The Altered Trajectory of Fate

Something’s off!

The glasses-wearing youth furrowed his brow in contemplation.

Something’s very off!

This wasn’t the first time he’d witnessed this scene—he’d relived it at least a hundred times. By the usual sequence of events, there should’ve been a twist by now!

That bastard An Yi was supposed to show up here.

Then, together with Yan Zhi, they’d face off against three demonic cultivators!

Yan Zhi would be ambushed, left severely injured and unable to fight.

An Yi would single-handedly take on the three experts of the Dark Force realm.

And finally—

An Yi would descend into a demonic frenzy, his hair turning silver, his pupils blood-red, wielding a black sword.

With Yan Zhi wounded, he’d slaughter the Thousand Taoist, Death Monk, and Dwarf Ghost—three Dark Force realm masters—shocking the entire Great Xia!

But right after the battle, An Yi would collapse from exhaustion and die on the spot.

This electrifying sequence was one he’d relived over a hundred times. He couldn’t be wrong!

He’d even memorized every line of their dialogue down to the last word.

Yet this time, An Yi hadn’t shown up!

Even stranger, the Thousand Taoist had actually noticed him!

Could it be… things were changing?

The youth adjusted his black-framed glasses, lost in thought.

The ending couldn’t be altered—that was the conclusion he’d drawn after thousands of cycles as a mere observer.

He couldn’t change the final outcome.

But today, it felt as though something had shifted the course of fate.

Today was July 31st, the last day of his cycle.

He’d relived countless Julys.

But this time, something felt different.

As if an unseen hand was manipulating the ending, rewriting it.

"Hey, Glasses! You deaf or just ignoring me?!"

The Ghost Dwarf sneered, his voice sharp.

The long scar on his forehead twitched like a disgusting centipede.

Yan Zhi glanced curiously at the glasses-wearing youth.

His ability to conceal himself was downright terrifying!

Her senses were sharp, yet she hadn’t detected his presence at all.

If the Thousand Taoist hadn’t spoken up, she wouldn’t have known someone was hiding nearby.

The Thousand Taoist studied the youth with a deceptively warm smile. "And who might you be? With stealth skills like that, you can’t be a nobody."

"My name is Chen Bing!"

The youth who called himself Chen Bing closed his notebook and adjusted his glasses. "Not that it matters—you won’t remember it anyway. By tomorrow, you’ll all have forgotten."

The Ghost Dwarf elbowed the Death Monk beside him. "This guy’s brain-dead, isn’t he?"

The Death Monk polished the skull hanging from his chest and muttered, "Careful. There’s something off about him."

The Thousand Taoist narrowed his eyes. "And what, pray tell, is a spectator like you doing here?"

This kid was no ordinary bystander—friend or foe, he couldn’t tell.

"Like I said, I’m Chen Bing!"

Chen Bing adjusted his glasses again, dead serious. "I’m just an observer. Don’t mind me—carry on!"

"An observer? What the hell are you doing here then?"

The Thousand Taoist’s expression darkened. "You’re asking for trouble!"

With a flick of his horsetail whisk, a gust of sharp wind lashed toward Chen Bing.

Clang!

A crisp metallic ring echoed.

Sparks flew.

A bizarre sword mark sliced through the air.

From Chen Bing’s sleeve, a curved, forked blade—like a serpent’s tongue—snapped out, effortlessly deflecting the attack.

"I told you, I’m just passing through. Why force my hand?"

He smirked, gripping his Serpent Blade. "But since you insist… I was getting bored anyway."

Yan Zhi shot him a warning look. "Run. You’ll die here."

"Like I haven’t died enough times already. I’m used to it. Worst case, I’ll just reset—tomorrow’s the deadline anyway."

Chen Bing muttered cryptically before adding, "This time, Captain Yan, I’m on your side."

Yan Zhi’s expression hardened. "Glasses… thanks."

"Ahem. It’s Chen Bing!"

He insisted stubbornly.

Something was definitely off today.

Chen Bing racked his brain but couldn’t figure out what had changed.

Logically, he shouldn’t have been detected.

Well, except for that one time at the Night Blossom, when a girl in ancient robes had spotted him.

She’d even snapped his glasses in half!!!

"Boss, I’ll take this four-eyes’ head!"

A Dark Force realm demonic cultivator roared, charging at Chen Bing.

Chen Bing scoffed. His Serpent Blade flashed like lightning.

A thin red line appeared on the cultivator’s neck.

Blood sprayed from his throat.

Chen Bing flicked his blade clean, his once-refined face now smeared with blood, giving him a sinister edge.

The other demonic cultivators froze.

A Dark Force realm expert wasn’t some roadside cabbage.

Out of their twenty-man group, only nine had reached that level.

Yet one had been killed in less than a second!

They hadn’t even seen the glasses-wearing kid move!

"What exquisite swordsmanship!" Yan Zhi couldn’t help but praise.

This unassuming youth might be far more formidable than she’d imagined.

Chen Bing adjusted his glasses. "I don’t usually enjoy killing, but culling a few demonic pests now and then isn’t so bad."

The Thousand Taoist’s squinted eyes widened slightly, his demeanor turning grave.

This kid was far more dangerous than he’d assumed.

"Finish this quickly!"

The Thousand Taoist ordered, his whisk lashing toward Yan Zhi.

"Glasses, I’ll handle the Taoist. The rest are yours."

Yan Zhi twirled her silver whip coolly.

Chen Bing nearly choked.

So he was supposed to take on the Death Monk, Ghost Dwarf (both Dark Force realm experts), eight more Dark Force cultivators, and a dozen lacklings—all by himself?

Was it too late to leave?

Reality gave him no time to ponder. Two demonic cultivators lunged at him from both sides.

Chen Bing’s Serpent Blade flashed.

Two thin red lines appeared on their throats before they crumpled to the ground.

His soft sword moved like wind—swift, silent, lethal.

"Who’s next?"

Chen Bing adjusted his glasses coldly.

"Me!"

The Killer Monk grinned wildly, yanking the iron skull from his necklace and hurling it like a meteor hammer.

Chen Bing’s blade met the skull—only to be deflected by its sheer weight.

"Let’s both take him down, then we can have some fun with the woman."

The Ghost Dwarf leered, unfurling a wire saw—his tool of choice for dismemberment.

Then, with a wet thud, he collapsed.

Blood pooled beneath him.

A youth holding a black dagger stood behind the Ghost Dwarf, calmly wiping the blade clean.