Li Tian woke before dawn, his consciousness surfacing not from rest, but from the lingering weight of a life that had already ended.
For a brief moment, he did not move.
Because he remembered.
---
Sheng Fang was twenty-nine years old.
His name had never once appeared among the toppers, not even by accident. Yet anyone who had ever held a serious conversation with him knew that his understanding ran deeper than most who stood above him.
He was an engineering student, but his mind did not stay confined to one field. Business strategies felt intuitive, as if numbers and human behavior followed patterns only he could see. Medical and pharmaceutical concepts were not burdens to memorize but structures he could naturally retain. Agricultural cycles, seasonal patterns, even the subtle shifts in political power—everything seemed to unfold before him with quiet clarity.
It was as if the world had always been willing to reveal its logic to him.
There was only one constant that never followed logic.
Bad luck.
Every examination, without fail, collapsed in some unexpected way. Sometimes the questions were abnormally difficult. Sometimes his answer sheet would be misplaced. At other times, his own body betrayed him with sudden illness at the worst possible moment.
People noticed.
"He studies so much… and still fails?"
Their voices carried doubt. Judgment.
But never from his parents.
"Marks are not life, son," his father would say, placing a steady, reassuring hand on his shoulder.
"Your time will come," his mother would add, her voice warm, her touch gentle as she rested her hand on his head.
They never compared him. Never questioned him.
Failure after failure, their belief remained unchanged.
Sheng Fang endured—not because of talent, and certainly not because of luck—but because two people refused to stop believing in him.
---
Then one night, everything ended.
Rain fell without pause, the kind that blurred vision and drowned sound. A highway stretched endlessly under dim lights. A phone call came, sudden and wrong.
And then—
A crash.
By the time he arrived, it was already over.
His parents were gone.
Killed instantly.
That day, Sheng Fang did not simply lose his family.
He lost direction.
---
He stopped studying.
Exams no longer mattered. Degrees became meaningless. The future, once uncertain, now felt entirely empty.
Life reduced itself to a single function.
Survival.
He took whatever work he could find, without hesitation or pride. Delivering food through crowded streets, cleaning spaces that others avoided, serving in restaurants, lifting heavy loads at construction sites—day after day, he traded time and strength just to continue existing.
People looked at him and shook their heads.
"Such potential… completely wasted."
They saw decline.
They did not see what remained.
Because inside his mind, nothing had truly disappeared.
The understanding was still there. The patterns. The clarity.
Waiting.
---
Three years passed like that.
Then came the final blow.
The hospital room was quiet when the doctor spoke.
"Pancreatic cancer. Late stage."
There was no anger left in him by then. No denial.
Only a faint, tired acceptance.
"At least this time," he thought, "the reason for my bad luck is clear."
---
As he lay on the hospital bed, staring at a blank ceiling, his thoughts did not drift toward achievements or lost opportunities.
They returned to something simpler.
His father's voice.
"Marks are not life, son."
His mother's warmth.
Their unwavering belief.
They had given everything—support, trust, patience.
And he had given them nothing in return.
Not success.
Not pride.
Not even time.
That was the wound that remained.
Not failure.
Not misfortune.
But the fact that he never got the chance to prove that their faith had not been misplaced.
No tears came.
He was too exhausted for that.
But a single thought formed, steady and clear, in the final moments of his fading consciousness.
If I am given another life…
I will not simply live.
I will become someone worth believing in.
For them.
And then—
His breathing stopped.
---
His eyes opened.
---
The ceiling above him was wooden, aged and uneven. The air carried the faint scent of herbal medicine mixed with dust and time. His body felt lighter, younger—but unfamiliar.
He sat up slowly.
This was not a hospital.
A mirror stood against the wall. He moved toward it, each step deliberate.
The face reflected back at him was not Sheng Fang.
Memories surged.
Li Tian.
Nineteen years old.
A world defined by martial arts, sects, and shifting power.
A merchant family that had once held status—now reduced to the edge of collapse, burdened by debt, stripped of stability, and standing on the brink of ruin.
Sheng Fang… was gone.
Li Tian remained.
---
He sat down on the edge of the bed, allowing the storm of memories to settle.
He did not panic.
He did not rush.
He simply breathed.
This world was different.
But not incomprehensible.
His gaze moved slowly across the room—the worn furniture, the cracks in the walls, the quiet signs of decline.
No hidden system.
No sudden power.
No external advantage.
Only a failing family… and himself.
---
He clenched his fist.
In his previous life, knowledge had brought him nothing.
Effort had led to exhaustion.
Hope had ended in loss.
But here—
Here, the same knowledge carried a different weight.
Business understanding could rebuild structure.
Medical knowledge could create value.
Agricultural insight could secure supply.
Political awareness could prevent unseen threats.
This was not a world ruled solely by strength.
It was a world where understanding could be turned into leverage.
I was not lacking, he thought quietly. I was misplaced.
---
He stood and walked toward the window.
Outside, the city was waking. Merchants arranged goods, voices rose in negotiation, movement spread through the streets like a living network of exchange.
A system.
Not so different from the one he had studied before.
Only harsher.
More honest.
---
His reflection stared back at him in the dusty glass.
Younger face.
Calm eyes.
And behind them—something that had survived everything.
This time, he thought, I will not leave things to chance.
He placed a hand lightly against the window.
A silent promise.
I will become someone worth believing in.
---
A sudden realization settled into his mind.
Before anything else—
He needed to understand exactly how deep the Li family had fallen.
---
He stepped out of his room.
The house was quiet, but the silence carried tension. It was not peace—it was pressure, like something waiting to break.
From the main hall, voices drifted out.
Low. Strained.
He slowed his steps.
His father, Li Hua, sat at the table, his posture composed but heavy, as if holding himself together required constant effort. Opposite him, Li Ming paced restlessly, unable to remain still.
"You think they'll give us more time?" Li Ming asked, his voice tight.
Li Hua did not respond immediately. His hands were clasped together, fingers pressing so tightly the knuckles had turned pale.
"I've asked before," he said finally, his voice controlled but worn. "They don't listen anymore."
Silence followed.
Li Tian stood at the entrance, watching.
This was not unfamiliar.
He had seen collapse before—but never this close.
"If they take the shop…" Li Ming exhaled sharply. "If they take the house… what do we even have left?"
Li Hua said nothing.
Because there was no answer.
---
Then—
Footsteps.
Slow.
Heavy.
Measured.
Each step echoed through the courtyard, deliberate and unhurried, as if whoever approached had no reason to rush—and no expectation of resistance.
Li Ming froze mid-step.
Li Hua's shoulders stiffened.
The air seemed to tighten.
The footsteps stopped.
The door opened.
---
Men entered without hesitation, their presence immediately filling the space. Their expressions were indifferent, their movements practiced. They did not look around with curiosity—they looked with assessment.
Then the leader stepped in.
He moved without haste, his gaze sweeping once across the room before settling.
A faint smile touched his lips.
Controlled. Certain.
He lifted his hand slightly.
The others stopped.
Silence followed.
Then he spoke.
"Master Li," his voice was calm, almost soft. "We've come to settle accounts."
Li Ming stepped forward. "We just need a little more time—"
"Time?" The man tilted his head slightly. "You've had time."
Li Hua stood, maintaining what dignity he could.
"Please," he said. "Give us a few more days. We will repay everything."
The man watched him quietly.
"I've heard that before."
One of the men behind him shifted, already glancing at the surroundings as if calculating value.
Li Ming clenched his fists. "We are not refusing to pay!"
"No," the leader replied calmly. "You are simply unable."
The words settled like weight.
Li Hua's posture weakened, just slightly.
That was the breaking point.
---
Li Tian felt it clearly.
This was the moment everything would be taken.
And for a brief second—
He hesitated.
Ten days.
If he failed, he would not just lose.
He would belong to them.
His throat tightened.
The risk was absolute.
---
Then he stepped forward.
"Give us ten days."
Every gaze turned.
Li Hua's expression changed sharply. "Tian—what are you saying?"
Li Ming stared at him. "Have you lost your mind?!"
Li Tian did not look at them.
He looked only at the leader.
"Ten days," he repeated. "We will repay everything."
A pause.
"And if we fail… I will work for you. Five years."
The room went still.
Li Hua's composure broke for the first time. "You don't understand what you are offering—!"
"I do," Li Tian said quietly.
And that was why he said it.
---
The leader watched him closely now.
For the first time, interest appeared in his eyes.
"Five years…" he repeated.
He stepped closer.
"You would bind yourself for their debt?"
"Yes."
Silence stretched.
Then—
A soft, rhythmic sound.
Tap.
Tap.
His fingers lightly struck against his sleeve, slow and deliberate.
Then he smiled.
"Interesting."
He turned slightly, then back again.
"Ten days," he said.
Relief barely formed before he added—
"Not a moment more."
---
As he turned to leave, he paused at the doorway.
His gaze shifted once more to Li Tian.
His voice was quiet.
Cold.
"Ten days…"
A faint smile.
"After that—"
"You belong to me."
---
The footsteps faded.
The silence that followed felt heavier than before.
---
Li Tian stood still.
Ten days.
Behind his calm expression, his thoughts were already moving.
Fast. Precise.
This was not a gamble.
It was a calculation.
A narrow one.
He looked toward the light entering from the doorway.
Ten days… is enough.
If he was right.
If not—
He did not allow the thought to finish.
---
A new life had begun.
Not with power.
Not with strength.
But with a deadline.