Hotel cleaner Landon is betrayed by his cheating wife, who drains their savings while his mother needs medical help. After a car accident, he gains the ability to see lifespans and object values. He rises to wealth, saves his mother, and wins heiress Quella's heart—while his betrayers pay.

Robert defies his family to marry Hathaway and builds her startup into a listed company. But her assistant George turns her against Robert, causing their divorce. Robert withdraws his investment, ruining her business, and moves on with his betrothed Natasha, leaving Hathaway full of regret.

In the late-night showdown at "Tranquility Restaurant," light sliced like knives, tearing through the silence. Jasper, the rising star chef, said nothing. With a gentle push of his fingertips against the fish's belly, he removed every bone from the East China Sea silver perch—without breaking the skin. The tail still quivered faintly, as if swimming in the deep sea. The room erupted. Old-school master Zev sneered, “Just flashy tricks. Cooking isn’t illusion.” But before the words faded, surveillance footage suddenly played on the main screen—three years ago, Zev had used his so-called “inner energy infusion” to manipulate taste illusions, secretly influencing judges and stealing the Golden Spoon that rightfully belonged to another. The evidence was undeniable. Shock rippled through the crowd. Zev leapt to his feet, eyes bloodshot. “Who do you think you are? You dare ruin my life?” He lunged at Jasper, palm blazing with fury. Yet Jasper closed his eyes—left hand drawing a circle, right hand striking like lightning. He unleashed the long-lost **Dance of the Beast, Bone-Stripping Technique**. One blade, one cut—silent, seamless. Zev froze. His knife clattered to the floor. He looked down. Five crimson lines bloomed across his apron, perfectly aligned with the projected positions of the five vital organs. The outcome was clear. Then, a dark figure stepped in through the rain. Hair white as snow, left sleeve hanging empty. Master Chef had arrived. His gaze settled on Jasper, soft but profound: “The final disciple I’ve waited twenty years for… has finally made this blade speak again.” Silence swallowed the room. Only the crackle of stove flames remained, illuminating the young man once mocked as “all show, no soul.” He turned, removed his chef’s hat—and revealed an old lotus-shaped scar on the back of his neck. The **“Crimson Flame Brand.”** A mark known only to Master Chef’s lineage. He hadn’t come to challenge the rules from the start. He had come to **burn the old throne to ashes.**

In the Hall of Golden Chimes, officials stood in solemn silence. Before the emperor upon his dragon throne could speak, a white figure shattered the morning light as it arrived. A youth clad in pure white robes, hair like snow and eyes like cold stars, ascended the jade steps with measured strides—each step resonating deep within the hearts of those present. The court murmured in scorn—him again, Adrian, the prince abandoned to the frontier, returned only to be called "the talentless wretch with no spiritual roots." "The Emperor once promised half the empire to whoever could break the 'Ninefold Thunder Prison Array,'" he declared, voice clear and calm, neither humble nor haughty. "Today, I have come to claim my reward." The hall erupted in shock. "Insolence!" the Grand Preceptor roared. "You can't even hold a sword—how dare you speak of breaking the array?" The princess trembled, whispering, "He's gone mad… Even the Imperial Seer dares not approach that formation." A foreign envoy sneered, "Another bastard son of Nelson Shaw, thinking words alone can change fate?" Only the Empress Dowager's pupils contracted sharply—her gaze locked onto the faintly glowing azure纹 on the youth's wrist—the ancient mark of the tyrant's bloodline, awakened after three centuries! At that very moment— Boom!!! The heavens split open. Seven bolts of violet lightning crashed down from the clouds, converging into a writhing arc within the boy’s palm. He bore no weapon, yet gales howled around him, the ground cracked beneath his feet, officials collapsed to their knees, and armor shattered under invisible force. The Emperor shot upright, his throne exploding behind him. "You… you are…" "I am no one's shame," Adrian lifted his gaze, a faint smile playing on his lips as the world shifted around him. "I am the new king you would beg for—yet never dare hope to see." Bathed in thunderlight, he let out a soft laugh: "Now then—who still dares say… I am unworthy?"

When Dr. Joseph Johnson meets Charles Summers, a fearless racing star secretly battling a humiliating condition, the spark between them is instant—and wild. Through treatment, Joseph draws Charles into a whirlwind of obsession and desire, blurring the line between care and control… But when passion shifts into obsession, who will be the true prey in the end?

Under the chandelier at the birthday party, Molly wore a sequined little dress, carrying a strawberry cake toward the corner. Laughter filled the air, and the champagne tower shimmered with dreamlike sparkles. Suddenly, the front door crashed open. A drenched man stood in the doorway, rainwater dripping from his trench coat onto the carpet. He stared fixedly at Molly, voice hoarse: "You're... Molly?" Silence fell over the room. The little girl looked up, her eyes utterly calm. "You've got the wrong place, Uncle. Mom didn't invite you." The man staggered, nearly losing his balance. "I'm your father... I've been looking for you for three years! After that car accident, they told me you were dead—said both of you died!" "Shut up." Her mother approached in high heels, elegantly linking arms with her well-dressed new boyfriend. "Sir, we've already called the police. Please leave immediately." The man roared, "Lin Wan! Can you say that to your child's face?! I'm her real father! The DNA will prove it!" The mother sneered, "What kind of homeless fraudster chasing compensation are you? My daughter was conceived through IVF—the father's information is confidential. Who do you think you are?" Gasps rippled through the crowd. At that moment, another door on the opposite side of the hall slowly opened. A man in gold-rimmed glasses stepped in, holding a document, followed by two people who looked like lawyers. "I regret interrupting this spectacle," he said, his gaze settling on Molly's face as he spoke softly, "but according to the Supreme Court's final ruling three months ago—I am Molly's biological father." Dead silence. He removed his glasses, eyes glistening. "Your mother illegally obtained my sperm sample. The artificial insemination was carried out overseas. This child... is truly mine." The mother's face paled. "Impossible! That file was destroyed long ago!" "But the surveillance footage wasn't," the man replied calmly. "Every moment you stole the sample from the fertility clinic is preserved in the official records." Molly looked down at the cake in her hands, watching the cream drip slowly onto the floor. Then she spoke, her voice childlike yet clear: "So... do I have two dads now?" No one answered. Only the thunder cracked outside, as if heaven and earth themselves were asking— Blood or nurture, lies or truth, which one truly earns the name of father?