The air in the VIP suite of the St. Jude Medical Center in Zurich smelled of ozone, dying orchids, and old money.
Guo Yi lay in the center of the room. He was forty-five, but looked eighty. His body was a withered husk, the price of a life he never truly owned.
To the weeping public outside, he was the "Saint of the Century," the CEO of Janus Group who had stabilized the global economy.
To the "Steward Council"—the shadow organization that had plucked him from a freezing orphanage gutter when he was six—he was merely Asset 01.
Guo Yi stared at the ceiling, memories of the "training" flashing behind his eyes. They hadn't just taught him business. They had drilled him in the dark arts of human management: how to break a man's ego with silence, how to seduce an heiress to secure a merger, how to make a population thank you for their own enslavement.
They wanted the perfect businessman. To ensure it, they pumped him full of experimental serums to heighten his cognitive functions, turning him into a strategic genius. But the cost was this failing, brittle body and a lifetime of surveillance.
"Sir?"
Arthur, his Chief of Operations—and the Council's handler assigned to watch him—stood by the bed.
Guo Yi opened his eyes. For decades, he had worn the mask they created: the calm, rational, profit-maximizing machine. He had hidden his true nature—a terrifying, unhinged hunger for domination—because he knew the Council would terminate a "defective" asset.
But today, the asset was expiring anyway. The mask could finally crack.
"The Mumbai Water Project," Guo Yi whispered, his voice raspy but vibrating with a strange, new energy. "Did the UN ratify the exemption clause?"
"No, sir," Arthur replied softly. "The Human Rights Council blocked it. They say our sterilization additive violates international law."
Guo Yi's hand clenched the bedsheet.
"Laws," he spat, the word tasting like ash. "Always fucking laws. The Council trained me to be a King, Arthur, but they shackled me like a slave. They gave me the mind to dominate nations but forced me to act within their 'sustainable parameters'."
He stared at Arthur with eyes that were no longer dull. They burned with a lifetime of suppressed rage.
"I played the game, Arthur. I made them trillions. I acted the part of the benevolent banker. But I am suffocated by this leash."
"Sir, please. Your heart rate..."
"I refuse to die as their puppet!" Guo Yi wheezed, a cruel, terrifying smile stretching his pale lips. "If I cannot own this world... then I will break it."
"Sir?"
"Execute Protocol 'Prometheus'."
Arthur dropped his tablet. It shattered against the pristine floor. "Sir... Prometheus overloads the containment fields of every Janus-operated nuclear reactor in Africa. It's... It's not a meltdown. It's a detonation. You'll kill millions. The Council will never approve this!"
"The Council isn't here," Guo Yi whispered, his voice dropping to a low, demonic hum. "Only I am here. And for the first time in forty years, Fuck the Council."
"You... you are insane. You've been hiding this?"
"I am simply liquidating my frustrations, Arthur. Do it. Push the button. Let me hear the silence before I go. It would be very unpleasant to u, Arthur, if I have to repeat myself."
Arthur, trembling, reached for the emergency override. He had been trained to obey Guo Yi's voice above all else—a fatal flaw in the Council's conditioning. He turned the key.
"Protocol Active," the automated voice chimed cheerfully.
Guo Yi laughed. It was a wet, hacking sound, but it was filled with pure, unadulterated freedom. The regret faded, replaced by the anticipation of the boom.
The monitor let out a long, singular whine.
The Puppet had cut its strings. And the world was burning.
"Xiao Tian! Stop pretending to sleep! Customers are waiting!"
The voice was sharp, loud, and annoyingly familiar.
Xiao Tian gasped, his eyes snapping open. He expected the void. He expected hell.
Instead, he smelled... Star Anise? Braised pork? High-quality yellow wine?
He sat up. The vertigo hit him hard. He wasn't in a hospital bed. He was lying on a soft, silk-covered quilt in a room filled with mahogany furniture. Sunlight streamed through a window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air.
He looked at his hands. They were small. Smooth. Unblemished. He touched his face. Soft skin. No stubble. No wrinkles.
He looked at the calendar on the wall. A distinct, tearing-style calendar. October 1978.
"Get up!"
A girl stormed into the room. She looked about ten years old, wearing a pristine red dress and shiny leather shoes—items that screamed 'wealth' in this era of grey and blue Mao suits. She had her hands on her hips, glaring at him.
"Mom said if you don't get up, she's giving your portion of the Red Braised Pork to Xiao Xin!"
Xiao Tian blinked, confused. Xiao Xin? Xiao Tian? Who are these people? My name is Guo Yi.
He stared at the girl. Suddenly, a sharp pain spiked in his temples. A deluge of memories that weren't his—yet were entirely his—flooded his brain, seamlessly integrating with his own consciousness.
Xiao Tian. That is my name now.Xiao Wan. Older Sister. Ten years old. Bossy. Dotes on me but hides it behind aggression.
"I'm up," Xiao Tian said. His voice was high and childish. He paused, testing the vocal cords. He cleared his throat and spoke again, slower, with more authority. "I'm up, Sister."
He slid off the bed. He was wearing high-quality cotton pajamas. He walked to the mirror. A six-year-old boy stared back. Handsome, well-fed, healthy.
1978, Xiao Tian thought. Reform and Opening Up is months away. The market is virgin territory.
He clenched his small fist. No Council. No handlers. No experimental drugs poisoning his blood. He retained the genius they had drilled into him, the manipulative instincts they had sharpened, but now... he was free.
"Why are you smiling like a creep?" Xiao Wan poked his forehead. "And why are you standing so... straight?"
Xiao Tian looked at his sister. In his past life, he had to suppress his ruthlessness. Here? The laws were suggestions. The world was gray. He could finally be himself.
"Just thinking about the pork," Xiao Tian lied smoothly, flashing a charming, innocent smile that disarmed her instantly.
"Hmph. Glutton." She grabbed his hand. "Come on. Head Chef Liu is trying out a new dish."
They walked downstairs. The restaurant was closed for the afternoon break, but the smell of rich stock was intoxicating. In the main hall, a toddler—maybe three years old—was waddling around holding a stuffed tiger. Xiao Xin. Younger Sister.
His mother, Lin Meifeng, a stunning woman in her mid-20s wearing a tailored cheongsam that hinted at her curves, was shouting at a supplier near the back door. Since his father passed away last year, she had taken over the business with an iron fist, transforming from a housewife into the 'Iron Lady' of the district.
"You call this fresh?" she was yelling, pointing at a crate of fish. "I pay you for premium! If I wanted dead fish, I'd go to the harbor myself! Discount this by 30% or take it back!"
The supplier, a burly man, looked terrified. "Mrs. Xiao, please... since Master Xiao passed, business has been tough..."
Xiao Tian watched from the stairs. He observed his mother's posture, the way she used silence after her demand to create pressure, the way she controlled the space.
She has instinct, Xiao Tian noted approvingly. But she lacks leverage. She's negotiating on price, not supply chain dominance.
He walked down the stairs, his small leather shoes clicking on the polished floor.
"Mom," Xiao Tian called out.
Lin Meifeng turned. Her fierce expression melted instantly into a doting smile. "Tian'er! You're finally awake. Did you sleep well? Come here, let Mommy see."
She rushed over, ignoring the supplier, and scooped him up into a hug. She smelled of expensive perfume and cooking wine.
Xiao Tian tolerated the hug, intrigued by the foreign sensation of warmth. He looked over his mother's shoulder at the sweating supplier.
The man was shifting his weight. Nervous. He had more fish in the truck. If he took this crate back, they would rot before he could sell them elsewhere.
Xiao Tian tapped his mother's shoulder. "Mom, when will Uncle Ye come?"
"Most likely in the evening, baby," she replied, brushing his hair back dotingly.
Xiao Tian slid down from her arms, his feet hitting the floor with a soft thud.
He walked over to the crate of fish. He poked one. The flesh was slightly soft. Not premium, but usable for soup stock.
He looked up at the supplier, giving him a bright, innocent smile.
"Uncle," Xiao Tian said, his voice sweet. "Chef Liu is cooking for Deputy Mayor Ye tonight. Do you really want the Mayor to eat this?"
The supplier went pale. "The... the Deputy Mayor?"
"If the Deputy Mayor gets a stomach ache..." Xiao Tian trailed off, looking concerned. "Mom, maybe we should switch to Uncle Zhang's supply? I heard his truck is new and big."
The supplier panicked. Losing the Xiao family account was bad. Poisoning a (hypothetical) Mayor was fatal.
"Mrs. Xiao! I'll discount it 50%! And I'll bring the freshest catch tomorrow morning first thing! Just... keep this between us?"
Lin Meifeng blinked, surprised. She looked at her son, then at the supplier. She saw the fear. She smiled, sharp and predatory.
"50%," she agreed. "And bring the good stuff tomorrow. Or don't come back."
The supplier nodded frantically and ran to unload.
Lin Meifeng looked down at her son. "Tian'er... how did you know about Deputy Mayor Ye? We aren't hosting him tonight."
Xiao Tian shrugged, adjusting his small collar with the poise of a man who had just closed a billion-dollar deal.
"People are afraid of power, Mom," he said simply. "It doesn't matter if the power is real. It only matters if they believe it."
He turned and walked toward the kitchen, picking up his three-year-old sister who was gnawing on a table leg.
"Come on, Xiao Xin. Let's go see what's cooking."
Lin Meifeng stared at his back, a chill running down her spine. For a second, just a second, her six-year-old son didn't look like a child. He looked like a tycoon inspecting his warehouse.
Xiao Tian smiled as he walked into the kitchen. 1978. He had money. He had a business base. He had a family. He wasn't just going to run a restaurant. By the time he was university age, he was going to own the city.