Lin Ye died with his eyes open.
Not because he wanted to—
but because he refused to believe it had really come to this.
The night air was cold, sharp enough to cut through bone. Rain mixed with blood beneath his body, pooling across the marble floor of the Heavenly Meridian Hall. The scent of iron was thick, suffocating, drowning out the incense that still burned mockingly at the altar.
Above him stood the people he had trusted most.
The people he had given everything to.
"Why…?"
The word escaped his lips as a rasp, barely louder than the rain.
His cultivation core was shattered. His meridians burned like broken glass. Every breath felt like inhaling fire. He could not even lift a finger.
Standing closest was Zhao Ming, his sworn brother.
The man smiled.
Not nervously.
Not regretfully.
But with relief.
"Why?" Zhao Ming echoed softly, tilting his head as if amused. "Brother Lin, you were too powerful. Too respected. Too… inconvenient."
Behind Zhao Ming, Elder Sun, the very man who had taken Lin Ye in as an orphan, clasped his hands behind his back.
"Do not resent us," the old man said calmly. "The sect needs stability. You inspired loyalty that should belong to the heavens."
Laughter echoed.
Soft at first.
Then cruel.
Lin Ye's gaze shifted, trembling, until it landed on the woman standing furthest back.
Mu Qingxue.
She wore white tonight. The same color she had worn the day she swore herself to him beneath the moonlight.
Her face was beautiful. Calm. Untouched.
She would not meet his eyes.
"Qingxue…" Lin Ye whispered.
She flinched.
Just slightly.
That tiny movement shattered what little hope he had left.
"I'm sorry," she said at last, her voice steady but distant. "This is the best outcome. For everyone."
For everyone.
Those words struck harder than the blade that pierced his chest moments later.
Lin Ye laughed.
Blood bubbled from his mouth.
So this was fate.
Born an orphan.
Rose through sheer will.
Defended the sect through countless battles.
Sacrificed his future, his body, his soul—
Only to die as a threat to the people he loved.
His vision blurred.
But even as darkness crept in, something inside him refused to yield.
If this is fate…
Then fate is wrong.
The world shattered.
Lin Ye woke up choking.
He sucked in a sharp breath, sitting upright as his heart slammed violently against his ribs.
Cold sweat drenched his body.
Pain—
No.
There was no pain.
He looked down at his hands.
Uninjured.
Strong.
Young.
His skin was smooth, unmarred by scars earned over decades of battle.
The room around him was small. Bare wooden walls. A cracked window through which pale morning light spilled in.
A room he knew.
A room he had not seen in ten years.
His breath hitched.
"No…" he murmured.
He staggered to the mirror hanging crookedly on the wall.
The face staring back at him was unmistakably his.
But younger.
Sharp eyes untouched by exhaustion. Black hair tied simply, not yet streaked with white from years of cultivation strain.
He looked twenty.
His knees nearly gave out.
"This… is impossible…"
Outside, a bell rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Lin Ye froze.
The Outer Disciple Morning Bell.
His blood ran cold.
Only one day in his entire life was marked by that bell in that pattern.
The day he entered the Azure Heaven Sect.
The day everything began.
Memories surged like a flood.
He remembered this morning.
He remembered standing in line with other hopefuls, clutching a wooden token, believing this place would become his home.
He remembered Zhao Ming smiling warmly at him that day.
He remembered Mu Qingxue handing him water, her eyes gentle.
His hands clenched.
His nails dug into his palms.
Ten years…
I came back ten years.
The realization did not bring joy.
It brought terror.
Because Lin Ye remembered what came next.
Not just his own rise and fall.
But the future of the world.
Wars that would drown entire regions in blood.
Cultivators who would become monsters.
Friends who would die screaming.
Enemies who would one day kneel before him—before betraying him.
Fate unfolded in his mind like a written script.
And he had already read the ending.
He closed his eyes.
Took a breath.
Then another.
When he opened them again, the panic was gone.
Replaced by something colder.
Sharper.
Calmer.
"Revenge…" he murmured.
The word tasted hollow.
If he rushed to kill Zhao Ming now, fate would simply create another blade.
If he exposed Elder Sun, the sect would bury the truth.
If he confronted Mu Qingxue…
His chest tightened.
No.
Revenge was crude.
Predictable.
And fate thrived on predictability.
Lin Ye straightened.
This time, he would not fight fate head-on.
He would rewrite it.
The Outer Disciple Plaza buzzed with noise.
Hundreds of young men and women stood in loose formation, eyes bright with anticipation.
Lin Ye stood among them, invisible.
No one noticed him.
Not yet.
On the platform ahead, Elder Sun spoke, welcoming the new disciples.
Lin Ye listened silently.
Every word matched his memory perfectly.
So fate still thinks it owns this timeline.
Good.
Let it.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Zhao Ming laughing with another disciple.
Saw Mu Qingxue standing quietly near the back, her gaze distant.
Once, his heart would have raced at the sight of her.
Now, it remained still.
You chose fate over me once, he thought.
This time, let's see what fate chooses.
The ceremony ended.
Disciples dispersed.
Lin Ye did not follow the crowd.
Instead, he turned—
and walked toward a path no outer disciple should take.
Toward the Forbidden Spirit Garden.
A place where, according to sect rules, entry meant death.
A place Lin Ye knew would awaken in three days.
A place that, in his past life, had changed the destiny of the entire sect.
He smiled faintly.
"Let's start small," he said softly.
And somewhere, unseen, the threads of fate trembled.