Death was not dramatic.
There was no tunnel of light, no choir of angels, no slow-motion montage of Bai Ye's life flashing before his eyes. One moment, he was crossing the street after a long, uneventful day, and the next—
A deafening screech of brakes.
A flash of blinding headlights.
A violent impact that sent his body flying.
And then…silence.
No pain followed. No fear either.
Just an abrupt, irritating sense of interruption.
> …That's it?
Bai Ye's last conscious thought was one of mild annoyance rather than regret. He hadn't lived an extraordinary life, but neither had he been careless. He wasn't the type to gamble with fate, to rush headlong into danger, or to chase thrills without calculating the cost.
Yet fate, it seemed, had gambled with him.
Darkness stretched endlessly in all directions. It wasn't oppressive, nor was it comforting. It simply existed—vast, empty, and devoid of time. Bai Ye felt no weight, no body, no breath. He was aware, but not alive.
Then, without warning, something changed.
"Error confirmed."
The voice did not echo. It did not resonate. It did not even feel like sound. It appeared directly within Bai Ye's awareness, bypassing ears, nerves, and reason entirely.
Bai Ye frowned.
> A hallucination?
That thought vanished when the darkness peeled back like a curtain being torn aside.
Before him appeared an immeasurable void threaded with countless lines of light. Some glowed faintly like dying embers, while others blazed brilliantly, intersecting and diverging in patterns far too complex to comprehend. They reminded him vaguely of a cosmic web—each strand representing something vast and unknowable.
At the center of it all hovered a presence.
It had no defined shape. No face. No form that could be described in human terms. Yet Bai Ye knew, instinctively, that it was watching him.
"I am a Cosmic Administrative Entity," the voice stated calmly. "Designation unnecessary. Your death was not scheduled."
Bai Ye stared at the formless presence in silence for a moment.
"…So," he said finally, his mental voice steady, "this is some kind of afterlife customer service desk?"
The entity paused.
"Humor detected. Irrelevant."
That answer, strangely enough, reassured him.
> At least it's not pretending to be benevolent.
"What do you mean my death wasn't scheduled?" Bai Ye asked. "People die all the time."
"Correct," the entity replied. "However, your termination was caused by a misalignment between localized probability threads and vehicular trajectory computation."
Bai Ye processed that for a second.
"…In simpler terms?"
"Clerical miscalculation."
Silence followed.
Then Bai Ye laughed.
Not hysterically. Not loudly. Just a quiet, incredulous laugh filled with disbelief.
"So," he said slowly, "I died because someone up there screwed up."
"That assessment is accurate."
Bai Ye's smile faded.
"And what exactly are you going to do about it?"
The cosmic web behind the entity pulsed faintly.
"Compensation will be issued."
Now that caught his attention.
"Compensation," Bai Ye repeated. "Let me guess—rebirth? Another life? A vague apology?"
"Incorrect," the entity said. "You will be granted transmigration privileges to an alternate world. Additionally, you will receive access to the Cosmic Entity Vault."
Bai Ye's expression sharpened.
"How much access?"
"Five spins."
Five.
Not one. Not unlimited. Exactly five.
Bai Ye's mind immediately went to work.
> Limited compensation. Fixed reward count. No room for negotiation.
He liked that. It meant the entity wasn't trying to appear generous—it was simply settling a debt.
"What kind of world?" Bai Ye asked. "Modern? Fantasy? Some peaceful farming universe where nothing happens?"
"Cultivation-class world," the entity answered. "High mortality. High variance. High potential."
Bai Ye exhaled slowly.
Cultivation.
That single word carried implications of power, hierarchy, bloodshed, and endless struggle. A world where strength dictated status, and mercy was often treated as weakness.
In other words—
> A world where caution actually matters.
"I accept," Bai Ye said without hesitation.
"Confirmation received."
The void shifted. Before Bai Ye appeared a massive wheel formed of light and shadow, divided into countless segments that rotated slowly. Symbols he couldn't recognize shimmered across its surface.
"Cosmic Entity Vault accessed," the voice intoned. "Initiating Lucky Draw sequence."
Bai Ye narrowed his eyes.
> So this is the real compensation.
"Spin one," the entity announced.
The wheel accelerated, light blurring into streaks. After a moment, it slowed and stopped.
A symbol burned brightly.
"Reward acquired: Heavenly Demon God Harem System."
The moment the words appeared, Bai Ye felt something latch onto his very existence. Not forcefully. Not violently. It simply…settled, as though it had always been there.
A cold, emotionless presence stirred at the edge of his awareness.
> A system, Bai Ye thought. Of course.
"Spin two."
The wheel turned again.
"Reward acquired: Yin–Yang Related Bloodline."
This time, the sensation was far more intense.
Bai Ye felt an invisible current surge through him—two opposing forces intertwining, clashing, and then settling into a delicate equilibrium. He instinctively understood that this was not power he could wield immediately, but potential etched into the foundation of his being.
"Spin three."
"Reward acquired: Yang-Aligned Physique."
Heat flared briefly, then stabilized. It was like molten steel being poured into a mold—dangerous, volatile, but brimming with strength.
Bai Ye's lips curled upward slightly.
> Synergy. Interesting.
"Spin four."
"Reward acquired: Skill Authorization."
No name appeared. No description followed.
Only a faint mark that sank deep into his awareness, dormant yet unmistakably dangerous.
"Spin five."
The final spin felt different.
The wheel slowed longer this time, segments flickering unpredictably before settling.
"Reward acquired: Charisma Attribute Enhancement."
That was it.
The wheel dissolved. The cosmic web dimmed.
"Compensation complete," the entity stated. "Transmigration will commence."
Bai Ye took a final look at the vast void.
"Before I go," he said, "one question."
"Query acknowledged."
"Will you make another mistake like this again?"
There was a pause—brief, but noticeable.
"Unlikely."
Bai Ye smiled faintly.
"Good. I don't like being owed favors."
The void collapsed.
---
Pain returned.
Not the sharp agony of death, but the dull, persistent ache of a living body. Bai Ye's consciousness slammed into flesh, senses flooding back all at once.
The smell of incense.
The faint metallic tang of blood.
The oppressive pressure of demonic qi in the air.
He opened his eyes.
Above him was a dark stone ceiling carved with grotesque patterns. Crimson banners fluttered gently along the walls, each emblazoned with unfamiliar symbols that radiated menace.
He was lying on a bed—no, a platform—made of black jade.
Memories surged into his mind.
A name.
A clan.
A position.
Bai Ye. Seventeen years old.
Young Master of the Bai Clan.
Heavenly Demon Cult.
His lips twitched.
> So I'm already inside the lion's den.
As if responding to his thoughts, a cold mechanical voice echoed within his mind.
> [Heavenly Demon God Harem System initializing…]
[Host identity confirmed.]
[Welcome, Bai Ye.]
Bai Ye slowly sat up, ignoring the unfamiliar weight of power coiled within his body.
A third-rate villain.
A demonic cult.
Five cheats bought with death itself.
He chuckled softly.
"This life," he murmured, "might actually be interesting."
---
Author's Note (Chapter 1)
Welcome to Villain's Cheat Code: Isekai'd for Maximum Mayhem.
This chapter is meant to set the tone rather than rush the power fantasy. Bai Ye's death is not heroic, not tragic—just unfair. That unfairness is the core motivation behind his choices going forward. He isn't here to save the world, and he isn't here to play the righteous cultivator. He is here to survive, profit, and climb using whatever means are available.
The Heavenly Demon God Harem System is not a wish-fulfillment tool. It rewards results, ambition, and conquest—often at a cost. The Heavenly Demon Cult is not a safe haven either; it is a nest of predators, where weakness is an invitation to die early.
Power progression, politics, cultivation, and mature themes will unfold gradually. R-18 content will exist later, handled symbolically and meaningfully, never as empty filler.