The night grew deeper, but Long Xingchen remained standing on the balcony as if the shadows fed him strength rather than stole it. The city below glimmered with artificial lights, but to him, every tower and street was merely fragile scaffolding built over a deeper truth. Beneath this modern world lay forgotten bones—eras lost, dynasties devoured, heavens erased. He'd glimpsed only the faintest shadow of the devouring force. That alone was enough to carve a cold scar across his mind.
He turned away from the balcony and walked back into the room. The echo of that ancient woman's voice still buzzed faintly behind his ribs: "Let those who come after… remember the truth." Her words felt like a thread thrown across time itself, a plea surviving millions of years of erasure. Whoever she was, she stood too calmly in the face of oblivion. Too knowingly.
He sank onto the bed, exhaling slowly.
Nine days.
Nine days until the next door in time would open.
Nine days before he could travel to an era long before the first dynasty fell—hundreds of thousands, even millions of years in the past.
Strong enough to meet ancient cultivators at their prime.
Strong enough to witness the world before the sky broke.
Strong enough to find the truth the dead tried to whisper.
But nine days was also not long.
The Qin family was already advancing faster than the original timeline. The operatives watching the villa, the move Shaoyang made at the gate… this was a different tempo. In his previous life, the Qin family had taken their time, enjoying the process of cornering the Long family like a cat playing with a mouse. This time, they were impatient. Something about Xingchen's rebirth—his altered aura, his confidence—had stirred the timeline like a spilled bucket of water.
He pulled out his phone. A new message blinked at him.
Chen Hao:
Bro, someone asked about your family business today. At school. Some guys I've never seen before.
Another message came immediately after.
Zhao Feng:
Yeah, they asked weird questions: revenue, security, who your father partners with. Feels off.
Xingchen stared at the two messages.
Good friends. Friends who'd died with crushed bones in a silent "construction accident" in his previous life. He remembered their funeral. The grief. The guilt. The rage. He never gave himself time to mourn them—he was too busy trying to stop all the deaths around him.
This time would be different.
He typed back:
Be careful. Don't talk to them. We'll meet tomorrow morning. I'll explain everything you need to know.
He put the phone down.
Friends, family, lover—no one would die this time.
He stood and cracked his neck lightly. The Heaven-Defying Body Refining Technique pulsed at the center of his mind, its first cycle already completed. He could feel the tightened sinews beneath his skin, the sharper depth of his breath, the increased density of his bones. But it was still only the beginning.
He sat again and resumed the cultivation posture.
Breathing.
Intention.
Circulation.
Warmth began to spread through his veins again. But beneath that warmth lay something different—something like the memory of divine qi. Not pure, not complete, but a shadow of the energy he commanded in his second life. His soul recognized every pathway instantly, adjusting the technique with frightening precision.
Ten breaths in, he heard the faint clicking of tendons shifting into optimal alignment.
Twenty breaths, and micro-fissures formed in his bones, only to immediately heal stronger.
Thirty breaths, and the impurities in his muscles evaporated in tiny sparks that flickered across his skin.
When he opened his eyes, the clock showed two hours had passed.
He stood.
His joints didn't make a sound.
His balance was perfect.
His heartbeat steady, powerful, controlled.
Not a mortal body anymore.
He walked to the mirror. The boyish features were unchanged, but something beneath made him look older—not in age, but in presence. There was an unspoken gravity in his posture, a sovereign heaviness that came from standing at the peak of a broken heaven for millions of years.
He moved through the villa silently, stepping into the corridor. The house slept, fools of peace unaware of the knives hidden behind tomorrow's curtain.
His father's office light flickered under the door.
Xingchen hesitated only for a second before knocking.
"Dad?"
A weary voice answered. "Enter."
The room smelled of paperwork and coffee. Long Tianhai sat at the desk, piles of documents in front of him—financial reports, project agreements, and proposals from partners. His eyes were tired. Too tired. Xingchen knew that exhaustion well. His father had worked himself sick in the old timeline, trying to salvage the family business while invisible nooses tightened around their neck.
"Still working?" Xingchen asked.
Long Tianhai rubbed his temples. "There are some issues with the investment agreement from the capital. Something… strange. The terms shifted. They adjusted some conditions without notifying us."
Xingchen's eyes sharpened.
The Qin family. Of course.
In the old timeline, this contract had been the first little string they used to pull the Long family down. A legal trap disguised as opportunity.
"Dad," Xingchen said carefully, "don't sign anything new that comes from the capital."
His father blinked. "Why do you say that?"
"I have a bad feeling," Xingchen said. "Just… trust me on this."
Long Tianhai studied him for a long moment.
Xingchen's tone wasn't panicked or childish.
It was steady. Heavy. Adult.
Finally, his father nodded.
"…Alright. I'll hold off on it."
Good.
He didn't need his father walking willingly into a trap.
He left without another word and returned to his room. The night was nearly over.
Morning would bring movement.
He barely slept, but didn't need to. His soul strengthened his mind. Fatigue became only a sensation, not a limitation.
The sun rose.
He walked to school with a casual stride that disguised the heightened awareness of every car, every window, every shadow on the street. The Qin family's surveillance wasn't subtle. He felt their eyes on him like faint heat on his back.
He entered the campus. Chen Hao and Zhao Feng were waiting near the gate.
Chen Hao waved exaggeratedly. "Xingchen! Bro! What happened to your face? You look like… calm. Too calm. Weirdly calm."
Zhao Feng nodded. "Yeah. You look like you slept ten hours and also like you just returned from a war."
"I did," Xingchen said under his breath.
"What?"
"Nothing."
He took them to a quiet part of the courtyard and lowered his voice.
"Listen to me. If anyone from the capital asks you something again, don't answer. Don't talk to them. Don't mention my family. Nothing."
Chen Hao frowned. "Xingchen, what's going on?"
"You don't need to know," Xingchen said softly. "Just stay away from suspicious people. And tell me immediately if something feels wrong."
Zhao Feng's expression grew serious. "We'll be careful."
Xingchen nodded.
"Good."
He planned to protect them quietly. They didn't need to know the storm swirling above their heads.
As classes dragged on, he barely heard the lectures. His thoughts drifted between timelines.
The first dynasty's final collapse.
The fragment's vision.
The grey mist.
The woman who stood alone in the ruins.
Who are you?
The system chimed suddenly.
> [Fragment Resonance Increasing.]
[A new vision will trigger soon.]
He stiffened.
Not now.
Not in the classroom.
The vision burst through his skull like sunlight breaking through a storm.
A temple.
Ancient.
Walls carved with constellations.
Torches burning without fire.
A man stood before a giant mirror-like slab of jade.
Tall. Majestic. Cold-eyed.
His voice rumbled like thunder.
"Erase us if you dare. But the truth will not die."
Beside him stood the woman from the first vision.
She whispered something, a sentence fragmented by the surge of power around them:
"…the traveler… find us…"
The vision shattered.
Xingchen blinked, gripping the desk.
No one noticed. Everyone was too busy copying notes.
He inhaled slowly.
What had he just seen?
The man in that vision…
His aura wasn't ordinary.
Not mortal.
Not even immortal.
He felt beyond the scale of the worlds Xingchen knew.
Whoever he was—he was tied to the destruction of the heavens.
Xingchen closed his eyes for a moment, steadying himself.
The system chimed again.
> [Host's soul adaptation to Fragment: 12%.]
[More fragments required to access full memory transmission.]
[Beware: The more you remember, the more the erased entity will notice you.]
Xingchen opened his eyes slowly.
"Let him notice."
The Qin family at least acted human.
This thing beyond the sky was something else entirely.
When school ended, Lin Yuerou approached him at the gate. She held her textbook tight against her chest, eyes shifting nervously.
"Xingchen," she said softly, "can we talk?"
He nodded. They walked to a shaded corner of the school garden.
She looked up at him.
"You're different. Since yesterday… you feel older. Heavier. And you keep looking around like you expect someone to attack you."
Xingchen didn't answer immediately.
Yuerou's voice dropped lower. "Is something going to happen to your family? I saw… I saw those men near your house last night."
He met her gaze. Her eyes were scared. Vulnerable. Trusting.
In the old timeline, she carried that fear alone until it suffocated her.
He couldn't lie to her—not anymore.
"Yuerou," he said quietly. "Yes. Something is happening. But I'm not letting anyone hurt you."
She bit her lip, color draining from her face.
He gently placed a hand on her head.
Her shoulders trembled slightly at the touch—not fear, but relief.
"You don't need to understand everything now," he said softly. "Just trust me."
She closed her eyes and breathed out.
"…I do."
He walked her home, scanning every street, analyzing every shadow. The Qin family wouldn't dare make a move in broad daylight, not yet. They needed subtlety. But their agents were watching.
Back at the villa, security guards he hired were already patrolling. Discreet, but trained. Two of them bowed lightly as he passed.
"Welcome home, young master."
His father met him in the hallway.
"Xingchen," Long Tianhai said, "someone from the capital called today. They want to schedule a meeting."
Xingchen's eyes darkened.
"When?"
"Next week."
Seven days.
Before the next time travel.
Of course.
He nodded. "Let me handle it."
"Xingchen—"
"I said I'll handle it."
Long Tianhai hesitated. There it was again—that steady tone, weight beyond his years. Slowly, he nodded.
Xingchen returned to his room, closing the door.
He sat again.
Breathing.
Circulation.
The second cycle of the Heaven-Defying Body Refining Technique churned through him like molten metal poured into a mold.
Bones strengthened again.
Muscles tightened.
Breath deepened.
Skin hardened subtly.
By the time the cycle finished, the sky outside was dark.
He stood.
A single punch through the air created a shockwave that rattled his bookshelf.
Not enough.
But close.
As he lay back against the pillow for a moment, the system chimed softly.
> [Cooldown: 8 days.]
[Estimated next travel location: Ancient Era — 900,000 years before first collapse.]
[Danger level: High.]
[Recommended: Prepare thoroughly.]
Xingchen closed his eyes.
"Eight days."
Eight days to prepare for a journey nearly a million years in the past.
Eight days to build shields for his family.
Eight days before he stepped into a heaven that had not yet broken.
His breathing slowed.
He smiled faintly.
"If the sky broke once…"
His eyes sharpened.
"…I'll follow the crack back to the beginning."
The night settled around him, unaware that a cultivator who survived two lifetimes was preparing to walk into a forgotten era to steal back the truth of the heavens.