"What the hell just happened? Why'd they let that guy through?"
"Stop him! If he disturbs Mr. Hill, you're all screwed!"
"Shit, who even is that guy?!"
The security team was in full panic mode. Something like this happening right under their noses was unthinkable.
They'd been hired by some of the world's wealthiest elites to protect Timothy Hill. And now, some unknown young man had just walked straight up to him—right in front of them.
If anything happened to Timothy Hill, none of them would walk away clean.
The guards surged forward, ready to intercept.
William remained calm, his expression unchanged.
Timothy Hill's brow furrowed. He raised a trembling hand and barked, "Stand down! All of you!"
"Everyone must leave this place within one minute."
His voice shook with emotion. These fools had nearly offended William.
The guards didn't dare disobey. They quickly began clearing the area, ushering all the visitors off the mountaintop.
"Master…" Timothy looked up at William, knees bending as he prepared to kneel.
William caught his hand before he could.
"Inside," he said quietly. "We'll talk there."
"Yes, sir." Timothy bowed his head, hunched over, and stepped aside, motioning for William to go ahead.
William didn't think anything of it. Timothy looked ancient now, but compared to him, the man was still just a flicker in time.
"What the hell did I just see?"
"Are my eyes broken? Mr. Hill… he looked almost… respectful?"
"This is insane. The whole world's gone insane."
No one could believe what they were seeing.
Timothy Hill—who hadn't bowed to anyone in decades—was now trailing behind that young man like a servant.
If the global elites saw this, who knew how they'd react?
Some of them had spent millions—tens of millions—just for a chance to meet Timothy Hill.
And now, not only had Timothy come out to greet this strange young man, he'd personally escorted him inside with the deference of a butler.
Who the hell was this guy?
The guards, finally snapping out of their daze, immediately began reporting what they'd seen to their employers.
"A strange young man? Did he look… unusually young? And kind of… otherworldly?"
"It's him. The Master has returned! He's really back!"
"He's still alive… and he hasn't aged a day…"
Those who had once followed William were stunned when they got the news. Each reacted differently—some with shock, some with joy, others with fear or unease. A few… had more complicated thoughts.
Inside the old house, everything was just as William remembered.
The furniture, the layout, even the smallest details hadn't changed.
Fifty years later, stepping back into this place felt like slipping into a familiar dream.
"Please, Master, have a seat. I'll make you some tea," Timothy said, barely able to contain his emotions.
William gave him a long look, then sat down in the chair he used to favor. The teacup on the table beside it was the same one he'd used all those years ago.
The world had changed, but this room hadn't.
Fifty years ago, Timothy had been a strong, capable young man—his loyal housekeeper, managing everything with precision. Now, he was in his seventies, stooped and weathered.
As for the other servants who once worked in this house… William had no idea what had become of them.
Timothy soon returned with a full set of Song Dynasty Jun porcelain teaware. The set was flawless—so pristine it would've been considered a national treasure in any museum. And yet, here it was, being used to brew tea.
He boiled the water and carefully prepared the tea, his hands steady despite his age.
William took a sip, then set the cup down.
"Timothy," he said calmly, "tell me about the world today."
Timothy stood hunched in front of William, eyes still red-rimmed. "Master, the world's a better place now. There's peace, and technology's developed fast—lots of new things popping up. But… I haven't left the mountain in years, so I don't know the details. If you'd like, I can call Michael and the others. They can explain it better."
William chuckled and shook his head. "No need. When I left, they stopped being my servants. They're all in their seventies or eighties now—what, should I have them bow and scrape in front of me again?"
After living so long, William understood people better than anyone.
Back then, his servants had each received a little something from him—things he considered trivial, but that had been enough to let them stir the world.
Fifty years later, should he really summon them back to serve him again?
Timothy's face went pale. He dropped to his knees in a panic.
"Master! As long as I draw breath, I will always be your servant!"
"Get up," William said calmly. "No need to be so tense. You've done enough over the years. As for Michael and the others… if fate allows, we'll meet again."
William had never forced fate. When it came, it came. When it passed, he let it go.
"Then… Master, where do you plan to go next?" Timothy slowly rose, eyes full of hope. He'd waited most of his life for this moment. Now that William had returned, of course he wanted to follow him again.
The world called Timothy Hill a god. But Timothy knew—there was only one true god in this world, and he was standing right in front of him.
"Forget it," William said, shaking his head. "You don't have many years left. Just live your own life."
Then he asked, "Tell me—at my current age, what should I be doing in this world?"
The question caught Timothy off guard. It was oddly phrased.
His age?
"Master, at your age… you'd probably still be in school. Are you thinking of…?" Timothy trailed off, already guessing William's intent, but wanting to be sure.
Who was he to assume the Master's thoughts?
"School?" William nodded. "That works."
Timothy hesitated, then asked carefully, "Then… how old are you now, Master?"
William looked young—very young. But there was something about him, something timeless. You could say he was eighteen, or maybe twenty-three.
"Let's go with twenty," William said with a faint smile. "Eighteen feels a bit too young."
"Then you'd still be in college," Timothy said, catching on. "I'll have someone arrange a new identity for you."
William nodded, then turned his gaze toward the door.
Timothy didn't dare interrupt. He simply stood quietly to the side, just like he had fifty years ago.
Three minutes passed.
Suddenly, the front door of the old house was kicked open with a loud bang.
A young man strolled in, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Behind him came a group of men in suits, clearly his entourage.
Timothy's eyes went wide. His expression darkened instantly, a cold, murderous glint flashing in his gaze.
Someone had dared to kick open this door?
And right in front of his Master?
It didn't matter who this punk was—he had just signed his own death warrant.