Pain arrived before consciousness.
It wasn't sharp.
It wasn't explosive. It was heavy, dull, suffocating—like the weight of every regret pressing on his chest at once.
Lin Cheng thought vaguely that death would be quieter than this.
Then his lungs drew in air.
He gasped, eyes snapping open.
A ceiling fan creaked above, dust clinging to its spinning blades. The faint rattling sound echoed through the small, dimly lit room. Yellowed paint peeled from the corners of the ceiling, thin cracks branching outward like tiny veins.
Lin Cheng froze.
This room…
He pushed himself upright on the narrow bed. His body felt… different. Light. Agile. Strong. Every joint, every muscle responded without hesitation. No ache, no stiffness, no lingering pain from the years he had carried.
He swung his legs off the bed and stood, moving to the mirror leaning against the wall.
The face staring back was a stranger and yet all too familiar.
Sharp eyebrows. Clear, calculating eyes. A youthful jawline. Features untouched by years of exhaustion, stress, and betrayal. A hint of arrogance lingered in the eyes—a shadow of the man he would become, tempered by experience he had yet to earn.
Twenty-two.
Lin Cheng raised a hand and touched his cheek. Warm. Real. Alive.
This wasn't a dream.
Memories flooded back.
A hospital room washed in sterile white. Machines beeping a rhythm that was too loud, too final. The smell of disinfectant. His vision dimming as a voice called out—not comforting, not genuine. Zhao Minghao. Smooth. Charming. Smiling.
"Don't worry. Leave everything to me."
Everything.
The company he had poured fifteen years of sweat, strategy, and sleepless nights into. The contracts he had signed in trust. The alliances he had believed in. All of it had been stolen. All of it had collapsed while he slept.
And the woman he trusted most—she hadn't looked at him.
Lin Cheng closed his eyes. Anger surged, raw and burning—but he suppressed it immediately. Noise killed. Anger killed. Emotion killed. He had learned that lesson too late the first time.
Calm. Precise. Patient. That would be his mantra this time.
He opened his eyes and scanned the room.
A small desk cluttered with old notebooks, pens scattered carelessly. A cracked laptop rested on one corner, its screen faintly glowing from the dim light outside. A secondhand electric kettle hummed quietly by the window.
This was his old apartment, fifteen years ago. The one he had left behind in pursuit of ambition.
He picked up his phone.
The screen lit up immediately.
Date: April 12
Year: Fifteen years ago
Time: 9:41 PM
Lin Cheng exhaled slowly. His chest tightened, not with fear but with focus. This was his chance—a second life. A chance to undo mistakes, to reclaim power, and, if he chose, to take revenge on those who had destroyed him.
He sat down at the desk and opened the laptop. The familiar startup sound made a shiver run down his spine.
Every detail was familiar yet different, like walking into a room he had known his entire life and suddenly realizing the furniture had changed subtly.
He typed in the first company he had once invested in. The screen populated with numbers and charts, quiet now, dormant—but not for long.
He remembered this moment. This exact night. He had been asleep, powerless, blind to the moves that would soon steal his life.
Not this time.
He leaned back, eyes narrowing. Each tick of the clock was a countdown. Every second mattered. He had knowledge of the future—both asset trends and betrayals—and every decision he made from now on would be precise.
A gentle hum from outside the window reminded him of the city beyond. Cars moved below like ants, unaware. Streetlights glinted on the glass skyscrapers in the distance. Fifteen years ago, this city had been a playground he could barely afford to enter. Now it would be his chessboard.
Lin Cheng closed his eyes briefly.
He remembered Zhao Minghao's face at the board meeting—the smile, the betrayal, the knife pressed to his back.
And he remembered her—the woman he had loved, the one who had turned away at the final moment.
This time, he wouldn't be naive.
Patience. Observation. Calculation.
The first move would be subtle. Invisible to everyone else. One correct step, and the first domino would fall, quietly, before anyone even realized he was back.
He opened his eyes again and focused on the screen. A small stock, barely noticed by the market. In the future, this company had exploded overnight, enriching a small circle of insiders while leaving him in ruin. But Lin Cheng knew the pattern. He knew exactly when and how to strike.
He checked his bank account. Not enough. Barely enough.
But enough.
The rest would follow. Every action, every penny, every handshake. Carefully, invisibly, methodically.
The familiar pang of excitement—cold, calculated—crept into his chest.
Across the city, ordinary life continued. Students laughed in dormitories. Employees argued over trivial emails. Drivers honked. No one could know that tonight, a reborn man would quietly begin to change the future.
Lin Cheng's lips curved faintly, a ghost of a smile that contained neither joy nor malice, only intent.
This was the night. The exact moment. The first step of the rest of his life.
He stood, walked to the window, and looked out at the lights of the city sprawling below him. It glittered like a web of opportunities. Every light a move, every shadow a hidden trap. He had walked this path before. He knew where the pitfalls lay. He knew who to trust—and who to destroy.
And yet, for the first time in fifteen years, Lin Cheng felt truly alive.
He turned back to the desk, to the laptop, to the charts that would begin his reclamation.
It had to be slow. It had to be precise. It had to be perfect.
And when it was finished…
No one would ever doubt his power again.
The first domino was about to fall.