Chapter 2

A faintly relieved smile tugged at his lips. He let go of the railing. The next second, the sensation of weightlessness and rapid descent engulfed him. Zhang Xianyang closed his eyes in despair.

"...Yangyang, I heard your Old District Zhang Family has an ancestral secret passage. Do you know about it?"

"Why are you asking?"

"Nothing. I'm just curious."

"You can't talk about that."

"...Yangyang, tell us about your life in the Old Zhang Family?"

"Why talk about that?"

"Just curious. There are so many rumors about the Old District Zhang Family, and the Old District is always so secretive and mysterious. Everyone gets curious."

"...Just tell us casually. Like how you lived there, who in your Zhang Family treated you best, or who didn't treat you very well. If your brother knows, he'll help you get revenge."

"..."

"Yangyang, tell us about the Old Zhang Family's secret passage?"

"Why do you keep asking about that?"

"I really am just curious. Besides, you've already been in the Li Family for nine years. We're all family now. What are you afraid of?"

That was right. What was there to fear? What could happen? They had already... been together for nearly ten years.

They were family!

A dazzling white light suddenly tore through the pitch-black night. No one noticed the figure leaping from the high attic vanish abruptly in midair...

Author's note: A new story is starting. Please support it! ╭(╯3╰)╮

I saw everyone was hung up on the numbers, so I revised them a little o(n_n)o~

Chapter 2

Darkness. As far as the eye could see, there was only darkness. The feeling of weightlessness came from the depths of his soul. Wind seemed to howl past his ears as he fell uncontrollably. Despair surged over him like a tide, as though countless arms were tearing at his body. Zhang Xianyang closed his eyes and let himself fall. Then came several deafening crashes, and he suddenly lost his balance. His shoulder and head struck the hard ground in succession, sending searing pain through him.

Zhang Xianyang abruptly opened his eyes. Above him was a glaringly white ceiling. An old fan turned slowly overhead, its teeth-grating creaks clearly audible. The surroundings were bright and simple. Rows of desks and chairs filled his vision, along with teenage boys and girls staring at him in alarm. They all looked around fifteen or sixteen, dressed in the standard school uniforms worn by most middle schools in the Old District years ago. Their eyes were young, their faces immature, and every one of them watched him with confusion and panic.

Zhang Xianyang clutched his wildly pounding heart and slowly stood up. At the front of the old classroom stood a black wooden chalkboard and a brand-new three-foot podium. A middle-aged woman in her forties, wearing black-rimmed glasses, stood behind it. She still held half a piece of chalk and maintained the posture of someone teaching, but she was staring at him in stunned disbelief.

Zhang Xianyang stared blankly at the teacher for a long while, then lowered his head, quietly righted the overturned desk and chair, and silently sat back down.

The classroom atmosphere was heavy and awkward. After thinking for quite some time, the female teacher on the podium recalled the special instructions the principal had given her before class. In the end, she said awkwardly, "Pay attention during class. You've just entered your first year of high school. You need to build a solid foundation if you want to get into a good university."

Zhang Xianyang's expression became even more blank. He raised his right hand and rubbed his burning shoulder and throbbing head without saying a word.

After some thought, the teacher asked again, "You hit your head when you fell just now. Do you want to visit the school infirmary?"

Zhang Xianyang blinked and shook his head. "No."

Embarrassment and irritation flashed across the teacher's face. Her lips moved, but she still did not dare say anything. She could only turn around and continue the lesson. Her steady, magnetic voice resumed explaining the textbook material. The other students quietly listened as well, though their gazes occasionally swept toward Zhang Xianyang. Their faces were full of suspicion, and their expressions evasive.

Zhang Xianyang sighed. Ignoring the strange looks around him, he slowly lay down on the wooden desk. A jumble of memories surfaced in his mind. They did not belong to this time or this space. Instead, they recorded the trivial events of the next ten years, bit by bit, until the moment he jumped to his death—or rather, until the moment his suicide was interrupted by rescue.

At that thought, a glimmer of light suddenly appeared before his closed eyes. A boy identical to Zhang Xianyang appeared out of nowhere in his mind and mocked him in a soaring, playful tone. "Hahaha, Zhang Xianyang, you're hilarious. You can even fall onto the floor while sleeping. You're the dumbest, stupidest, most useless host I've ever seen!"

Zhang Xianyang secretly rolled his eyes, unwilling to pay attention to the gloating Photon Brain. Yet the Photon Brain kept chattering. "Hey, I'm your lifesaver, you know. Is this how you treat me? How ungrateful!"

Zhang Xianyang kept his eyes closed to rest until the dismissal bell rang. Only then did he pick up his schoolbag and slowly leave the classroom. Dismissal was the busiest time of day, when crowds pressed shoulder to shoulder. Yet as Zhang Xianyang walked through them with his schoolbag slung behind one hand, no one dared approach him. Most students would rather be squeezed so tightly they could barely stand than step anywhere near him. From above, the packed crowd presented a bizarre sight: wherever Zhang Xianyang went, an empty path opened up, allowing him to leave the teaching building without obstruction.

The Photon Brain in his head let out a frivolous whistle and commented in an unreadable tone, "Now that's style!"

Zhang Xianyang still said nothing. He walked down the concrete steps, his spotless white designer sneakers landing steadily on the clean pavement as he headed straight for the field opposite the teaching building. The maroon rubber track was softer than the hard concrete. Zhang Xianyang stood motionless on it. Before him was the recently renovated podium. In front of it stood a flagpole painted white, its national flag snapping in the wind. He silently watched the flag, then the deep blue sky above it. Several cotton-candy-like clouds drifted slowly in the breeze. The scene was so pure, so lofty.

Zhang Xianyang gave a derisive laugh and turned toward the school gate. Outside, snack stalls stood in small clusters, surrounded by students who had just gotten out of school, noisily ordering food. Facing the wind, Zhang Xianyang could almost smell the fragrant, greasy scent of fried stinky tofu, grilled cold noodles, and toasted buns.

A black Mercedes-Benz sat quietly at the school gate. Two bald men in tank tops, floral shorts, and thick gold chains stood in front of the car with their arms folded. The moment they saw Zhang Xianyang emerge, their eyes lit up.

"Good afternoon, Third Young Master. School must have been tiring."

Parents picking up their children hurried past the car with their heads lowered, dragging their children along and avoiding the two men as if they were plague. Their panicked behavior made the bald men laugh loudly. One of them even called out in a rough voice, "Don't walk so fast. Watch out for the car."

Before he could finish, the surrounding students and parents hurried away even faster.

Zhang Xianyang frowned almost imperceptibly and stepped forward. "Don't come pick me up starting tomorrow."

The bald man who had spoken earlier said indifferently, "Please rest assured, Young Master. The gang rules forbid us from doing anything to ordinary people."

The other bald man added with a grin, "But if they scare themselves, that has nothing to do with us."

As he spoke, he stepped forward to take Zhang Xianyang's schoolbag and eagerly opened the car door for him. He even rested one hand on the top of the doorframe to make it easier for Zhang Xianyang to get in.

Zhang Xianyang bent down and entered the car. The two bald men immediately went around to take the driver's and front passenger's seats. Through the window, Zhang Xianyang could still see the concealed fear and disgust in the parents' and students' eyes, along with a faint longing and envy that they had carefully hidden. That was the Zhang Family's standing in the Old District: a massive force people feared, yet coveted.

The Mercedes-Benz drove steadily down the street. Resting his cheek on one hand as he looked out the window, Zhang Xianyang asked, "Where is Dad today?"

The bald driver, Zhang Han, replied, "At the branch casino on West Street in the Old District. I heard the owner of that garment factory, the one who borrowed loan-shark money and dared to run, has been caught. The boss wants to teach him a lesson."

Zhang Xianyang said casually, "What kind of lesson?"

"Beat him up, chop off one of his hands, or simply kill him and auction off his garment factory to settle the debt." Li Zhuang, sitting in the front passenger seat, shrugged casually. "Our gang rules say a person bears responsibility for his own actions. We'll never drag in his family or friends. So even if we take his life, he should be grateful."

They wanted to chop someone up or kill him just because he could not repay money, and he was supposed to be endlessly grateful? Zhang Xianyang frowned visibly. Before being reborn, he had never thought there was anything wrong with that logic. A debt had to be repaid. Since he knew he could not repay it, why borrow the money in the first place? Did he think loan-shark money grew on trees?

Although Zhang Xianyang still did not think there was anything worthy of sympathy or forgiveness in running away from debt, he thought of the Old Zhang Family's miserable fate ten years later. He decided he should do something, if only to accumulate a little good karma.

At that thought, Zhang Xianyang let out a very obvious sigh.

People always liked to leave matters they could not resist or face to heaven. For instance, when you could not punish the so-called villain who had harmed you, you would secretly curse, "Evil will be repaid; the time simply has not come." Or when you saw a criminal whom you considered utterly wicked brought to justice, you would happily believe it was retribution.

Zhang Xianyang did not know whether his family belonged among those receiving "evil retribution," but having been reborn, he decided to believe in karma and try to become a somewhat better person.

But becoming a good person was not so simple. It was like a sheet of white paper already stained black. How could the black be removed without damaging the paper's original structure? That was a difficult question.

Zhang Xianyang, who had never been particularly good at school, did not know how to remove black ink stains from white paper. But he understood very well how to paint a thick layer of white paint over the original black marks.

And what Zhang Xianyang needed to do now was apply that white paint before anything happened. So, watching the pedestrians and trees rush backward on either side of the road, he quietly ordered, "Go to the West Street branch."

Author's note: Continuing to act cute, awooo~~

This is the story of a darkened little wolf leading his pack of wolves as they struggle to become sheep.

Chapter 3

The car drove from the city center toward the casino branch. About half an hour later, it reached the most famous red-light district in all of L City—West Street. The Old Zhang Family's casino stood right in the middle of West Street. It was a four-story building whose white exterior had become old and shabby after years of wind and rain. Unlike other gambling houses, which kept themselves hidden, the plaque above its entrance boldly displayed five large characters: "Zhang Family Casino." This was the Old District Zhang Family's dominance and flamboyance.

The car stopped directly outside Zhang Family Casino. Before Li Zhuang in the front passenger seat could get out, Zhang Xianyang opened the door himself and walked into the casino. The first floor was a noisy, smoke-filled hall, with a sour, foul smell lingering in the air. Zhang Xianyang frowned in disgust. The lobby manager in charge came over, bowing and scraping as he asked with a smile, "What wind blew the Third Young Master here today? Want to head upstairs and play a few rounds?"