Lei Zhengyang wasn't cooped up in Liu Weiwei's apartment. Back in the real world, he felt like a phoenix risen from ashes, a whirlwind of joy and purpose he could barely define. One thing was certain: he'd seize this second life with both hands, never taking a moment for granted.
Tianhai was familiar turf. He'd roamed its streets before, leaving a trail of fleeting friendships. But those ties now felt like dust in the wind—shallow connections, unworthy of the man he'd become. They weren't true friends, just shadows of his past.
He wandered along Lovers' Lane, the coastal breeze calming his restless heart. Arms raised to the sky, he soaked in a freedom he'd never known. The Lei family's looming downfall and his mission to save Song Yingfei weighed on him, but they didn't break him. Unlike the aimless playboy of before, he had a goal. He was reborn, a man with fire in his soul.
The lane was quiet, its paths dotted with couples lost in each other's arms, their love painting the air with a dreamy haze. But as he stepped into a wooded grove, the mood shifted. The sea breeze turned heavy, laced with menace. His instincts flared. Trouble was brewing.
Three men, one woman. A déjà vu of last night's alley brawl—thugs cornering a lone target. But this was no petty street crime. The air thrummed with lethal intent. Two Easterners, two Westerners with blond hair and hawkish features. Two older, two younger. The woman, Milu, stood defiant, her short hair framing a face cold as frost, her body radiating a killer's aura. Behind her, a wounded man—her brother, by the look of it—clutched a bleeding wound.
"Why didn't you kill him?" Milu stormed toward Lei Zhengyang, her voice icy, her presence dripping with danger. She was striking, but no man would dare love her. She was a blade, too sharp to hold.
Lei Zhengyang met her gaze, unfazed. "Why would I?"
"Don't you know who they are?" she snapped. "They're Tiansha—global assassins. The one you killed, Tom, was their rising star. The one who fled, Moni, runs their Eastern operations. If you're with the Blade Corps, no matter how elite, you shouldn't have let them walk away alive."
He smirked, amused by her lecturing tone. "And you? Should I kill you too? Seems you're all cut from the same cloth."
His words carried a teasing edge, but assassins don't joke. Milu's brother, pale and clutching his wound, stepped forward. "No misunderstanding here. We're killers, sure, but we've never spilled blood on Eastern soil. We left Tiansha because they broke their promise not to operate here. That's why they're hunting us. You've got no reason to worry—we won't cause the Blade Corps any trouble."
Lei Zhengyang glanced at the man's injury. It was severe, yet both siblings stood tall, their resilience a testament to brutal training. Most would've collapsed by now.
"Forgot to mention," Lei Zhengyang said casually, "I'm not with the Blade Corps. Heard the name somewhere, but I'm really just passing through."
The siblings exchanged skeptical looks. A random stranger this powerful? Since when did the East crawl with hidden masters, strong enough to send a world-class killer like Moni running?
"Believe me or not, doesn't matter," Lei Zhengyang continued. "But your brother needs a doctor, fast. Hope you're both still breathing next time we cross paths. Good luck."
He had no interest in their story, though it clearly held secrets worth uncovering. Curiosity wasn't his vice. Tiansha was bad news, but this was a fluke, not his fight. He had his own battles—saving his family, redeeming Song Yingfei. The East's safety wasn't his burden. The nation was strong, and if Tiansha stirred trouble, the Blade Corps would handle it.
The name Blade Corps tugged at a memory. He'd heard it from a friend once, a whispered legend among Beijing's reckless elite. The Corps was idolized, a symbol of untouchable power that even the city's wildest heirs revered.
As Lei Zhengyang walked away, Milu and her brother stared after him, confusion clouding their eyes.
"Who is he?" Milu murmured, half to herself. "He's… strong."
Her brother forced a weak smile. "Doesn't matter who he is. What matters is if you don't get me to a hospital, next year's my death anniversary."
Time blurred. A car screeched to a halt before them, driven by a white-haired old man who leaped out, his face a mix of relief and urgency. "Third Son, you're back! Little Sister, your father's missed you!"
The siblings, thirty years apart, shared a bond that defied their age gap—a testament to their father's enduring vigor.
Lei Zhengyang brushed off the encounter like a stray breeze. His mind was fixed on next month's engagement banquet and Song Yingfei's haunting, fragile face. If he saw her again, he'd say the words he owed her: I'm sorry.
"Zhengyang, hurry up!" Liu Weiwei's voice snapped him back to the present. "I got you some clothes—try them on. We're not eating in tonight. My classmate's getting engaged, and I'm invited to the party. You're my plus-one."
Penniless and hungry, Lei Zhengyang had returned to her apartment only to eat. For the next month, he'd be relying on Liu Weiwei's generosity to survive.
"Boyfriend, huh?" he teased, taking the clothes.
Her cheeks flushed crimson. "Dream on! Want to be my boyfriend? Get a face-lift first."
But when Lei Zhengyang emerged in the tailored suit, Liu Weiwei's jaw nearly hit the floor. Damn, he's hot. Lean and statuesque, he wore the suit like it was made for him, exuding effortless charisma. Her heart skipped, but she played it cool, nodding nonchalantly. "Not bad. Told you my taste is flawless."
He grinned. "Gotta say, those boxers you picked yesterday fit like a glove. Your eye's on point."
"You—!" she sputtered, flustered. "Don't get any weird ideas! I didn't look at anything. I just have a knack for this. Hold still—let me fix your hair. Pro tip: the buzz cut's not your vibe. Grow it out, and you might just pass for a heartthrob. Won't embarrass me in public."
In the Hell Training Camp, grooming was a luxury Lei Zhengyang couldn't afford. His shaved head had been practical, but the short hair growing back gave him a sharp, dangerous edge. Paired with his chiseled features, it wasn't just charm—it was lethal magnetism. To men, that allure spelled trouble.
Lei Zhengyang was no stranger to parties. Back in Beijing, he'd crashed countless galas, mostly to chase women. Private orgies aside, formal invites came often—status demanded it. Whether he showed up depended on his mood and the promise of beautiful company. Now, stepping into this engagement party with Liu Weiwei, he felt like a man caught between worlds, the past and present colliding.
Liu Weiwei noticed the flicker in his expression and looped her arm through his, her smile reassuring. "Relax, it's no big deal. These parties are just posturing—half for profit, half for showing off. Everyone's wearing a mask, playing nice, but the second it's over, they're strangers again. Waste of time, really."
Lei Zhengyang raised a brow. For a woman so vibrant, her cynicism was striking. "Then why bother coming?"
She sighed. "Couldn't say no. My first love invited me personally. If I skipped, he wouldn't get to flaunt his big win. For old times' sake, I'll let him have his moment. Plus, I want to prove I don't regret walking away from him."
He studied her, impressed. Liu Weiwei wasn't just a pretty face—she had layers, a sharp mind that saw through the world's games. This woman's something else.
Her lips curved, catching his look. "Don't look so shocked. I'm just wired this way—a bit extreme. If I weren't, some guy would've snagged me as a trophy wife by now. Chasing me? Good luck."
"Vivi, you made it!" A man's voice cut through the crowd. "I've been waiting ages. Meet my fiancée, Hong Yulian. Yulian, this is Vivi, my old college friend—and our year's most stunning Ph.D. student. Hard to believe it's been three years. Time flies!"
The man, He Shaobin, radiated smug confidence, his gaze dripping with condescension as he looked at Liu Weiwei. His fiancée, Hong Yulian, wasn't fooled by the "friend" label. With a sneer worthy of high society, she sized Liu Weiwei up. "Not that impressive. Shaobin, I'm questioning your taste. No class at all."
Liu Weiwei didn't flinch, her smile unwavering. "Miss Hong, you're radiant. It's an honor to attend your engagement to Mr. He. You two are a match made in heaven. Congratulations."
Hong Yulian bristled. Her barbed jab was fueled by jealousy—Liu Weiwei's beauty outshone her own. But Liu Weiwei's gracious response, devoid of counterattack, left her floundering, unsure how to press the assault.
Her eyes flicked to Lei Zhengyang, a new target. "And this is Miss Liu's boyfriend, I presume? Where do you work, sir? My Shaobin's the deputy GM at Yuanxing Software, a division of Circle Group. Pulls in four, maybe five million a year."
She'd found her angle. If she couldn't dent Liu Weiwei, she'd tear into her escort. But Lei Zhengyang's poised, aristocratic air—miles above her fiancé's—only fueled her resentment.
Lei Zhengyang, ever the scion of a great family, carried an effortless nobility no amount of wealth could mimic. With a lazy grin, he said, "Me? I'm a jobless drifter, living off Vivi's dime."
He spoke the truth, eager to see how far Liu Weiwei's composure could stretch—and how these social climbers would react to his blunt honesty.