Leon stepped into the executive lounge of South City High, the door silently closing behind him. The air inside was cool, almost unnaturally so, and smelled faintly of sandalwood and old money.
Three men stood near the window. All in dark suits. All silent.
The one in the center turned first. His hair was silver but neatly combed, his face lined but sharp. Unlike the average bureaucrat, this man radiated a quiet kind of pressure—controlled, but unmistakable.
“Mr. Leon Fang,” he said with a slight bow. “It is an honor.”
Leon’s expression didn’t change. “You are?”
“Zhou Sheng. Executor of the late Master Fang Wuji’s private trust. Your grandfather.”
That name sent a tremor down Leon’s spine.
In his previous life, his grandfather had died mysteriously, his fortune swallowed by parasites and vultures within the family. Leon had always suspected there was more to the story—but by the time he investigated, it was too late.
“I thought all of that was already inherited… by others,” Leon said carefully.
Zhou Sheng nodded. “So they believed. But the true inheritance was hidden—sealed until the rightful heir awakened.”
He produced a black envelope sealed with gold wax. “Per the hidden will, you alone qualify to break this seal. If you are… ready.”
Leon took the envelope, feeling a faint buzz along his fingertips. Spiritual formation. An ancient one. His eyes narrowed. Without hesitation, he channeled a sliver of Qi into the wax.
It hissed and unraveled like melting ice.
Inside, one sentence in familiar calligraphy:
**“If your memory has returned, then so will they. Find her—before they do.”**
Her.
The woman he had sworn to protect in his past life. The one he failed. The one whose jade pendant still hung beneath his shirt like a scar on his soul.
Leon closed the envelope slowly.
Zhou Sheng lowered his voice. “Some within the family have already noticed the reactivation of the trust. We expect... moves.”
“Let them come,” Leon said coldly.
He stood and turned to the window. Outside, students milled about in the courtyard, laughing and unaware. His classmates thought they were in school with a weakling.
They had no idea a storm was coming.
—
That night, Leon sat alone on the rooftop of his apartment, a cheap blanket around his shoulders. The city lights below were like embers on an invisible battlefield.
His phone buzzed.
**Unknown Number: Do you remember the fire in Jinling?**
Leon stared at the screen. His heart didn’t race. His fingers didn’t shake. But his pupils narrowed slightly.
The fire.
The night his sect was burned. His master slain. His past life ended.
He typed a reply.
**Yes.**
Another message came instantly.
**Then you should know... they’re already here.**
Attached: a low-resolution photo.
Someone in a black hoodie standing across from South City High’s gate. Their posture was slouched—but Leon could sense the Qi distortion even in a still image. Hidden cultivation. A watcher.
His lips curled.
They thought this was still a game of slow moves and secret hands.
Let them keep thinking that.
He had stopped playing chess.
Now, he brought war.