Chapter 1 - Chapter 1: The villain who woke before his fall

On the night Lin Xu remembered how he would die, the rain had just begun to fall over the Lin Clan's inner courtyard. The droplets struck stone in uneven rhythms, soft but persistent, like a countdown no one else could hear. He sat beneath the old locust tree, fingers tracing faint cracks along the cold table surface, mapping the world the only way he ever had. Blind since birth, he had learned to measure distance through echoes, tension through breath, truth through silence. Inside the main hall, the elders were discussing his worth. Or rather, his lack of it. "The heir cannot remain as he is," one voice insisted, clipped and controlled. "The Azure River Sect is sending their Heaven's Chosen tomorrow. We cannot afford embarrassment." A pause followed. Heavy. Calculated. His father's presence was steady, but even steady mountains eroded under enough pressure. "He is my son," his father replied at last. Calm, not defensive. But calmness did not erase doubt. Lin Xu lowered his head slightly, outwardly obedient, inwardly resigned. He had long accepted his fate: blind heir, politically fragile, tolerated out of obligation rather than respect. His adopted sister, Lin Yue, trained twice as fiercely to compensate for him. She shielded him from ridicule with a blade sharper than most inner disciples. His childhood friend had been taken years ago by a higher sect because of her extraordinary talent. He had learned to live quietly in the space left behind. That quiet shattered in a single breath. The courtyard tilted. Not physically, but mentally. Memories that did not belong to this life tore through his mind—electric lights, printed pages, a fictional world he once consumed for entertainment. He remembered reading about a tragic antagonist named Lin Xu. Blind heir of a declining clan. A young man twisted by loss. A villain whose descent began with humiliation and ended in war. He remembered the secret realm soaked in blood. He remembered the day his childhood friend died protecting him. He remembered discovering that the Heaven's Chosen had killed her in secret to preserve his flawless reputation. He remembered rage so consuming that it hollowed him into something monstrous. He remembered his sister standing against him years later, begging him to stop. He remembered killing thousands. He remembered dying alone beneath a thunder-torn sky, condemned as the world's greatest calamity. His breath hitched sharply. The rain intensified, masking the subtle tremor in his hands. It was not a dream. It was not imagination. It was memory. Of a life that had not yet happened. And then something else stirred—cold, vast, restrained. A presence within his chest. It did not speak, yet understanding surfaced like ink in water. A fragment. A remnant of a cultivator who had once challenged Heaven itself. In the story he remembered, he had never possessed the core fragment. Now, it rested within him. Silent. Waiting. The elders' voices sharpened inside the hall. "The Heaven's Chosen represents stability," one declared. "Heaven favors him. We must align ourselves accordingly." Heaven favors him. The phrase struck differently now. In the story, the Heaven's Chosen rose effortlessly. Treasures appeared before him. Opportunities unfolded precisely when needed. Opponents conveniently revealed flaws. And opposite him stood Lin Xu—the necessary darkness that defined the hero's brilliance. A realization settled into place with chilling clarity. Heaven did not create villains out of cruelty. It created them out of necessity. A righteous world required contrast. Heroes required enemies. Societies required monsters to justify unity. Someone had to absorb the resentment, the ambition, the hidden ugliness of the masses so others could call themselves virtuous. In the timeline he remembered, that role had been his. Not because he was born evil. But because someone had to be. Light footsteps approached through the rain. Lin Yue stopped beside him without speaking at first. He could sense tension in her breathing; she had likely overheard the discussion. "You're getting wet," she said finally, voice softer than the rain. Her hand rested briefly on his shoulder. Warm. Protective. In the other timeline, she would die trying to stop the war he unleashed. The memory cut deeper than any insult. "I'm fine," he replied quietly. His voice no longer carried resignation. She noticed. Of course she did. "You sound different," she murmured. He did not answer. Inside, the fragment pulsed once, as if acknowledging a decision forming. In the story he remembered, tomorrow would be the first domino. He would insult the Heaven's Chosen during his visit. Pride would ignite rivalry. Rivalry would breed conflict. Conflict would spiral into catastrophe. The script had been clear. But scripts only worked when actors followed their lines. The hall doors opened. His father's steps crossed the courtyard. There was fatigue in them. And hope. Always hope. "Rest early," his father said. "Tomorrow is important." Important. Lin Xu rose slowly, feeling the air shift. Threads—faint, intangible—moved like currents around the clan grounds. He could not see them, but he sensed direction, convergence, inevitability. Fate was preparing something. It expected him to comply. He tilted his face slightly upward toward the rain, letting droplets trace along closed eyelids that had never known light. In another life, he had reacted with anger. This time, something colder and clearer settled in his chest. If Heaven required a villain, then perhaps the true rebellion was not fury. Perhaps it was refusal. The fragment within him did not demand destruction. It resonated with understanding. He exhaled slowly, steadying his heartbeat. Tomorrow, the Heaven's Chosen would arrive. Tomorrow, fate would expect its first scene to unfold. And for the first time, the villain knew the ending before the story began. He allowed himself a faint, unreadable smile. This time, he would not follow the script.