In the dead of night, under the veil of a crimson moon, a shadow moved through the towering glass fortress of Changsha Corp.
No alarms.No witnesses.No mercy.
Li Yun was the name on his birth certificate, but to the underground world, he was known only by one word:
Ghost.
A phantom in flesh, whispered in fear across nations. No digital trace, no fingerprint, no failed mission. His skills were forged in silence, sharpened in blood. For ten years, he'd operated from the dark, cleaning up the world for powerful men who never showed their faces.
Tonight was supposed to be his final mission.
The target: CEO of a biotech firm developing illegal neural warfare tech.The reward: enough cash and immunity to disappear forever.
Slipping through laser grids and retinal scans, Ghost's hand moved like wind. A poisoned needle, no longer than a splinter, pierced the sleeping CEO's neck. The man never stirred. The job was done.
Li Yun exhaled.
One last breath as a killer.
Then—
Bang!
A gunshot echoed through the quiet tower. Pain exploded in his side. He stumbled, turning — only to meet the eyes of the man he trusted most.
Shen Jie.
Partner, handler, brother-in-arms.
"You weren't supposed to live through this one, Ghost," Shen said, lowering the smoking gun. "You know too much."
"You—" Li Yun gasped, clutching his bleeding waist.
Another shot. This time, it missed — but sent Li Yun staggering backward, crashing through the broken safety glass.
The city lights stretched out below, dizzying and bright. Wind roared past his ears. And in those final seconds, as he fell from the skyscraper rooftop, he didn't scream.
Ghost never screamed.
Instead, he thought only one thing:So this is how it ends.
But fate had other plans.
His broken body smashed through the canopy of a hidden temple in the mountain valley below — an ancient ruin buried by time and modern greed. He landed, battered and dying, before a lone stone statue of a warrior queen, forgotten by history. A rusted iron ring clung to her finger — dull, unremarkable.
Blood poured from Li Yun's mouth.His heartbeat slowed.
His hand twitched… then brushed the foot of the statue.
A single drop of blood slid across cold stone.
And touched the ring.
The silence shattered.
The ring glowed.
Lines of ancient script blazed to life on the statue's surface. The ring trembled… and then opened an eye. A golden, vertical slit — watching. Remembering.
The air twisted. Space cracked like glass. His soul was ripped from his broken body, pulled toward the awakening relic.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
He awoke to pain. But not the pain of death. This pain was… alive.
He gasped.
Breathing.
Chest rising.
A heart, beating fast — younger, weaker… softer?
The smell of ink and herbs. The weight of silk. The faint scent of alcohol, vomit, and perfume.
He sat up.
It was not his body.
His hands — pale, delicate, unscarred.
A mirror stood across the richly furnished chamber.
A boy stared back.
A familiar face — yet unfamiliar.
His lips moved on instinct. "Li Yun…?"
The door burst open.
"Young Master! You're awake?!" a panicked servant cried. "You fell again last night, drunk out of your mind! The steward said you'd break your neck one day—"
Li Yun didn't hear the rest. His eyes drifted to the nearby wall — and there, mounted in a frame, was a painting.
A man in iron armor. Proud. Unbending.
Li Zheng, the Iron General.
The realization struck him like lightning.
He had transmigrated.
Into another Li Yun — a spoiled noble son, disgraced and ridiculed by all.
But there was no fear in his eyes.
Because for the first time in his life… the Ghost had no mission.
He had a throne to take.