The sterile hum of fluorescent lights filled the stuffy classroom, a monotonous drone that had lulled half the students into a state of near-slumber. On the blackboard, the history teacher, Mr. Liu, droned on about the socio-economic impact of the "Gate" emergences over the past decade—a topic of dull irrelevance to teenagers more concerned with the upcoming university entrance exams than with otherworldly monsters. The air was thick with the scent of chalk dust, stale sweat, and the faint, sweet aroma of a smuggled-in milk tea from the back of the room.
For Wei Heng, these mundane sensations were the first anchor pulling him back to a reality he thought he had lost forever.
His eyes snapped open. It wasn't the slow, languid movement of someone waking from a nap, but a sharp, violent jolt as if a switch had been flipped in the core of his being. The world assaulted him in full force. The chafe of his cheap polyester uniform against his skin, the rhythmic tapping of a pen against a desk, the sight of sunlight glinting off the grimy windowpane—each detail was alien, raw, and overwhelmingly real after millennia spent in a realm of pure, ethereal energy.
His mind wasn't filled with confusion, but with a cold, absolute confirmation that sent a tremor through his soul. 'The final trial... Past Regret... It worked. The legacy is complete.'
He felt his body. It was a vessel of weakness. Untrained. The bones felt brittle, the muscles unformed and soft. It was the body of a seventeen-year-old who spent more time studying than training. Yet, within his Dantian, at the center of his spiritual energy, pulsed a nucleus of power so dense it was terrifying. It was a compressed universe of knowledge and strength—the power of 100,000 peak experts, from sword saints who could cleave mountains to void mages who could fold space itself. All of it was now sealed tightly beneath the unassuming facade of an ordinary high school student.
His gaze swept across the classroom. He didn't see classmates; he saw data points. Li Wei, the class clown in the third row, would die in the initial city-wide invasion in two years, a casualty of a collapsing building while trying to save a stray cat. Chen Jing, the quiet girl by the window, would awaken as a B-Rank healer but perish from mana exhaustion during the second wave. His gaze lingered for a moment on each face, their entire life trajectories—past, present, and original future—flashing through his mind with the cold precision of a supercomputer. This was a fraction of the inheritance: the analytical prowess of a grand strategist, the foresight of a celestial seer. It was a curse as much as a gift.
"Wei Heng? Are you listening?" Mr. Liu's voice, sharp with irritation, cut through his silent analysis. The teacher, a man in his late forties with a receding hairline and a perpetually weary expression, tapped his textbook impatiently. "This will be on the exam. The establishment of the China Ability User Association was a pivotal moment..."
Wei Heng didn't answer. He stood up.
The movement was so sudden and imbued with such purpose that the entire class fell silent. The tapping pen stopped. The whispers died. Mr. Liu paused mid-sentence, his mouth slightly agape. "Wei Heng, sit down! Class isn't over!"
He ignored the command, his focus already a world away. Every pair of eyes in the room was fixed on him, sensing a strange, oppressive aura—not of power, but of unshakeable authority. It was as if an ancient emperor had just awakened in their midst, and their classroom was merely a trivial speck in his vast domain.
"Is there something you wish to share with the class, Wei Heng?" Mr. Liu asked, his tone shifting from annoyance to unease.
Wei Heng turned his head slowly, his eyes meeting the teacher's. For ten thousand years, he had conversed with beings who could shatter stars with a thought. The petty authority of a high school teacher was less than nothing. Yet, he had to play the part.
"I'm not feeling well, sir," he said. His voice was calm, level, and devoid of the usual teenage nervousness. It was the voice of someone stating an irrefutable fact, not asking for permission. "I need to go home."
Before Mr. Liu could formulate a response, Wei Heng turned and walked out of the classroom. His steps were calm and steady, each one measured. The crowded school hallway, a chaotic sea of students during the break, seemed to part for him. His mind was already working ten steps ahead, processing a torrent of information from his past lives.
'First, capital,' he thought, his eyes scanning the bustling street outside the school gates. 'The cryptocurrency market is about to experience a minor, unpredicted surge in three days. An initial investment of my life savings—a pitiful 2,000 yuan—should yield enough to begin phase one.' He recalled the precise market fluctuations, a memory inherited from a financial magnate who was one of the 100,000 souls.
'Second, physical enhancement.' His current body was pathetic. He needed to begin cultivation immediately, but the ambient Qi on this version of Earth was thin and polluted. 'The hidden dungeon in the abandoned Nanping warehouse district. It contains the 'Spring of Restoration.' Low-risk, high-reward. It was originally discovered six months from now by a lucky F-Rank scavenger who sold it to the Azure Dragon Guild for a pittance. I will claim it tonight.'
'Third, personnel.' He couldn't save the world alone. He needed allies—the future pillars of humanity. 'Gao Qiang. He's currently working three part-time jobs to support the orphanage he grew up in. In three weeks, a low-level Gate will open nearby. An Abyssal Crawler swarm. He'll die protecting the children, his potential as an S-Rank physical enhancer never realized. I must be there.'
The journey home felt like a pilgrimage through a ghost's memory. The city of Fuzhou was a vibrant, living thing around him—a stark contrast to the cratered, ash-strewn wasteland he remembered. He passed a public square where a large screen displayed news reports of a successful dungeon clear by the famous Azure Dragon Guild, featuring a brief, dazzling shot of a young woman with fierce eyes and movements as fluid as water—Lin Xia. He watched for a moment, a flicker of professional respect in his ancient eyes.
'A crucial piece on the board. But not yet.'
The modest, slightly run-down apartment building was unchanged. He climbed the stairs to the third floor, each step heavy with the weight of ten millennia of memory and regret. He stopped before the door numbered 304. His hand, the hand of a seventeen-year-old boy, trembled as it reached for the doorknob. This was the true final trial. Not a test of power or intellect, but of his very soul.
The door opened. In the small, cramped kitchen, a middle-aged woman was cooking, her back to him. The air was filled with the comforting aroma of stir-fried tomatoes and eggs. Her face, when she turned, was tired, with fine lines etched around her eyes from years of worry and hard work. But she was alive. She was breathing. She was real.
The image superimposed itself over his last memory of her: her body, broken and cold in his arms, as the city burned around them, consumed by the abyssal flames.
For a single, shattering moment, the unshakable calm of the ten-thousand-year cultivator cracked. The stoicism, the detachment, the cold logic—it all dissolved in the face of this one, simple truth.
"A-Heng? You're home? So early..." his mother, Su Ling, said, her voice a mixture of surprise and concern. Her smile was weary but genuine. It froze when she saw the look on her son's face—an expression of such raw, ancient pain that it didn't belong on a teenager. "What's wrong? Did something happen at school?"
Wei Heng stepped forward. He said nothing. Words were inadequate, meaningless. He simply pulled his mother into a fierce, desperate embrace, burying his face in her thin shoulder. A long-lost warmth flooded him, a purely human sensation so powerful it almost choked him. He could feel the frailness of her bones, the gentle rhythm of her breathing. It was the most real thing he had experienced in ten thousand years.
Su Ling was stunned for a moment, then her arms wrapped around him, patting his back with a gentle, maternal rhythm. "There, there... whatever it is, it's okay. You can tell Mom."
He couldn't. How could he explain? 'I've missed you for ten thousand years. I watched you die. I crossed worlds and lifetimes just for this moment.'
He held her tightly, anchoring himself to the tangible heat of her body—a foreign concept he had to relearn.
'This time,' he vowed, his eyes squeezed shut, hiding the storm of resolve within. 'I won't just protect you. I will protect the world that shelters you. No god, no demon, no entity from any abyss will take this from me again.'
The 100,000th requirement was fulfilled. The inheritance was his.
And the real war had just begun.