Orphans taken from the ashes of forgotten villages, they were forced to cultivate forbidden arts that granted swift, lethal strength at the cost of unstable foundations. Fit only to serve as living weapons, they could blaze to the Divine Platform Realm—but there, their path was severed forever.
Bound to Qin Ting by his father's decree, they were his unseen hands.
"Nie You," Qin Ting said, voice a whip-crack of authority. "I have a task for you."
He leaned forward, the faint shimmer of his robes catching the glow of the spirit lanterns. "Give the order—I want every trace of Ye Qiu's existence laid bare. His first cry, his every misstep, the breath he draws in this very moment. Leave no stone unturned."
Nie You's scarred brow twitched. Ye Qiu. The name tugged at a brutal memory—blood-slicked knuckles and a broken body in the dirt. It had been Nie You's fists that day, pounding the fool into the earth, yet somehow the wretch had clung to life.
"My lord," Nie You ventured, a faint sneer curling his lip. "This cur dared to slight you. Why not let me send a shadow to slit his throat and be done with it?"
Qin Ting's expression hardened, a storm brewing in his eyes. "No," he snapped, the word a guillotine's fall. "You will scour his past, nothing more. Do it silently—let no ripple betray my hand."
Confusion danced in Nie You's chest, but he crushed it beneath the weight of duty. A Death Guard didn't question; he acted. Bowing deeper, he murmured, "As you decree, Young Master," before vanishing into the gloom, his steps soundless as a phantom's whisper.
The chamber fell silent again, save for the faint hum of spiritual energy threading the air. Qin Ting's lips twisted into a glacial smirk, a predator savoring a game only he understood.
Send assassins after the Child of Destiny? He scoffed inwardly. He wasn't some dimwitted pawn stumbling through fate's script.
He knew how these stories went. A clumsy hunting party would blunder into the boy's path, allowing Ye Qiu to slip free. The Protagonist would survive, his legend swelling with every escape, until Qin Ting's own forces unwittingly handed him a golden ladder to the heavens. Factions would bow, treasures would fall into the brat's lap, and the Eastern Wilderness would sing his name.
"Know your enemy, know yourself…" he said softly, the old proverb circling in his thoughts. "And a hundred battles will bring you no defeat."
Ye Qiu was a viper—strike carelessly, and he'd slither away, venom growing deadlier with every miss. No, Qin Ting would aim for the seven-inch mark, the fatal point, and end it in one blow. These 'Cockroaches of Destiny' thrived on half-measures; only absolute preparation ensured victory.
His gaze drifted to the Pill of the Five Aggregates, still cradled in his palm, its aura a whisper of starfire and ancient roots. Qin Ting's fingers grazed its edge, resolve igniting in his veins. First, he'd refine this treasure and shatter the Divine Wheel Realm's barrier, ascending to the Divine Spirit Realm.
In this vast, merciless universe, strength was the only truth—and he intended to wield it like a god descending from the firmament.