Chapter Text
Shang Qinghua remembered bits and pieces from before, like scattered fragments of another life. It was a slow, creeping sort of memory—the kind that appeared in flashes he couldn’t quite place, leaving him more confused than anything.
But one thing he did remember clearly was how it felt to be unwanted. How his family, his village, everyone had looked at him like something less—a weird, awkward child with none of the talents that the sect elders adored. Ordinary in every sense of the word, and if there was anything special about him, it was hidden too well for anyone to notice. Even his appearance was plain and forgettable; sometimes he overheard whispers calling him strange-looking, even ugly—but he learned not to mind. After all, there were much worse things than ugliness.
Then the memories came, fragments of a world that wasn’t this one, a life with different rules and names. He knew things he shouldn’t, things that set him apart, made him stranger in others' eyes. And then, one day, a cold, metallic voice rang in his mind:
“System activated.”
From that moment on, he was aware that he was different. He wasn’t just a forgotten child—he was part of a story, woven into a plot that had no room for personal deviations or small acts of kindness. At first, he tried to ignore the system’s nudges, tried to be a better person despite its insistence on keeping the story on track. But the system was relentless.
He still remembered that day at the Qiu household, the place where Yue Qingyuan and Shen Jiu had grown up. They were just kids, scared and alone, and Shang Qinghua had thought maybe—maybe—he could change things. It was worth a try, right? What harm could it do to ease their suffering, to give them a little bit of peace? But as he approached the household, the system’s cold voice echoed in his mind.
“Warning: Narrative deviation detected. Character arcs must remain unchanged.”
He had pushed forward anyway, his heart pounding with something that felt almost like hope. But before he could even reach the doorstep, he felt an invisible force pull him back, paralyzing him mid-step. The system's voice was emotionless, unyielding:
“OOC limit reached. Host actions will be corrected.”
And then he was back in his room, miles away, feeling like a puppet whose strings had been yanked too hard. No matter how much he begged, no matter how much he tried to reason, the system didn’t care. It had a story to tell—a story that required Yue Qingyuan to grow stronger through suffering, to save Shen Jiu later in life so that his soul would bind to Xian Shu’s sword, keeping him connected to the sect, but at the cost of his vitality. And Shen Jiu… Shen Jiu had to become the villain, his heart hardened by loneliness and bitterness so he could be the perfect foil to the protagonist.
Shang Qinghua had tried to protest, but all he got in response was cold indifference. “OOC detected. Further attempts to change the narrative will result in host control override.”
There was no kindness, no compassion. The system didn’t care about the lives at stake or the children it had to shape into tragic characters. All it saw was a plotline that needed to be preserved, and it would do anything—even take control of him completely—to keep it on track.
The next day, he had planned to run away. If he couldn’t change anything, then maybe he could at least escape, spare himself from watching helplessly as lives were twisted into preordained roles. He’d decided to leave it all behind, to vanish into the mountains and live a quiet life, far from the sect’s influence.
But the system had anticipated that, too. As he packed his belongings, he felt a strange numbness spread through his limbs, his body moving on its own, the system pulling his strings as if he were a puppet. His legs turned him around, guiding him step by step toward the Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, his protests silent, trapped behind the system’s will.
And all he could do was watch—watch as his own hands signed the forms, as his mouth spoke the words, as his feet carried him up to the sect that would become his cage. The system was efficient, ruthless, shaping him into the Peak Lord he was meant to be, all without sparing him a single thought.
As he sat alone in his office, thinking back on those days, Shang Qinghua felt the familiar ache in his chest. It was a quiet, empty pain, the kind that never quite went away.