The sky above the Heavenly Dao Peak was bleeding gold.
Tian Ye Chen knelt on the fractured white jade of the altar.
His divine robes—woven from celestial silk—were shredded and soaked in his own immortal blood.
The Seven-Star Divine Sword that had carried him across a thousand battlefields lay shattered at his feet.
Every breath tasted of iron and ruin.
But the physical agony was nothing compared to the cold weight pressing down on his soul as he looked at the two figures standing at the edge of the altar.
“Why, Meng’er?”
His voice was a rough whisper, stripped of the power that once made lesser cultivators tremble.
“I gave you everything. The Celestial Lotus. The Ancient Dragon Pill. I bled for your ascension.”
Su Meng’er stood beautifully under the golden twilight.
Her face was carved ice.
Her slender fingers wrapped around the hilt of a glowing dagger—the very weapon that had pierced his back moments ago.
“You gave me your resources, Ye Chen. But you could never give me the throne of the Nine Heavens.” She didn’t even look at him as she spoke.
Her eyes were fixed on the distant stars.
“The heavens are cruel. Your path has reached its limit. Your destiny belongs to someone else now.”
Beside her stepped a tall man in obsidian armor.
Gu Cang.
Ye Chen’s sworn brother.
The man he had saved from the depths of the Asura Abyss.
In Gu Cang’s hand spun a dark vortex—the Soul-Refining Bead.
“Brother Chen.” Gu Cang smiled, but there was no warmth in it.
“Do not blame us. Blame your own foolish naivety. In the path of cultivation, there is no room for trust. Your Monarch Physique and your Primordial Spirit Root will serve me well in the upper realms. With your power, Meng’er and I will rule the cosmos.”
Ye Chen let out a low, hollow laugh.
It shook blood from his lips.
Foolish.
Yes.
I was a fool.
He had trusted the wrong people.
Ignored the warning signs.
Let his guard down in the name of love and brotherhood.
Gu Cang raised the Soul-Refining Bead.
A terrifying suction force tore at Ye Chen’s chest.
His divine core cracked further—the translucent, glowing energy of his soul ripped from his flesh.
The agony was absolute.
As if his very existence was being ground between two cosmic millstones.
His vision faded into a dark, suffocating abyss.
But deep within the embers of his consciousness, a primal rage ignited.
If there is a reincarnation…
if the heavens have even a shred of justice left…
I will butcher you both.
I will pull down the stars to burn your sects to ash!
A blinding flash of crimson light exploded from the center of his collapsing soul.
A forbidden technique.
One he had found in an ancient ruin but never dared to use.
The Reversal of the Samsara Cycle.
The world shattered like glass.
A violent gasp tore from Ye Chen’s throat.
He bolted upright.
His lungs burned—as if he had been drowning in cold water.
His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped beast.
Instinctively, his hand flew to his back.
No wound.
No blood.
Instead of cold white jade, his palms pressed against rough, splintered wood.
The scent of copper and expensive silk was gone.
In its place—cheap medicinal herbs and old dust.
Ye Chen blinked.
Dim morning light filtered through a small, paper-covered window.
He was sitting on a hard wooden cot in a cramped, unadorned room.
He looked down at his hands.
Smaller.
Rougher.
Calloused from swinging a heavy iron training sword—not from wielding a divine artifact.
“This is…” His voice cracked.
It was the voice of a boy.
Not a monarch.
He rushed to a cracked bronze mirror on a small wooden table.
The face staring back was sixteen years old.
The sharp, cold eyes of a man who had killed thousands—but the face was young.
Untouched by the tragic wars of his later years.
He ran his spiritual awareness inward.
Checked his dantian.
No vast ocean of golden Qi.
Only a dry, withered space.
A single, fractured thread of spiritual energy.
My Primordial Spirit Root…
it is still broken.
Memory rushed back like a tidal wave.
This was the West Ward of the Lin Clan’s outer estate.
He was sixteen.
This was the exact year his father had disappeared into the dangerous Blackwood Forest—searching for a cure to his broken spirit roots.
Leaving him entirely unprotected.
“I… I returned?”
Ye Chen stared at his youthful hands.
A dark, brilliant spark lit up in his eyes.
“The Samsara Reversal succeeded. I have traveled ten years back into the past!”
Ten years.
Su Meng’er was still a minor disciple in a distant city.
Gu Cang was still an unrecognized bastard hiding in the lower realms.
None of the tragedies had happened yet.
The hidden treasures of the world.
The ancient heritages.
The legendary pills.
All untouched.
Waiting for someone to claim them.
Suddenly—a loud, mocking voice shattered the silence from the courtyard outside.
“Ye Chen! Get your useless carcass out here! The young master requires the daily ration of spirit stones from the outer treasury, and you are late delivering them!”
Ye Chen’s eyes narrowed into slits.
He recognized that voice.
Lin Bao.
The arrogant steward of the Lin Clan’s outer estate.
In his past life, because of his broken spirit roots and lack of background, Ye Chen had endured countless humiliations from this petty servant.
Eventually being beaten nearly to death before he managed to escape the clan.
A cold, ruthless smile formed on Ye Chen’s lips.
Gu Cang.
Su Meng’er.
Your nightmare begins today.
And I will start by cleaning the filth right in front of me.
Author’s Note:
Ten years rewound.
The Monarch returns to his weakest moment.
⏳
Su Meng’er and Gu Cang think they’ve won, but they have no idea what’s coming for them.