It was quiet.
Not the kind of quiet that brought peace—but the kind that dragged on for so long it became suffocating.
Lian Xian sat beneath a bamboo canopy in the middle of his private realm, deep inside the void. A cup of tea rested beside him, untouched and cold. The soft rustle of the bamboo leaves overhead was the only sound, swaying in a wind that didn't truly exist.
He sighed.
The pond in front of him shimmered under the faint golden light that had no sun. Fat koi fish, each one stronger than most beasts in the outside world, glided through the water. They were beautiful. Elegant. Powerful. They were also… boring.
"Still swimming in circles," he murmured, lips tugging into a slight smirk. "Just like me."
Everything in this secret world was perfect. The mountains didn't erode. The rivers never dried. The flowers bloomed in cycles of color, never wilting. He had crafted this place as a sanctuary long ago—his own paradise. It had everything he could ever want.
And now, it felt like a cage.
He leaned back in his chair and stared up into the sky. There were stars there, ones he'd made himself. Each of them held a piece of a broken memory—fragments of the worlds he'd left behind. Mortal empires, immortal sects, gods and demons. He'd lived through them all. Conquered them all. There was nothing left to reach for.
He ran a hand through his dark hair, now streaked with a few strands of silver—not from age, but from sheer boredom.
It had been... he didn't even remember how long. Time flowed strangely in the void. It didn't really matter anymore.
He closed his eyes and took a breath, just to feel something. "So this is what it's like. To win everything. And still feel like I've lost."
A soft chime echoed in his mind, familiar and faint.
System Notification: Would you like to review your Task again, Host?
His eye twitched. "You again."
Task: Become the unseen hand. Control the merchants. Control the alchemists. Guide the realms. No throne, no crown—just quiet influence. Become the mastermind.
Lian Xian didn't answer immediately. He just sat there, watching the koi glide under the water. One of them leapt briefly into the air, casting ripples across the pond. He used to name them. He used to care.
He didn't anymore.
"I'm not sure what's worse," he said to no one in particular, "the endless silence or you constantly nagging me."
The system responded in its usual chipper tone.
Nagging implies resistance, Host. I am only reminding you that meaning must be made, not waited for.
Lian Xian almost laughed. Almost.
"It's a little late for life lessons," he said. "I've already died more than once."
He picked up the tea, took a sip, then grimaced. Cold. Of course it was. He could've rewound time in this place, made it hot again, fresh as the moment it was poured. But what was the point? Even perfection lost its taste.
He stood up, his robe swaying gently as he walked toward the edge of the pond. His reflection stared back at him. Same face, same eyes. Still looked like a man in his prime. But he didn't feel that way anymore.
"I made this world to rest," he said quietly. "But rest only works when there's something to rest from."
He paused, thinking.
The system's task had seemed ridiculous at first. Why would he—he, of all people—lower himself to play behind the scenes? Pull strings? Whisper into ears? It felt... beneath him.
But now?
Now it sounded almost interesting.
You've mastered strength, Host. But can you master fate?
The voice had an edge of challenge to it now. Or maybe he just imagined it. Maybe he wanted it to challenge him.
"I'm not promising anything," he said aloud. "But maybe… just maybe… it's time to stop floating here and start moving again."
A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. It was faint. But it was real.
"Let's see what the world's become without me."