The first rays of dawn slipped through the blinds like cautious fingers, stretching across Long Xingchen's room and washing the walls in a muted gold. Dust motes drifted lazily in the air, turning their quiet dance into something almost sacred.
He had been awake long before the sun appeared.
The night had not been one he could sleep through—not after absorbing a fragment of a vanished heaven, not after feeling the pressure of an enemy clan already adjusting their tempo because of him, not after seeing shadows stir beneath the modern city's skin.
He sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, listening to the world as it awakened.
A car door shutting outside.
A dog barking two streets away.
His father coughing lightly downstairs.
Water running in the kitchen sink.
The faint clatter of pans as the cook began breakfast preparations.
Normal sounds.
Everyday life.
The kind of life he had once taken for granted—until he watched it die.
Footsteps padded softly outside his door.
A hesitant knock.
"Xingchen? Are you awake?"
His mother's voice—gentle, slightly anxious.
He stood and opened the door.
Su Yanyu's eyes ran over him quickly, scanning for signs of exhaustion or discomfort. "You… didn't sleep?"
"I rested," he said.
She frowned. "That's not the same thing, sweetheart."
In his first life, she had said the exact same words on the morning of the Long family's greatest loss. He had shrugged them off then. Now, the memory lanced through him with a dull ache.
"I'm fine, Mom."
He touched her hand lightly. "Really."
She softened, though worry still lingered in her eyes. "Breakfast is almost ready. Your father wants to talk to you after."
"Okay."
He followed her down the hallway. The scent of fried eggs and congee drifted from the dining hall. Chairs scraped lightly across the marble floor. His father's low voice murmured instructions to a housekeeper. The atmosphere was warm, domestic.
He absorbed it all like a man starving.
As they entered the dining hall, Long Haoxuan looked up from his orange juice.
"Morning, little bro. You look like someone dropped enlightenment on your head."
Xingchen gave him a sideways glance. "And you look like you discovered gravity for the first time."
His sister snorted into her tea. "You walked into that one."
Haoxuan glared. "Why is everyone in this family suddenly sarcastic?"
The bickering continued, light and familiar. This was the kind of chaotic warmth he had longed for in the dead silence of his second life.
He sat, picked up his chopsticks, and allowed himself to be pulled into the rhythm of the table.
But underneath it all, his senses remained alert.
His father spoke calmly about business matters, but Xingchen noticed the faint tension in his posture—his shoulders too stiff, his fingers drumming quietly against the table. Something else had happened since last night.
When breakfast ended, Long Tianhai motioned for him to follow him into the study.
The moment the door closed, his father sat heavily in the chair, clasping his hands.
"Xingchen," he began, "there was a… visitor this morning."
Xingchen's eyes narrowed.
"Visitor?"
His father nodded. "A man from the capital. A representative from the Qin corporation."
They were moving faster than he expected.
"What did he want?"
"To 'discuss investment opportunities.'" His father scoffed. "He didn't say it, but it felt more like he came to measure our standing. To feel out our weaknesses."
Xingchen's jaw tightened.
In the previous timeline, this visitor came three weeks later.
The timeline was accelerating.
"Did you sign anything?" Xingchen asked.
"No," his father said firmly. "I remembered your warning. I told him the Long family is reviewing all external proposals."
"Good."
Long Tianhai leaned forward. "Son… do you know something I don't? You're acting… different."
Xingchen met his father's gaze, seeing age, stress, pride, and weakness beneath the surface. His father had never been a cultivator, but he had stood tall against storms bigger than he should have faced.
"Dad," Xingchen said quietly, "something is happening in the capital. Something that will affect us. And I need time to handle it."
"How much time?"
"Nine days."
Long Tianhai nodded slowly.
"Then I'll buy you nine days."
Xingchen bowed his head slightly. "Thank you."
Father and son spoke quietly for another minute before he left the study.
He returned upstairs, washed his face, smoothed his hair, and left for school.
The morning air carried the smell of exhaust fumes and fresh bread from the bakery near the villa gate. He walked calmly, but every sense was extended outward, scanning movement patterns, heat signatures, irregular sounds.
Halfway down the street, he spotted it.
A dark blue sedan parked just outside the neighborhood boundary.
Windows tinted.
Engine running quietly.
Two silhouettes inside.
Watching him.
He didn't slow down.
Their eyes followed him.
He felt the weight of their attention like a wire across his spine.
The Qin family was not hiding anymore.
As he neared the school gate, familiar voices called out.
"Xingchen! Over here!"
Chen Hao waved, a crooked grin on his face. Zhao Feng stood beside him, hands in his pockets, trying to look cool and failing spectacularly.
But Xingchen noticed their eyes flicker toward a lamppost where a man in a cap pretended to scroll on his phone.
Another watcher.
School had become a hunting ground.
They walked together through the courtyard. Teenagers laughed, shouted, shoved each other playfully. Teachers gave warnings over megaphones. Everything looked normal to the untrained eye.
But Xingchen had lived too long to be fooled.
Chen Hao leaned in. "Bro, someone asked us again today. About you. Some guy wearing a teacher's badge I've never seen before."
Zhao Feng nodded. "He asked about your family's business. I told him I had diarrhea and walked away."
Chen Hao burst out laughing. "He really did."
Xingchen chuckled quietly.
Good friends.
He would keep them alive.
As they walked to class, footsteps approached from behind.
A girl's voice—soft, tense.
"Xingchen?"
He turned.
Lin Yuerou stood there, hair tied back loosely, eyes filled with worry. She wore the school uniform, edges crisp, but her hands gripped the textbooks too tightly.
"Can we talk?" she murmured.
He nodded.
They stepped aside, near a tree where sunlight scattered over the leaves in trembling patches.
She looked up at him. "You didn't answer my last message last night."
"I was busy."
"I figured."
Her fingers curled. "But… I also saw someone outside your house again. A man. Standing near the corner. Watching."
His gaze hardened.
"You don't need to be scared," he said quietly. "I'll handle it."
Her lips trembled. "But you won't tell me why they're watching you."
"You'll know soon," he whispered. "But until then… stay close to bright places. Stay with crowds. Don't take shortcuts home."
Her eyes widened slightly.
She inhaled deeply. "Okay."
He reached out and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
She froze.
Her cheeks flushed faintly.
But she didn't pull away.
Not like in the past life.
The bell rang, breaking the moment.
As they separated, the system chimed gently.
> [Fragment Resonance Detected.]
The air around him dimmed for a heartbeat—no one else noticed.
A flash.
A field of white flowers under a copper sky.
A woman walking barefoot through them.
Long hair flowing like ink.
Whispering a chant older than language.
He blinked, breath sharp.
The vision dissolved.
The classroom blurred into reality again—rows of desks, chalkboard scribbled with formulas, teacher's voice droning like distant noise.
The system whispered:
> [More fragments needed.]
He stared out the window at the clouds drifting lazily above the school.
He was a student sitting in a classroom.
Notebook open.
Pen in hand.
But he was also a sovereign of two lifetimes.
A man preparing to walk into the past millions of years.
A son trying to protect a family that never saw the knives aimed at them.
A young man trying to save a girl who died alone in another life.
The bell rang again. Lunch break.
As he exited the classroom, he sensed it instantly—sharp, pointed attention cutting through the hallway noise.
Three men stood near the exit.
Not students.
Not teachers.
Disguised security from the Qin family.
They moved toward him slowly.
Xingchen continued walking.
Their eyes narrowed.
He turned a corner.
They followed.
He took a single step into a music practice room—empty.
As the door swung inward, their footsteps approached.
They opened the door—
Empty.
Gone.
Xingchen leaned casually against the wall behind them, having circled silently through an adjacent corridor with speed no mortal could track.
"You're far from home," he said lightly.
They whipped around.
One reached for something in his jacket.
Xingchen's fingers brushed the air.
A gust.
Their arms jerked upward, hitting the ceiling hard.
He stepped closer.
Voice low.
Deadly calm.
"If you follow me or anyone connected to me again… you won't walk away."
The men swallowed.
Fear radiated from their pores.
He let the pressure drop.
They collapsed, gasping.
Xingchen left them without another glance.
By the time classes ended, the watchers outside the school gate had vanished.
He knew they weren't gone—just repositioned.
But that was fine.
Tonight, he would make another move.
He would tighten the protective net around his family.
He would lay traps for the Qin family's plans.
He would refine his body further.
And then—
In eight days, he would step into the past again.
Not the collapsing ruins he saw last time.
But an era alive.
Breathing.
Unbroken.
He would walk through the gates of a civilization millions of years old, before its skies were carved open and its history devoured.
He returned home, climbed the stairs, and stood at his window as twilight bled into night.
The world outside glimmered.
The shadows beneath it shifted.
Long Xingchen exhaled slowly.
"Eight days," he murmured. "And the heavens will open again."
The night listened.
And something—far beyond the stars—listened too.