"Creating a technique… by watching?"

Mo Huyan repeated the words slowly, as if tasting them, her amethyst eyes widening in disbelief. For a brief moment, she openly stared at Wang Chen, as though trying to confirm whether the man seated before her was truly the same person she thought she knew.

She had always known this little cultivator was special. Anyone who could enter and leave this accursed place so freely could not be ordinary.

But this?

This went beyond talent. Beyond recklessness.

It was madness.

Never, in all her long existence, had she seen someone dare to believe they could create a technique simply by observing the workings of fate itself.

Wang Chen noticed her reaction and sneered inwardly.

Laugh all you want.

His fists clenched tightly at his sides, knuckles whitening, his voice turning hard and unyielding.

"Mock me if you wish," he said evenly. "But this is something I, Wang Chen, will achieve."

To others, his words would sound arrogant. Naïve. The delusions of a man who had overestimated himself and refused to accept reality.

But Wang Chen was not stupid.

He knew exactly how absurd his goal was.

He knew how many geniuses had failed attempting far less.

Yet what choice did he have?

This was not about pride. Not about proving anything to the world.

It was about survival.

If he failed, he would die.

Simple as that.

"This guy…"

Mo Huyan's lips parted slightly. The oppressive radiance surrounding her figure dimmed, almost imperceptibly, as she studied his expression more closely.

That look.

It wasn't arrogance.

It wasn't ignorance.

It was resolve carved from desperation.

Something ancient stirred within her heart, an emotion she had long since buried and forgotten. The kind that once belonged to reckless youths who challenged the heavens not because they believed they would win, but because they refused to kneel.

For the first time since entering the cave, the way Mo Huyan looked at Wang Chen changed.

Earlier, Mo Huyan had regarded him as nothing more than a convenient key.

A cultivator with just enough peculiarity to pry open the sealed paths of this forsaken place. Useful, disposable, forgettable.

Now, however, as she stood within the cold, cramped cave and watched Wang Chen sit unmoving amid decades of dust and silence, something subtle shifted inside her.

A faint trace of admiration quietly took root.

She admired people like this.

Weak, yet unyielding.

Insignificant in the grand scheme of heaven and earth, yet daring enough to lift their heads and glare straight into the abyss, refusing to look away.

"Creating a technique that could steal fate itself…"

She murmured the words softly, almost reverently. Her voice echoed faintly against the stone walls before fading into the stagnant air. A shadow of melancholy passed through her amethyst eyes, as though those words had brushed against memories she had long sealed away. Old ambitions. Old failures. Old defiance against an uncaring heaven.

Wang Chen noticed her dazed silence, but he did not interrupt.

If anything, he hoped she would leave.

Time was his most precious resource now. He had already burned centuries here. Every breath he took felt heavy, every heartbeat measured against an invisible countdown ticking somewhere far above his head.

Yet no matter how much he tried to ignore it, the truth had already settled deep in his bones.

As he was now, there was no way he could complete this alone.

He needed a breakthrough.

Or help.

Right now, he was nothing more than an ant plucked from the ground and lifted into the boundless sky, legs thrashing in empty air.

The task before him was fundamentally impossible.

After all, no matter how long an ant trained—hundreds of years, thousands, even millions—it would never gain the strength to hold up the heavens.

And yet, Wang Chen remained seated.

Right now, he was that ant, standing beneath the crushing weight of the sky, shoulders trembling, bones creaking, veins screaming—

Still refusing to let it fall.

However, Wang Chen was not hopeless.

Because he had the tower.

That single thought alone was enough to keep him from sinking into despair.

"Maybe… if I can get a suitable class…"

The idea ignited like a spark in dry grass. His thoughts began racing, flashing one after another like lightning tearing through a storm cloud. The tower did not only grant strength; it granted paths. Just like the Gardener class had perfectly aligned with the gardening task, there might exist a class designed for comprehension, creation, and refinement.

A class that could accelerate understanding.

A class that could birth techniques.

If such a class existed, it would change everything.

It was a reckless gamble. A dangerous one.

But Wang Chen had long since crossed the line where caution alone could save him. Even if his fortune was thin, even if it was barely holding together, it was still fortune. And fortune, no matter how little, could still be wagered.

As his mind churned, Mo Huyan slowly came back to herself.

The distant haze in her amethyst eyes cleared, replaced by sharp contemplation. She studied Wang Chen's unmoving figure, as if seeing him anew. The cave felt smaller all of a sudden, the air heavier, as though something unseen had shifted.

Then, without warning, she flicked her finger.

A strand of dark-gold light slipped out from her sleeve.

It was thin as silk, yet carried a weight that made the surrounding space subtly distort. Before Wang Chen could even react, before instinct or thought could rise, the thread pierced straight into his forehead and vanished.

His body stiffened.

Information flooded his mind like a collapsing dam.

"Legacy of the Thief Supreme…"

The words escaped his lips unconsciously, barely louder than a whisper.

Just the name alone sent a chill down his spine. It was not domineering like an emperor's scripture, nor radiant like a divine inheritance. It was cold, sharp, and predatory, as if the technique itself was alive and watching him.

Before he could stop himself, Wang Chen instinctively began to recite the opening lines, the words imprinting themselves deep into his soul.

Stealing from man, snatching from woman.

Stealing from the earth, stealing from heaven.

The cave fell into complete silence.

Even the wind outside seemed to hold its breath.

There is nothing in this world that this hand cannot steal.

As the final words echoed in his mind, an image slowly took shape within Wang Chen's consciousness.

A man.

Carefree. Unrestrained.

He walked through the nine realms as if they were his private courtyard, his steps light, his laughter indifferent. Heaven and earth bent beneath his passing, not because he demanded it, but because he took what he wanted. Fate, fortune, authority—nothing was beyond his grasp. With a single technique, he plundered the heavens themselves, leaving even destiny bare and bleeding behind him.

Dominating the world not through force… but through theft.

Wang Chen's breathing subtly quickened.

Only after fully digesting the meaning behind the legacy did he lift his gaze toward Mo Huyan. The way he looked at her had changed completely. The previous wariness and annoyance were gone, replaced by something far more complex—shock, caution, and a trace of restrained gratitude.

He was not stupid.

In an instant, he understood.

This legacy did not simply grant power. It revealed a path.

Before this, he had been like a blind man loosing arrows into the dark, hoping one would miraculously strike the target. Now, for the first time, a clear direction lay before him. A method to truly touch fate itself. A way to achieve the impossible goal he had stubbornly clung to for centuries.

Wang Chen took a deep breath, forcibly calming the turbulent storm in his heart. His gaze sharpened, locking onto Mo Huyan as he asked slowly, each word measured and sincere.

"Why are you helping me…?"

It was not suspicion alone, but genuine confusion.

After all, the last time they met, he had not exactly been kind.

The words he once said resurfaced clearly in his mind.

Hope I don't see you again…

He didn't regret saying them. Even now, part of him still meant it. If Mo Huyan had never appeared again, he would have continued walking his own path in silence, grinding away at impossibility through sheer stubbornness.

Yet here she was.

And here he stood, holding a legacy that might decide whether he lived… or was erased by fate itself.

Perhaps amused by his question, Mo Huyan's lips curved upward. She did not answer immediately. Instead, she studied Wang Chen as if he were an unfamiliar puzzle, then let out a soft, melodious laugh that echoed faintly within the cave.

"Little cultivator, you really are interesting…" she said lightly. "Do you truly believe you can master the Legacy of the Thief Supreme? A being unshackled across all nine realms, someone who stole from heaven itself and walked away laughing?"

Her tone carried mockery, curiosity, and something else buried deeper beneath the surface.

Wang Chen did not flinch.

He did not argue.

He did not explain himself.

He simply met her gaze and spoke again, his voice calm but unyielding.

"That doesn't answer my question."

The words were simple, yet they struck with surprising weight.

For the first time since she appeared, Mo Huyan's expression faltered.

The teasing smile froze on her lips. The faint arrogance in her posture softened, almost imperceptibly. Those amethyst eyes that had seen countless lives rise and fall narrowed slightly, as if reassessing the man before her.

"…Do you really want to know?" she asked quietly.

The playful cadence was gone now, replaced by something more serious. Something closer to caution.

Wang Chen nodded.

No hesitation.

No fear.

His gaze was steady, unwavering, as if he had already braced himself for whatever truth awaited him.

"Yes."

He was ready to hear the answer.

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