Present Life – Age 21, Rebirth
The first thing Xue Zhen felt was air.
Not pain.
Not numbness.
Not the sterile bite of antiseptic—but warm, breathable air that tasted of wood and lavender.
His eyes snapped open.
He sat up so fast the world tilted, breath catching in his throat. His hands flew to his chest—no wires. No IV tubes. No steady beep-beep-beep of machines keeping his body alive.
Just silence.
His room.
His room.
Not the private hospital suite where he'd spent his final weeks. This was blue—pale blue walls with fine cracks at the corners, a crooked football pennant hanging by the window. The scent of floor wax and lavender detergent hung in the air like a memory too stubborn to fade.
"No," he breathed. "No, this can't..."
He scrambled out of bed, the floor solid under his bare feet.
The same desk.
The same books.
The same medals.
The same framed certificates lined in perfect order.
Then—
His eyes caught the calendar.
September 1.
His hand shook as he picked up the phone from the table.
Still September 1.
Fourteen years ago.
He blinked down at the glowing screen.
A soft ping broke the silence.
A message.
He almost didn't look. But something in him—a survivor's instinct—knew.
[Xue Ning]:
Old Zhen, are you there in the main house? I've been trying to reach Mr. Yuwen but I couldn't get through his phone. He said Grandpa wanted to see me. Do you have any idea why?
Zhen's knees buckled. He slumped into the desk chair.
Another message arrived.
[Xue Ning]:
Sorry to bother. Just maybe you know something. If you're too busy, it's okay, forget I asked.
The messaging app was old. Something they'd only used for family errands.
Their last message to each other had been months ago—some short exchange about a document Grandpa needed signed. They rarely talked.
Yet here she was. Alive. Breathing. Typing.
Zhen could barely hear himself think.
He remembered it all now.
The end.
The betrayal.
The hospital.
The hopelessness.
Yuwen's hand grasping his wrist as if to anchor him to life.
His father's voice, hoarse from pleading.
Grandpa shouting, demanding the doctors do something.
But the machines had gone flat.
And Zhen had let go.
Until now.
He looked up, slowly—trembling hands still holding the phone.
The message sat there. Ordinary. Casual.
But it changed everything.
He stood up.
Paced.
Six steps to the door.
Five to the window.
Four back to the bed.
Then froze in front of the mirror.
The boy who looked back was 21. Sharp eyes. Smooth skin. No IV scars. No weight loss. No sickness.
A second chance.
He wasn't just back.
He'd been reset.
And if fate thought he'd let things play out the same way—
It was wrong.
He straightened.
There would be no mercy this time.
Only retribution.
And protection—especially for the one who just messaged him like nothing ever happened.
"Xue Ning," he whispered.
His lips curled into something between awe and resolve.
"I've got you."