Then, as the despair threatened to swallow me whole, a new sensation appeared in my mind. It was something mechanical.
A translucent blue screen flickered into existence in my vision, visible only to me.
[System integration complete.]
[Host synchronization with 'Arya Chen' successful.]
[Welcome, Host, to the System Maker.]
I stared at the text, my breath catching in my throat. A system. My own golden finger. In a world where I was destined to be killed by a protagonist with a golden finger, I had received one of my own. The irony was a physical blow. The terror replaced by a surge of calculating hope.
[System Name: System Maker]
[Core Function 1: Subsystem Creation. The Host can design and create unique subsystems with specified functions.]
[Core Function 2: Anonymous Granting. Subsystems can be granted to any chosen target anonymously.]
[Core Function 3: The Harvest. Upon the death of a subsystem recipient, the Host will inherit 100% of the recipient's Cultivation Realm, Bloodline, Physique, and Talent.]
[Core Function 4: Luck Siphon. All subsystems operate by consuming the luck of their recipient. When a recipient's luck is fully depleted, they will inevitably face a fatal calamity.]
[Core Function 5: Recycle. The Host can, at will, trigger a fatal calamity for any subsystem user to initiate an early harvest. This function has a cooldown period.]
I read the descriptions over and over, my mind racing, processing the world-shattering implications. This was a tool to become a god.
Jin Hao had the soul of an ancient alchemist. It was a powerful guide, a source of knowledge. But my system was on another level entirely. I didn't need to hunt for treasures myself. I could create a "Treasure Hunter Subsystem" and give it to some ambitious cultivator. I could sit back, wait for them to gather a fortune, and then reap the rewards when their luck inevitably ran out. I could create a "Sword God Subsystem" for a martial fanatic, a "Pill Emperor Subsystem" for an alchemy genius.
The world was no longer a story I was trapped in. It was a farm. And everyone else, including the protagonist, was my potential crop.
The pieces of my new reality clicked into place, forming a coherent and exhilarating picture.
I was Arya Chen, the villain destined to die.
I was a transmigrator who knew the entire plot.
I possessed a system that could devour the destiny of others.
A slow smile spread across the handsome face in the mirror. The dormant fire in my obsidian eyes ignited, as a raging inferno of ambition and ruthless determination.
I had one week. It was a head start.
"Jin Hao," I whispered, my voice a low murmur that was entirely my own. "You think this world was written for you. You have no idea who the real protagonist is."
I walked over to the table and calmly poured myself a cup of tea. My hands were perfectly steady. The initial shock had passed, replaced by an icy resolve. I had to play my part perfectly. To the outside world, I was still Arya Chen, the proud genius of the Chen Family, friend of Meira Su. I would maintain that facade. I would let the gears of the plot begin to turn, just as they were supposed to.
But in the shadows, the System Maker would be at work.
I took a sip of the tea. It was fragrant and calming. I focused inward, feeling the immense power swirling in my Dantian. A sea of molten gold energy, the mark of an Initial Stage Golden Core. By the standards of this domain, I was a powerhouse, an expert far beyond my years. But I knew the truth. I knew it was nothing compared to the logic-defying growth a protagonist with plot armor was capable of. This power wasn't enough. It wasn't nearly enough to defy a hero blessed by the world's favor.
A soft knock came from the door. "Young Master, are you awake? The Patriarch wishes to see you."
I placed the cup down, my expression shifting in an instant. The calculating transmigrator vanished, replaced by the slightly cheerful visage of Arya Chen.
"I will be there shortly," I called out, my voice smooth and authoritative, a perfect imitation of the man I now was.
I stood up and began to dress.
Leaving my personal courtyard felt like stepping onto a stage. The Chen Family Estate was a sprawling masterpiece of classical architecture, a world of jade-tiled roofs that curved elegantly towards the sky, serene gardens where spiritual energy condensed into a visible morning mist, and wide corridors patrolled by guards in polished iron armor. To any outsider, it was a symbol of immense power and prosperity.
But I saw it through the lens of a reader who knew the ending. The grand spiritual formations humming beneath the flagstones were old, their energy flow sluggish and inefficient. The guards, while disciplined, were fewer in number than a clan of this stature should possess. I saw the cracks in the facade, the subtle signs of a slow decline that the novel had detailed so meticulously.
As I made my way toward the patriarch's study at the heart of the estate, servants and junior family members paused their duties to bow. Their expressions were a uniform mixture of awe, respect, and a healthy dose of fear. I was Arya Chen, the 21-year-old genius who had already stepped into the Golden Core realm. I was the family's greatest hope, their shining pillar. I gave each of them a cheerful smile and a slight nod, a gesture of acknowledgement that was both warm enough to inspire loyalty and distant enough to maintain authority. I played the part of the Eldest Son perfectly.
My mind, however, was a detached ledger. A young woman in a maid's uniform bowed deeply. Chen Yue, my internal memory supplied. In two years, she will be caught selling information to the Jin Family. Executed for treason. A guard captain gave me a crisp salute. Captain Fei. Dies in the first wave of Jin Hao's assault on the estate, defending the main gate. I passed my own cousin, Chen Wei, who was practicing his sword arts in a small clearing. He paused to greet me with a envious smile. Chen Wei. In the book, he's the first of the main family line to betray us, surrendering to Jin Hao in exchange for his life. He doesn't even get that.
I was walking among ghosts who didn't know they were dead yet. The feeling was profoundly isolating.