Crimson flames licked the night sky.
Lin Ye knelt in the center of the plaza, chains of black iron digging into his flesh. Every breath he drew tasted of ash and blood. Around him, the execution platform was crowded with elders, nobles, and cultivators in ornate robes, their faces lit by the glow of the burning stakes.
His burning stakes.
"Lin Ye, former inner disciple of the Heaven's Navel Academy," a cold voice echoed, amplified by spiritual energy. "Convicted of treason, collusion with demonic sects, and the massacre of three thousand innocents. Today, your soul will be offered to Heaven to atone for your sins."
Jeers and curses erupted from the crowd.
"Traitor!"
"Demonic trash!"
"Burn him slowly!"
Lin Ye lowered his head and laughed.
The sound was hoarse, broken, more like a cough than a laugh, but it silenced him inside. Three thousand innocents? Treason? Demonic collusion?
What a joke.
The real demons were standing above him.
On the high platform, beneath a canopy embroidered with golden dragons, sat the man who once called himself Lin Ye's brother.
Shen Wuyou.
Dressed in snow‑white robes, his long hair tied with a jade crown, Shen Wuyou stood with his hands folded behind his back. His expression was gentle, righteous, like a young immortal descended to the mortal world. The crowd looked at him with reverence.
"The Holy Son of the Heaven's Navel Academy…"
"The continent's brightest genius…"
"So merciful, giving the traitor a clean death…"
Lin Ye's fingers curled, chains clinking.
Merciful?
In his dantian, where spiritual energy should have flowed freely, there was only emptiness. His meridians were shattered, his cultivation crippled. His bloodline, which he had spent ten years awakening, was sealed by a cruel forbidden art.
All of that… done by the man on the platform.
"Brother Lin," Shen Wuyou said softly, stepping forward. His voice carried easily over the plaza. "You forced my hand."
He looked down, dark eyes full of sorrow and disappointment, as if he were truly grieving.
"If you had not joined hands with the demonic path, if you had not slaughtered innocents, the Academy would never have chosen this punishment. I pleaded with the elders for your life, but…" He sighed, the picture of helplessness. "This is the best I could do for you."
The crowd murmured in admiration.
"What a kind heart…"
"Even to a traitor, he shows mercy…"
Lin Ye slowly raised his head.
In his past, he had once believed those eyes—those oh‑so‑sincere, righteous eyes. He had once bled for that man, killed for him, betrayed his own clan for the promise of a brighter future at his side.
And what had that future been?
Used.
Crippled.
Sacrificed.
"Shen Wuyou," Lin Ye rasped, his voice rough from days without water. "Do you remember… what you said to me… ten years ago?"
Shen Wuyou's brows furrowed slightly. "Ten years ago?"
"In the arena," Lin Ye whispered. "When I was still a 'talentless nobody' from a declining clan. You said—"
He stared straight into Shen Wuyou's eyes, forcing each word out.
"'Walk with me, and I will change your fate.'"
Shen Wuyou's eyes flickered.
Only for a moment. Then he smiled again, gentle and calm.
"I did," he said softly. "I changed it."
Laughter burst from Lin Ye's throat, raw and ugly.
The elders frowned. A few of them glanced at Shen Wuyou, but the Holy Son only shook his head with a sad smile, as if forgiving the desperate ramblings of a condemned man.
"Lin Ye." Another voice sounded, colder than ice.
An old man with silver hair and a dragon‑embroidered robe stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back. His eyes were indifferent, like he was looking at a dead dog in the street.
The Great Elder of the Lin Clan.
Lin Ye's clan.
"Your crimes have brought shame upon the Lin name," the old man said. "Today, your death will sever all ties between you and our clan. From this moment on, the Lin Clan has no son called Lin Ye."
The words pierced deeper than any blade.
Family.
Once, that word had meant something. Once, he had fought for them, thinking he could raise the Lin Clan from mediocrity. He'd sent treasures back, secret techniques, resources he had risked his life to obtain.
In the end, when Shen Wuyou needed a sacrifice with a powerful bloodline to fuel his ascension ritual, it was the Lin Clan that handed him over.
"For the future of the clan," the patriarch had said, not meeting his eyes. "You should be honored."
Honored?
Lin Ye silently looked at the Great Elder, then at the patriarch standing behind him, face pale and uneasy.
His gaze held no hatred anymore.
Only exhaustion.
"I see," he murmured.
The executioner stepped forward, spiritual flames gathering in his palms. The fire wasn't normal; it was a soul‑burning heavenly flame that could reduce both body and spirit to ash.
"Any last words?" Shen Wuyou asked gently.
Last words.
Lin Ye fell silent.
Memories flooded his mind like a broken dam.
A small courtyard in a backwater city.
A thin girl chasing after him, calling him "big brother."
A young Lin Ye standing in front of a clan gate, being mocked for having no spirit root.
The first time he met Shen Wuyou in the academy's outer court—a shining genius extending a hand to a nobody.
The first time he realized that all of it—the kindness, the friendship, the opportunities—had been calculated from the start.
All to raise a perfect sacrifice.
The chains around his wrists felt heavier.
Fate.
In this world, some people were born with spirit roots as bright as stars, destined to become saints and gods. Others were born trash, destined to bow and kneel.
Lin Ye had believed that with enough effort, he could climb out of that fate.
He had been wrong.
His effort, his loyalty, his faith—everything had been used to polish the knife that slit his own throat.
"Last words?" Lin Ye repeated softly.
He smiled.
The smile was thin, cracked, but for the first time in years, it was his.
"I regret… nothing."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Even Shen Wuyou's eyes narrowed slightly.
Lin Ye stared at him, at the elders, at his so‑called clan, at the countless faces twisted with hatred and contempt.
"Remember this," he said quietly. "If… there is another life…"
His voice dropped to a whisper, full of a cold calm that made even the executioner pause.
"I will tear your fate apart with my own hands."
The executioner recovered, snorted, and thrust his palms forward.
The heavenly flames roared to life, engulfing Lin Ye's body. Pain beyond imagination exploded through him, as if every cell, every strand of his soul was being ripped apart and thrown into a furnace.
He smelled his own flesh burning.
He heard distant screams—maybe his, maybe someone else's.
Above him, the night sky split with thunder. Lightning flashed, illuminating Shen Wuyou's calm, righteous face as he watched the sacrifice burn.
Spiritual runes flickered into being all around the platform, forming a massive formation that reached for the heavens. Lin Ye felt something tugging at his soul, dragging it upward, toward an unseen maw hungering in the void.
So this was it.
Sacrificed to some unknown existence so the "chosen one" could ascend.
His vision blurred. The plaza, the flames, the faces—all dissolved into a whirl of red and black.
In that dark, endless falling, a cold, mechanical chime echoed in his mind.
[Ding.]
[Regret detected.]
[Unwillingness detected.]
[Critical karmic fluctuation detected.]
[Searching for available timelines…]
Lin Ye's burning soul froze.
What… was that?
[Ding.]
[Suitable timeline located.]
[Do you wish to return ten years into the past?]
[Yes / No]
The mechanical voice was emotionless, but to Lin Ye, it sounded like a crack in the iron cage of the world.
Return… ten years?
His consciousness was already fading. Thoughts frayed like torn threads. But somewhere, in the deepest part of his being, the image of Shen Wuyou's calm, righteous face burned brighter than the heavenly flames.
Ten years ago.
The day he was called trash.
The day Shen Wuyou offered him a hand and said, "Walk with me, and I will change your fate."
If he could go back—
This time, he wouldn't let anyone lead him by the nose.
This time, he wouldn't beg fate for a chance.
He would steal it.
"…Yes," Lin Ye whispered in the void. "Send me back."
[Ding.]
[Choice confirmed.]
[Connecting to Destiny Stealer System…]
[Binding host…]
An immense force grabbed his soul and hurled it backward, through layers of time. The burning pain vanished, replaced by a suffocating pressure, then—
Light.
The smell of damp earth and cheap incense.
The sound of rain tapping on broken tiles.
Lin Ye gasped and sat up, lungs dragging in air like he'd been drowning.
He was in a small, familiar room—the tiny, cracked‑walled courtyard house he'd grown up in. Moonlight filtered through the paper window. His hands trembled as he raised them.
No chains.
No burns.
Young, smooth skin.
His heart pounded in his chest like a drum.
"Impossible…"
Heavy footsteps thundered outside the room.
"Lin Ye!" A harsh, middle‑aged voice roared. "Get out here! The Chen Family is here to annul the engagement!"
Annulment.
Those words slammed into his mind like a hammer.
This day…
This scene…
He knew it.
Ten years ago.
The day everyone began calling him trash.
[Ding.]
[Welcome, host.]
[Destiny Stealer System binding complete.]
[From this moment on, every strand of fate in this world… can be stolen.]
A cold, mechanical voice echoed in his mind.
Lin Ye slowly lifted his head.
His lips curved into a smile that did not belong on a sixteen‑year‑old boy's face.
"Shen Wuyou," he whispered. "Heaven. Fate."
"Let's see whose destiny is stolen this time."