Mu Lan's vision began to blur. Half an hour had passed since the grenade detonated. With today's medical technology, survival would've been possible—but he knew he didn't have much time. He'd been too close to the blast, and shrapnel had torn through his body. Thanks to years of intense physical conditioning from Defying the God, his body was slightly stronger than an ordinary person's—which explained how he'd lasted this long. But after thirty minutes of bleeding out at the scene… Mu Lan died.
Yet his name had already been etched into history.
—
After blowing Xen Zu's head off, Mu Lan had closed his eyes—filled with both pain and a strange sense of peace. But not long after, his eyes snapped open again. It felt as if he'd simply woken from a deep sleep… only to find himself in a place he knew all too well.
Panicked, he looked around—and realized he was back in his old room.
How was this possible?
He clearly remembered the explosion, the agony, Xen Zu's bloodied remains… yet here he was, standing in the very home he'd lost. Was this real… or some cruel dream?
Mu Lan leapt out of bed and rushed to the mirror. His reflection stunned him—he looked like a teenager again, no older than fifteen. His frail frame weighed barely forty kilograms. Jet-black hair framed a pair of striking red eyes that made him look almost otherworldly.
Still reeling, he hurried to his computer and checked the date.
Sunday, January 28, 2115.
A wave of euphoria crashed over him. He didn't understand how it had happened—but he'd been sent back in time. This was his second chance. And this time, he wouldn't repeat the same mistakes.
The global launch of Defying the God was just two days away.
And he knew exactly what to do.
This wasn't just luck—it was a priceless gift. With the knowledge of the future in his hands, he could rewrite everything. He swore again: this time, he'd make every person who'd hurt his family and friends pay. But first, he needed strength. He'd learned the hard way how fragile he truly was.
Now, with twenty years of future knowledge at his fingertips, Mu Lan felt invincible.
Without delay, he grabbed his phone and dialed his closest friend—praying he was still alive.
…
When the call connected, a familiar voice answered:
"What's up, bro?"
Mu Lan's eyes filled with tears.
Beng Zeng was alive.
"Hey, Mu? You there?" Beng asked.
Mu Lan wiped his eyes quickly. "Yeah, Beng… it's me. Listen—Defying the God launches in two days. Did you get the latest VR rigs?"
"I did! Lucky me—I snagged the last units. Hey, have you decided what class you're playing? They just announced the five main classes."
"I've made my choice," Mu Lan said firmly. "I'm going with Archer. And I want you to pick Paladin. Together, we'll be unstoppable. What do you say?"
"Wait—Paladin? I was gonna go Warrior! Real men play Warriors!"
"Trust me, Beng," Mu Lan insisted. "Do what I say, and no one will ever beat us. Our names alone will make enemies step aside. Come on—create a Paladin."
"You've been my best friend for twelve years. If I can't trust you, who can I trust?" Beng chuckled. "Alright, I'll make the Paladin. You mean the one with a mace in one hand and a shield in the other, right?"
"Exactly. I'll roll an Archer. Together, we'll be invincible. Where are you now? Bring the rigs over—we need to set up our accounts. The servers open tonight for character creation only. We won't be able to log into the full game yet, but we can lock in our builds."
"I was already on my way to your place," Beng replied. "Need anything else while I'm out?"
"Hold on a sec," Mu Lan said, quickly browsing the web. "I'm checking something…"
As he scrolled, two titles caught his eye:
"Old Martial Arts" and "Ten Thousand Kicks in One Strike."
Both were advanced combat manuals—AI-enhanced reconstructions of ancient techniques, priced at 30,000 and 10,000 credits respectively.
He turned back to the call.
"Go to Zang Huan's bookstore. Get those two books—Old Martial Arts and Ten Thousand Kicks in One Strike. Bring them with you."
"Alright, I'll grab them," Beng said, amused. "But since when do you care about martial arts? I didn't know you were into that stuff."
"A real man should know how to fight," Mu Lan replied, half-serious, half-playful. "Someday, it might save your life. Once I master these techniques, I'll teach you—or we can train together. We'll grow stronger side by side. What do you say?"
"Fine, fine," Beng laughed. "I'm hanging up—I'm already at the bookstore. I'll get the books and head straight to you."
As the call ended, Mu Lan smiled. He'd just planted a seed in Beng's mind—but the idea of growing stronger together had clearly excited his friend too.
—
Thirty minutes later.
Ding-dong.
The doorbell rang.
Mu Lan's heart leapt. After years—decades, in his mind—he was about to see his best friend again.
He rushed to the door and swung it open.
There stood Beng Zeng—fifteen years old, black-haired, brown-eyed, with the same slightly round belly and mischievous grin Mu Lan remembered so well. Tears welled in Mu Lan's eyes once more.
"Whoa, what's wrong?" Beng teased, unchanged as ever. "Did you miss me that much? Why are you crying?"
"I'm not crying," Mu Lan sniffed. "Dust just got in my eyes when I opened the door."
"Sure, sure," Beng smirked, stepping inside. "Whatever you say, tough guy."
They walked into the apartment together. Mu Lan now knew for certain: Beng was alive. And if Beng was alive… then his family probably was too.
At this point in the timeline, Mu Lan's parents were away on a business trip overseas. Since he was in high school, he and Beng had rented this place together and lived as roommates.
Mu Lan looked around the familiar space—the posters on the wall, the cluttered desk, the faint smell of instant noodles.
It was real.
He had truly traveled back in time.