Villain System in a Cultivation World-Chapter 27: Currency of Fate

The flickering glow of a lantern cast long shadows across Qin Ting's personal chambers. Its light danced over walls adorned with tapestries of celestial beasts locked in eternal combat. The air carried the sharp, invigorating scent of rare spirit tea, brewed from leaves harvested on cliffs kissed by the morning sun.

Qin Ting sat poised in a high-backed chair of dark sandalwood. His fingers traced the rim of a jade teacup so thin it seemed to glow from within. The tea's warmth seeped into his skin, but it did little to quell the storm of ambition churning in his chest. To him, the world was a game of levers and fulcrums, and he intended to master every one.

'Fortune Points,' he thought, the words igniting a spark of hunger behind his cool, calculating eyes. 'More precious than any hoard of spirit stones or Villain Points. They're the threads of fate itself—mine to seize, mine to weave.'

His gaze drifted to the open window. The night sky sprawled vast and unyielding over the Eastern Wilderness, stars glinting like distant promises. Ye Qiu, that insufferable Child of Destiny, owed his every triumph to those points—his so-called plot armor, a shield woven from the heavens' favor.

Without it, he'd be nothing but ash scattered on the wind.

Take today, for instance. The chaos had been cataclysmic—a symphony of death. Flames roared like unleashed dragons, and the very earth split as if to swallow the world whole. Qin Ting had orchestrated most of it, a perfect snare to crush his rival. Any other man would have perished a hundred times over, their bones ground to dust beneath such peril.

Yet Ye Qiu emerged, bloodied and battered, but alive. Unbroken.

'That's the power of immense luck,' Qin Ting mused, his lips curling into a faint, sardonic smile. 'A cheat code written into the fabric of existence.'

In the stillness of his mind, he murmured, "System, how are Fortune Points calculated?"

The response arrived instantly, as if spoken by a spectral presence—calm, precise, and razor-sharp: [Ye Qiu's total Fortune Points originally stood at 100. Due to your villainous actions, the Host has seized 20 points, reducing the Protagonist's current total to 80 Fortune Points.]

Clarity crashed over Qin Ting like a tidal wave, cool and relentless, sweeping away the fog of speculation. Then came the jolt—a surge of electric wildfire racing through his veins, igniting every nerve with primal thrill. The world sharpened around him: colors grew vivid, sounds turned crisp, as though reality itself bent to his will.

The wind outside hummed in time with his steady breaths. Candle flames tilted subtly toward him as if drawn by an unseen force. He felt it—a harmony, a resonance—as if the cosmos had acknowledged his claim. For a fleeting moment, he was the heavens; the earth pulsed in rhythm with his heart.

Those around him sensed it too. The guards beyond the chamber's silk-draped entrance exchanged wary glances, their hands tightening on polished spears. They couldn't name the shift, only feel its weight—an aura pressing against their instincts, whispering of a man no longer bound by mortal limits. Qin Ting's presence had always commanded respect, but now it carried an edge—a quiet menace that set the air trembling.

Nie You stepped forward, his boots clinking softly against the polished stone floor. His broad shoulders squared beneath night-black robes, and his eyes gleamed with the quiet ferocity of a predator at rest.

"Young Master," Nie You said, his voice calm yet laced with deference, "my men have secured a perimeter around the Lian Yun Mountains. The camp is secure as well. My men apprehended a handful of rogue cultivators near the medicinal gardens, attempting to pilfer our herbs. They have been crucified in the courtyard—their screams now serve as a warning to others."

He paused, his tone hardening. "Shall I deploy a Death Guard battalion to hunt down Ye Qiu?"

'Anyone who threatens the Young Master must die,' Nie You thought, his resolve as unyielding as tempered steel. His hand rested lightly on the hilt of his blade, fingers itching to draw it. After the earlier debacle—Ye Qiu slipping through their grasp like smoke—his wariness had sharpened into a cold, murderous edge.

Qin Ting tilted his head slightly, a sly, barely perceptible smile curling the edges of his lips. "No," he murmured, his tone laced with subtle calculation, "we'd be wise to conserve our strength for now—let the pieces fall into place first."

He set the teacup down with a delicate clink, the sound swallowed by the chamber's stillness. His gaze drifted to the map sprawled across the table before him. Its ink lines traced the rugged expanse of the Eastern Wilderness—peaks and valleys, rivers and ruins, all ripe for conquest.

True, he'd stripped Ye Qiu of 20 Fortune Points, a triumph that still sang in his blood. But 80 points remained—a formidable reserve, enough to twist fate in the fool's favor time and again. Sending a battalion to scour the wilds would be a waste; they'd return empty-handed, battered by Ye Qiu's uncanny luck, perhaps even lured into a trap that claimed lives Qin Ting couldn't spare.

More than that, Qin Ting knew his rival's heart. Ye Qiu hadn't abandoned his pursuit of the Earth Emperor's Mysterious Flame—a prize too potent, too coveted to resist. The Mystic Sun Dragon Fruit he'd stolen days ago was no mere trophy; it was a tool, a stepping stone to tame that Strange Flame.

'Protagonists thrive on defying the impossible,' Qin Ting thought, his smile widening into something sharp and knowing. 'It's their strength—and their fatal flaw. So predictable.'

Their paths would cross again, and soon. A premonition stirred in his chest, sharp and certain, like the first crack of thunder before a storm. He leaned back in his chair, silken robes rustling faintly against his skin.

"Let him come to us," he murmured, his voice low and deliberate, each word a thread in the web he wove. "He'll crawl right into the trap I've set."

Nie You bowed, though a flicker of confusion shadowed his stern features. "As you command, Young Master. But... are you certain he'll seek the Flame so soon?"

"Absolutely," Qin Ting replied, his tone laced with dark amusement. "It's in his nature—like a moth drawn to a flame, or a fool stumbling toward his doom."

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Sometime later, deep within the shadowed folds of the Lian Yun Mountains, a small cave offered Ye Qiu fleeting refuge from the world's relentless pursuit. The air hung damp and heavy, thick with the scent of moss and ancient earth. Jagged stone walls glistened with beads of condensation, catching the dim glow of a single spirit crystal.

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He'd wedged it into a crevice hours ago. Its faint light cast trembling shadows across the cavern. Slumped against the cold stone, Ye Qiu was a ghost of the warrior he'd once been.

His robes hung in tattered ribbons, stained with blood and soot. His once-sturdy frame was reduced to a frail silhouette. Each breath rattled in his chest, a testament to the gauntlet he'd endured.

The past days had been a descent into hell. The Crimson Pyre Warden—a hulking demon wreathed in molten flame—had hunted him without cease. His claws raked the earth mere inches from his heels, his roars shaking the sky.

Ye Qiu had burned through the Bloodreaver's Vile Prohibition time and again. Each use seared his veins with white-hot agony, trading his vitality for fleeting bursts of speed and strength. In the direst moments, Elder Ling had intervened, his waning soul power seizing control of Ye Qiu's body to drag them from ruin—through collapsing ravines, past ambushes of snarling beasts, and once beneath a shattering cliff face.

Eventually, the Warden's patience frayed. After a night-long rampage that left mountains smoldering and forests reduced to ash, it retreated into the range's depths, his bellows fading into an ominous echo. But the respite was fleeting.

Word of Ye Qiu's weakened state had spread like wildfire across the Eastern Wilderness. A swarm of cultivators—opportunists and enemies alike—now hunted him, eager to claim the bounty on his head or the glory of his demise.

Once, he'd crushed Primordial Pill disciples and Divine Wheel masters with ease, their techniques crumbling beneath his blade. Now, he fled from them in terror, his steps faltering, his breath a ragged gasp. These weren't mere rogue cultivators with flawed arts and middling strength.

These were prodigies of the holy lands—geniuses of their generation. Their divine arts ignited the night with blinding radiance, their weapons singing with lethal precision. Even in his prime, Ye Qiu had barely escaped their grasp, leaving a trail of blood and shattered pride.

His hands, stained with the dried blood of countless battles, trembled as he pressed them against the cave wall. Exhaustion gnawed at his bones, a relentless ache threatening to drag him into oblivion. This hidden hollow was his last sanctuary, a fragile shield against the storm closing in.

A frail voice rasped in his mind, faint as a whisper through brittle leaves: "Ye Qiu, refine the Mystic Sun Dragon Fruit at once. It'll restore your vitality. I'd hoped to save it for taming the Earth Emperor's Mysterious Flame, but we've no choice now."

"Yes, Master," Ye Qiu replied, his voice steady despite the weariness dragging at his limbs.

Hesitation crept in, his brows furrowing as he studied the shadows. "Master, your condition... Are you alright?"

Elder Ling's tone wavered, threadbare and fading: "I'm afraid not. I've consumed too much soul power. I'll soon slip into a deep slumber. For the days ahead, Ye Qiu, you'll be on your own."

Tears welled in Ye Qiu's eyes, blurring the cave's dim ceiling into a haze. "Master... I've dragged you down."

The old man chuckled, a sound both warm and weary, like embers crackling in a dying fire. "Foolish boy, what nonsense is that? You and I are bound as master and disciple, heart and soul. This danger? It's a trifle compared to what we've faced. The Black Serpent Abyss, the Thousand Ghosts Formation—didn't we turn calamity into triumph each time?"

The words struck a spark in Ye Qiu's chest, a faint ember flaring against the darkness. True, the odds were dire, but hadn't he stormed through dragon lairs and tiger dens before? He straightened, his spirit rekindled, fists clenching at his sides.

Seeing the fire return to his disciple's eyes, Elder Ling sighed in relief, the sound soft as a fading echo. "Good. Now, heed my final guidance: trust your instincts, but temper them with caution. The fruit will heal you, but your enemies are closing in. Move swiftly once you're restored."

His presence faded then, sinking into silence, leaving Ye Qiu alone with the weight of the cave's stillness. He waited until the old man's essence stilled completely, then settled cross-legged on the uneven floor.

From a tattered, concealed pocket near his chest, he withdrew the Mystic Sun Dragon Fruit. Its faint golden glow cut through the dimness, scattering intricate, shifting patterns across the stone walls. Fine, scale-like ridges carved into its surface seemed to pulse with a gentle, radiant warmth.

As he cradled it, resentment flared in his gaze, sharp and bitter. 'Qin Ting!' The name seared his thoughts, a brand of fury. 'If not for you, I wouldn't be this broken shell! If not for you, Master wouldn't lie dormant, his soul spent! I swear to the heavens—I'll flay you alive if it's the last thing I do!'

He steadied his breath, forcing the rage into a tight coil as he prepared to refine the fruit. His fingers traced its surface, channeling a thread of spiritual energy into it. The glow intensified, a sweet fragrance unfurling to ease the ache in his chest.

But before he could begin, a tremor shook his senses. The air thickened, oppressive and suffocating, as a towering aura surged toward the cave—vast, unyielding, and laced with killing intent.

'This presence... No!' His heart thudded, a frantic drumbeat against his ribs. 'A powerhouse of the Divine Platform Realm!'

Panic seized him as the ground quaked faintly, dust sifting from the ceiling. He scrambled to his feet, clutching the fruit, his mind racing. 'They've found me already. How? Elder Ling masked my tracks with his last spell!'

The aura was unmistakable—decades of cultivation distilled into a blade of pure menace. A deep, resonant voice boomed from outside, rattling the cave walls: "Ye Qiu, you miserable bastard! Did you think parlor tricks could hide you? I can smell your coward's blood from miles away!"

Ye Qiu staggered back, the realization crashing down on him. This was no apprentice, no upstart—this was an elder, a being who stood at the pinnacle of cultivation. Escape was no longer an option.