There was no ice, no raging winds, no thousands of feet approaching. There was only the wooden ceiling of a dilapidated old room, and the smell of dust filling the air. Fang Qing opened his eyes. He did not see the snowy mountaintop where he had died, but a cracked wooden bed he had been sleeping on. He had returned. He had returned 500,000 years to the past, to the body of a thirteen-year-old boy. Yet his mind did not just hold the weight of experience; it held the essence of the Devil himself. He had fully refined his being, transforming into She Xi, the legendary Jewel of Time, and had returned to this moment of his life.
His youthful face still held childish features, but his eyes concealed a lifetime of cruelty and coldness. There was no trace of joy, sadness, or even surprise. His expression was like a mask of ice, showing no emotions and reflecting no feelings. This expression was his first weapon. He raised his hand and looked at it. It was a small hand, still free of scars. This same hand had, in his previous life, wielded an invincible sword and destroyed entire worlds. This same hand had killed his brother and family.
Fang Qing left his room. His father was reading a book, his mother was preparing food, and his older brother, Fang Qiang, was training in the courtyard. The atmosphere was filled with a family warmth he had lacked in his previous life. But Fang Qing saw no warmth; he saw a trap.
"Little brother!" Fang Qiang exclaimed with a wide smile. "Come and train with me! Your Class A talent will enable you to surpass us all!"
Fang Qing did not reply. He looked into his brother's eyes and saw the hidden jealousy behind his feigned enthusiasm. He looked at his parents, who were watching him with obvious pride. This pride was not for him, but for his talent, which they believed was Class A. In his previous life, when they discovered his true talent was Class E, that love and pride vanished.
Fang Qing did not feel bitterness. Instead, he felt a malicious satisfaction. It was amusing to him that they loved the mask he wore, not the truth. They loved a false image of him. They represented everything he despised in humanity. It was like the final moments of a boring chess game, where he finally found an opponent worth the effort. He did not see his family; he saw them as pieces on a grand chessboard. The king piece, the queen and rook pieces—all waiting for him to move them.
Hours later, while everyone was asleep, Fang Qing sat in his room. The stars illuminated the sky from his open window. His mind was already plotting. He had decided to leave this family living in illusions. His first game was not with them, but with the entire world.
He realized that revenge on his family was a naive and limited act. But revenge on the world—proving that all humans are corrupt and that their kindness is just a façade—that was the act befitting a Devil like him.
Fang Qing did not see himself as just a manipulator; he saw himself as an engineer of destiny. He would leave this house, find a weak clan or a forgotten heir, and make them a hero. He would make the whole world fall in love with this hero, and then, at the right moment, he would reveal the truth. He would reveal that every victory, every achievement, and every word of love was nothing but a lie he had created.
This was his true goal, and this was his legendary game. And as soon as the sun rose, it would begin.