The Bai family manor loomed over the quiet district, a seamless blend of traditional architecture and modern luxury. Deep within its sprawling estate, in a private study filled with antique books and martial relics, Bai Xue stood before her father. The golden morning light filtered through the latticed windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air.

  Bai Zheng, dressed in a crisp, dark tunic, sipped his tea with deliberate calm. His eyes—sharp, calculating—watched his daughter over the rim of his cup.

  "Sit, Xue’er. We need to talk."

  Bai Xue obeyed, lowering herself into the chair opposite him. Her back was straight, posture rigid, lips pursed—not defiant, but wary.

  He set the cup down with a soft clink. "I met Xiao Zhan last night."

  Bai Xue’s eyes widened slightly. "Already? That was fast."

  He chuckled. "Your grandfather arranged it. Said it was time I assessed the young man myself."

  She hesitated, then leaned forward. "And? What did you think?"

  "Interesting," Bai Zheng replied. "Very interesting. He’s not what the rumors claim. There’s something about him—a stillness, a presence. His eyes held weight, like he’s seen too much too soon."

  Bai Xue frowned. "He ignored me in the cafeteria. Treated me like air."

  "And that intrigued you."

  She looked away, cheeks coloring faintly. "It was... unexpected."

  "He didn’t fawn, didn’t flirt. Didn’t even acknowledge your fame. Most boys your age trip over their own pride trying to impress you."

  "Maybe he’s just rude."

  "Or maybe he sees through the masks people wear."

  There was a long pause.

  "He might be a suitable prospect," Bai Zheng continued. "Not just for marriage, but as an ally."

  Bai Xue tensed. "You’re really considering this engagement?"

  He gave her a steady look. "Yes."

  She crossed her arms. "I thought I’d have a say in this."

  "You do. But understand, we don’t marry for love alone in this family. We marry for strength, unity, legacy."

  "What about Lu Feng?"

  Bai Zheng's brow lifted. "What about him?"

  "He’s strong. Talented. He’s saved people during missions. He’s admired by nearly everyone."

  Bai Zheng nodded thoughtfully. "Lu Feng is impressive. A natural leader. But he wears his heart too openly. Xiao Zhan, on the other hand, is unreadable. That kind of man... either dangerous, or vital."

  Bai Xue blinked. "You’re saying Xiao Zhan’s better than Lu Feng?"

  "I’m saying he may become greater."

  "You’re betting on a maybe."

  "I’m recognizing a change in the wind."

  She rose abruptly. "I don’t like being treated like a pawn."

  He didn’t stop her. "No one does. But even pawns can cross the board and become queens."

  She paused at the door.

  "He’s not stronger than Lu Feng."

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  "Perhaps not yet. But curiosity is the first seed of interest."

  She left without replying, her thoughts a whirlwind.

  In the Xiao residence, the atmosphere was quieter, more intimate.

  Bai Lian, Xiao Zhan’s mother, sat on the cushioned bench near the window, sewing a new scarf. Her husband, Xiao Ren, stood by the table, staring at the latest household reports with mild distraction.

  "He’s different," Xiao Ren finally said.

  "Yes," Bai Lian answered softly.

  "Not just a little. It’s as if he’s... someone else."

  She smiled faintly. "And yet, he’s more our son than ever."

  Xiao Ren frowned. "I can’t shake the feeling that something happened. Something beyond our understanding."

  "Mothers know," she said, setting down her needle. "Even if the sky itself changed him, he’s still Xiao Zhan. The way he looked at me yesterday—there was warmth in his eyes. Gratitude. That’s my boy."

  "But the strength... the calm... it’s unnerving."

  "It’s growth. Some people take years to mature. Others need a single fire."

  He sat beside her with a sigh. "What about Bai Xue?"

  "What about her?"

  "Their engagement. If he becomes someone... different, will she still accept him?"

  Bai Lian touched his hand. "Each person must master their own fate."

  He chuckled. "Quoting old proverbs now?"

  "Because they’re true. Let Zhan decide. He always hated being controlled."

  Meanwhile, at Bai Enterprises, Xiao Rui sat in his sleek office, screens and files spread before him.

  "Sir, here’s the Q1 analysis on the Zeta contracts," a subordinate said, placing a folder on the table.

  Xiao Rui opened it, eyes scanning quickly. He frowned. "These margin shifts... they don’t make sense."

  The younger man nodded. "I thought the same. The fluctuations started last week."

  "Show me the comparative projections."

  He pulled up a holographic chart. Data flowed—trend lines, market shifts, stock fluctuations.

  "Here. And here again. Someone’s moving stock—deliberately destabilizing small partners we rely on."

  "Sabotage?"

  Xiao Rui leaned back. "Not overt. Subtle enough to look like volatility, but patterned. Someone’s targeting our secondary assets."

  "Why go through the trouble?"

  "To weaken us before a larger strike. Financial warfare."

  The assistant paled. "Who would dare?"

  Xiao Rui narrowed his eyes. "That’s what I intend to find out."

  Back at campus, the sun dipped low. The lecture halls emptied, laughter and chatter echoing down the stone paths.

  Li Heng bounced alongside Xiao Zhan. "Hotpot tonight. You in?"

  Wang Jun chimed in, munching chips. "They’ve got duck blood this time. Real stuff. Not that fake tofu nonsense."

  "And crab sticks!" Li Heng added. "Don’t you dare ghost us."

  Xiao Zhan smirked faintly. "I’ve got something to do."

  "Betrayal!" Wang Jun gasped.

  "You wound me," Li Heng clutched his chest. "We were brothers! Blood-sworn over barbecue skewers!"

  "Zhao Qi," Xiao Zhan said, ignoring them. "You keeping them alive tonight?"

  Zhao Qi adjusted his glasses. "Barely."

  Laughter followed them as Xiao Zhan turned toward the city.

  Night had fallen when he passed through the narrow alleys near the night market. Lanterns swayed overhead. The clamor of stalls and shouts of vendors rang distant.

  Then—

  A shadow flickered.

  He stopped.

  Men emerged from the alley’s edges, garbed in tight, black uniforms. Faces covered. Silent. One stepped forward, cracking his knuckles.

  "Break his arms. Then his legs. We bring him alive."

  Xiao Zhan didn’t flinch.

  His gaze swept them—six men, all seasoned. Fighters. But poorly coordinated.

  "You're not thieves," he said calmly. "Who sent you?"

  The leader laughed. "Talk after."

  They lunged.

  Xiao Zhan moved.

  He ducked the first blow, pivoted, drove his elbow into a gut. One man folded, gasping. Another swung a chain—Xiao Zhan caught it mid-air, yanked hard, sending the attacker crashing into a wall.

  A third came from behind. Xiao Zhan twisted, swept his leg in a low arc—CRACK. The man’s knee bent backward.

  The leader hesitated now, eyes narrowing. "You’re not supposed to fight like this."

  Xiao Zhan exhaled, cracking his neck. "Then your intel was flawed."

  The leader struck—fast, brutal, fists reinforced with iron wraps. Xiao Zhan blocked, absorbed, countered.

  Flesh met flesh. Bones sang.

  Their duel dragged, both men trading heavy, expert blows. But experience favored Xiao Zhan. His footwork was perfect, honed over centuries. His counters were predictive.

  Finally, he slipped past the leader’s guard—one hand struck the throat, the other crushed the ribs. The man collapsed.

  "Who sent you?"

  The leader coughed blood. Smiled. "Too late."

  Xiao Zhan’s eyes turned cold. The others whimpered as he walked through them, striking clean, final blows.

  No survivors.

  Their fear had come too late. They saw in his eyes the reflection of something ancient. Something forged in fire and war.

  As he wiped the blood from his hands, he whispered, "This wasn’t in the novel..."

  Change had begun.

  The sword shop was quiet when he arrived. The same old lantern swayed outside, casting flickering shadows across the stone path.

  Inside, the old shopkeeper was sipping tea, as if nothing in the world had shifted.

  "Back again so soon?" the man asked, not looking up.

  Xiao Zhan studied him. "You knew I would return."

  The shopkeeper smiled. "Some blades know their wielders."

  He approached the counter. "Who are you, really?"

  The shopkeeper finally met his gaze. His eyes gleamed—not old, but ageless.

  "Just a man who sells swords."

  But Xiao Zhan felt it—a pressure, subtle but immense.

  This man wasn’t ordinary.

  And the game... was only beginning.

  [End of chapter 9]