Meng Qiao stretched lazily in his cushioned observation chair, one hand reaching for another candied spirit fruit while the other adjusted the viewing formation floating before him. The projection showed a bird's eye view of the Realm of the Chosen, its golden afternoon light making everything look pleasantly warm and inviting.

"Best job in the sect," he murmured to himself, popping the sweet fruit into his mouth. The juice burst across his tongue with a hint of spiritual energy that made his meridians tingle pleasantly. "One thousand spirit stones a month just to sit here and watch a bunch of delusional mortals play pretend."

At twenty-five and at the Elemental Realm, Meng Qiao had lucked into what he considered the cushiest assignment in the Azure Peak Sect. While other inner disciples risked their lives hunting spirit beasts or mining in dangerous spiritual veins, he got to lounge in the comfortable Realm Monitoring Division, keeping an eye on one of the sect's subject realms. The work was so easy it barely qualified as work at all.

The Realm of the Chosen had been under sect supervision for over two centuries now, and in all that time, the monitoring reports showed the same thing: a stable world full of arrogant locals who thought they were protagonists in some grand story. Occasionally someone would rise to a decent cultivation level and cause minor disturbances, but nothing that ever required actual intervention.

Meng Qiao had been assigned to this particular realm for three years now, and he'd learned to find the entertainment value in watching the inhabitants' endless delusions of grandeur. Just yesterday he'd watched some self-proclaimed "Phoenix Reborn" get casually slaughtered by another cultivator calling himself the "Sword of Destiny." The whole thing had been so absurd he'd nearly choked on his tea laughing.

"Let's see what the 'chosen ones' are up to today," he murmured, adjusting the formation to scan across different regions.

The viewing array could focus on any part of the realm, zoom in on specific areas, or even track particular individuals if needed. It was an impressive piece of formation work, though Meng Qiao had never bothered to learn how it actually functioned. Why fix what wasn't broken?

His attention was immediately caught by unusual activity in the eastern plains outside Hope City. Two figures stood facing each other while spiritual energy crackled between them like miniature lightning storms. Both were radiating the kind of power that made the viewing formation's stabilization arrays work overtime just to maintain a clear image.

"Well, well," Meng Qiao said, leaning forward with genuine interest. "Looks like we have some actual combat today."

He recognized the spiritual signatures from the sect's tournament records. These weren't random local cultivators; these were outer sect disciples using the realm for their individual elimination match. Yuan Zhen and Ke Yin, two of the most talked-about participants in this year's competition.

Yuan Zhen was the more famous of the two, a mathematical genius who'd somehow found a way to apply advanced theoretical concepts to cultivation. The guy should have advanced to inner sect status last year, but had chosen to remain in the outer sect for reasons that sparked endless gossip among the disciples. Some said he was gathering combat experience. Others claimed he was waiting for the perfect moment to make his advancement more dramatic. And then there were the rumours that he was the son of the Sect Master himself.

Ke Yin, on the other hand, was the dark horse everyone was watching. Less than a year in the sect and already considered a tournament favorite. Meng Qiao had heard wild stories about the kid's achievements: suspiciously fast cultivation speed, mysterious techniques, even rumors that he'd somehow gotten personal attention from Elder Chen Yong.

"This should be interesting," Meng Qiao murmured, reaching for his tea cup while keeping his eyes fixed on the projection.

The battle that unfolded was unlike anything he'd seen in three years of monitoring this realm. Yuan Zhen manifested a massive spiritual avatar that towered over the landscape like some ancient war god, while Ke Yin responded by somehow turning the entire battlefield into a dense forest that seemed to have a mind of its own.

"By the heavens," Meng Qiao breathed, nearly dropping his tea as he watched the colossal avatar get overwhelmed by endlessly growing plant life. "That kid's techniques are insane."

The fight ended with Yuan Zhen's honorable surrender, both disciples showing the kind of mutual respect that was rare in cultivation battles. Meng Qiao found himself oddly impressed by their conduct. Too many cultivators let victory or defeat turn them into raging beasts or bitter enemies.

As Ke Yin's spiritual manifestation departed the realm, Meng Qiao settled back in his chair to watch the aftermath. The real entertainment usually came from seeing how the locals reacted to divine intervention. He'd watched enough "descents" to know that the inhabitants would spend weeks analyzing every detail, weaving increasingly elaborate stories about what they'd witnessed.

But this time felt different. Instead of the usual awed reverence or fearful worship, Meng Qiao noticed something troubling. The local inhabitants who'd been "converted" by the divine presence weren't returning to their normal delusional behavior. If anything, they seemed to be spreading some kind of rational thinking that was undermining the realm's fundamental nature.

"Disbelievers," he muttered, recognizing the term from the folders that were given to him about the realm. "That's not good."

He watched with growing unease as these "awakened" individuals began systematically converting others through philosophical arguments and demonstrations. The process was spreading like wildfire through Hope City, turning convinced believers into clear-thinking skeptics who questioned everything they'd previously accepted as divine truth.

"Come on, you idiots," Meng Qiao said, addressing the projection as if the inhabitants could hear him. "Just go back to believing you're special. It's so much easier that way."

But they didn't. Instead, he watched as local Tribunal forces arrived to deal with what they clearly saw as a spiritual plague. The white-robed figures moved with the kind of brutality that made Meng Qiao wince, even though he kept reminding himself these weren't real people.

The confrontation that followed was devastating.

He watched Du Yanze, the vessel Ke Yin had been using, make a desperate last stand with his converted allies. The ancient tree burned alive while a tiny sapling screamed for her "papa." Feng Zhaoyang simply... ceased to exist, erased by techniques Meng Qiao couldn't even identify. Du Yanze himself died protecting that little plant spirit, his final act one of pure sacrifice.

Meng Qiao found his hands clenched into fists, his tea growing cold as he stared at the aftermath. The emotion hitting him was unexpected and unwelcome. These were just manifestations of someone else's inner world. They weren't real people with real feelings and real relationships.

So why did watching them die feel like witnessing an actual tragedy?

"Get it together," he told himself firmly. "They're not real. They're just…"

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The world flickered.

Meng Qiao blinked, wondering if something was wrong with his eyes. But no, the projection itself had stuttered, like a formation experiencing spiritual interference.

Then the impossible happened.

The image began rewinding. Not replaying previous scenes, but actually reversing. The smoking ruins of Hope City restored themselves. The dead rose from ash and walked backward into life. The sun in the sky traced backward along its path until...

"What in the nine hells?" Meng Qiao shot upright in his chair, nearly knocking over his tea.

The projection now showed the exact same scene he'd been watching two days ago. Du Yanze was waking up in the City Lord's library, the same golden afternoon light streaming through the same windows.

He fumbled for his monitoring manual, flipping through pages with shaking hands. Time reversal. Temporal anomalies. Chronological disturbances. Nothing. The manual had no section covering what to do when an entire realm decided to rewind itself.

"Maybe it was just a formation glitch," he said aloud, trying to calm his racing heart. "These arrays are complex. Probably just a feedback loop or something."

But even as he spoke, he knew it wasn't true. The formation was working perfectly. It was the realm itself that had somehow reset.

For the next few hours, Meng Qiao watched with growing fascination and dread as events played out almost identically to what he'd observed before, the only thing missing was the presence of the Azure Peak disciples. Du Yanze and his allies died the same deaths, the Tribunal achieved the same victory, and Meng Qiao felt the same unwelcome grief watching it happen again.

Then the world flickered and reset once more.

"This is not normal," he whispered, leaning forward to peer intently at the projection. "This is definitely not normal."

The third iteration was when he started paying real attention to the details. He tracked Du Yanze specifically, noting that the young man seemed to be the only constant. Every reset began with him waking up in that library. Every cycle ended with his death at the hands of the Tribunal forces.

By the fourth reset, Meng Qiao was taking detailed notes, trying to identify any variations in the pattern. But it was the fifth cycle that confirmed his suspicions. He watched Du Yanze display knowledge and abilities that he hadn't possessed in previous iterations. The young man was the only one remembering. Learning. Growing stronger with each loop.

"A time loop," Meng Qiao breathed. "Someone created an actual time loop."

He thought back to the battle he'd witnessed between Ke Yin and Yuan Zhen. Ke Yin had been Du Yanze's vessel. The strange events had only started after the divine being's departure. Which meant...

"No way," he said, shaking his head. "There's no way some outer sect disciple created a time loop. That's Civilization Realm territory. Beyond Civilization Realm, even."

But the evidence was right there in front of him. Every time Du Yanze died, the realm reset. Every reset began exactly when Ke Yin had helped the kid breakthrough. The connection was impossible to ignore.

Meng Qiao stared at the projection for a long moment, watching Du Yanze begin his sixth attempt at saving his world. The young man's eyes held a haunted, traumatic look.

"This is way above my pay grade," Meng Qiao muttered, wiping his clammy palms on his robe. He reached for the communication array that connected him directly to his supervising elder.

His fingers hesitated for just a moment before activating the formation. This was not going to be a fun conversation.

The array lit up, and after a brief flicker of stabilizing light, Elder Han’s face appeared in the hovering projection: stern, sharp-eyed, and wearing the expression of a man who'd been interrupted during his meditation.

"This better be important, Meng Qiao," Elder Han snapped. "I specifically said not to contact me unless—"

"I know, Uncle," Meng Qiao cut in, eyes darting toward the recording crystal in the corner. He lowered his voice, trying to sound formal. "I wouldn't bother you unless it was serious. There's been a situation with the Realm of the Chosen. I think you need to see this."

"A situation?" The edge in Elder Han's voice had a new layer now, not just irritation, but suspicion. "What kind of situation? Don't tell me one of your mortals declared themselves an immortal phoenix again. Or are you just bored and looking for a promotion?"

Meng Qiao forced a grin, then let it drop. "No jokes. This one’s real. The realm is... looping. Resetting. I've observed multiple full cycles. Each time, it starts again from a fixed point, two days ago, in the City Lord’s library. Same events, same people. Except for one variable: Du Yanze. He's retaining memories across cycles. He’s learning. Adapting."

Silence fell like a stone between them.

Elder Han’s expression slowly shifted. His scowl flattened, the irritation bleeding out of him until only blank calculation remained.

"Looping," he repeated flatly.

"Yes, Uncle. Sir. Time is literally reversing and replaying itself. The realm resets when Du Yanze dies. I've confirmed it five times now. The formation's functioning perfectly; it's not a visual error. It's the realm itself."

Elder Han exhaled slowly, gaze drifting to something off-screen.

For a long moment, Meng Qiao saw not a powerful elder, but the husband of his mother's sister, the man who had once drunk sour plum tea on family visits and quietly promised to get the lazy nephew a quiet post if he kept his head down.

That promise had landed Meng Qiao in the Realm Monitoring Division, a position most sect members didn’t even know existed. It was supposed to be boring. Safe. Dummy work for a not-so-brilliant disciple with good family ties.

But now?

"This isn't just some rare phenomenon," Elder Han said at last, voice low. "You're telling me a controlled realm has somehow developed autonomous temporal recursion. That... that shouldn’t be possible…”

Meng Qiao nodded. "That's what I thought. I checked the manuals; nothing about full realm recursion. I thought maybe it was a glitch. But it's not. It's real. And it has something to do with Ke Yin."

That got the elder's attention like a slap.

"Ke Yin? The favorite to win the Outer Sect Tournament? The one the Sect Master himself forbade the elders from approaching?"

"Yes, that one. Du Yanze was Ke Yin’s vessel," Meng Qiao explained quickly, realising from his uncle’s reaction that this was bigger than he thought. "It started right after Ke Yin exited the realm. I think... I think he may have done something to Du Yanze. Intentionally or not."

Elder Han’s face went pale.

“Don’t speak of this to anyone else,” he said, all familial warmth extinguished in an instant. “Not even your mother. Especially not your mother. Record everything. Every loop. Every deviation. I’ll contact the Sect Master immediately.”

Meng Qiao’s eyes widened. “You’re actually calling the—”

But the connection cut before he could finish.

Meng Qiao sat back in his chair, heart hammering in his chest, the silent aftermath of the call hanging heavy in the air. He reached for another candied spirit fruit with a shaking hand.

On the projection, Du Yanze was sitting cross-legged in the library again.

The seventh attempt had begun.

Meng Qiao popped the fruit into his mouth and muttered, “Hmm, this might not be the best job in the sect..."