I was once the Supreme Martial Artist, revered by tens of thousands. But now, I am merely a vagrant, scrounging for food with stray dogs in a street corner. The blood of a venomous serpent once granted me unparalleled divine power, yet my brother's poisoned wine cast me into the abyss. My memories were brutally excised, leaving only hunger and cold, and the faint, powerful illusions that felt alien to me. It was in the sixth month of my wandering. Filthy and disheveled, I caught a whiff of unease near an alley entrance. A few ruffians were cornering a woman in training attire—Lavina. She was beautiful, like a drawn sword, and her beauty had clearly drawn unwanted attention. I should have turned away, avoiding trouble as I usually did. But for some reason, a strange yet familiar fury ignited in my chest. My body acted before my mind, my grimy fists whistling through the air. The ruffians didn't even see my movements before they fell to the ground, howling. That power, that swiftness, felt alien even to me. Lavina's eyes held a hint of curiosity, a touch of admiration, and a flicker of... pity. She asked no questions, simply took my hand and led me back to the martial arts hall she managed with her father. The Master was an old man, his gaze as sharp as an eagle's, yet brimming with wisdom. He looked at me, shaking his head with a sigh, as if beholding a treasure covered in dust. "Your skill is extraordinary, yet you are consumed by amnesia. A pity," he pondered for a moment. "The hall needs an odd-job man. I'll provide food and shelter, but no pay." I nodded. It was the most generous offer I had heard in six months. At least, I would have a roof over my head, no longer having to fight dogs for scraps. A new life began, but danger stealthily drew near. While cleaning the martial arts hall one day, a familiar yet unfamiliar figure crashed into my awareness. He wore brand new training attire, his eyes sharp, yet upon seeing me, there was a flicker of undetectable panic and unease. Was he my... enemy? Or... family? I didn't know, but a primal chill ran down my spine. He was the brother I had personally cast into the abyss, now reappearing in my new life as a student. While wiping a dusty wall, my gaze inadvertently fell upon an ancient, treasured sword. It hung silently, a faded ribbon wrapped around its hilt. In that instant, a blinding white flash erupted in my mind: blades clashing, shadows dancing, flesh and blood flying... Was it my past? Or a future yet to be unearthed? I gripped the broom tightly, my fingertips ice-cold. Were forgotten powers and a fated enemy silently awakening, stirred by this very sword?

Belinda's voice, silken and alluring, brushed over the gleam of polished chrome. "How about this one? Someone of your distinguished caliber deserves nothing less than a top-tier ride." Nicholas, accustomed to such luxury, gave a subtle nod, accepting the flattery as his due. Hours later, however, the praise felt utterly hollow. Late that night, he lay curled in his cold bedroom, his wife Mina beside him. He spoke in a low voice, a subtle plea in his tone, almost a whisper of humility: "Darling, could I get a new electric scooter? I've had this one for five years." Mina didn't lift her head, focused on the bottles and jars on her dressing table, letting out a dismissive scoff: "You hardly ever go out, what do you need a new one for? Don't be so particular." His phone buzzed. Gillian's school calling. A parent-teacher conference. He'd forgotten. At the school, a teacher eyed him with a scrutinizing gaze. "Gillian's father is already here." Another teacher, Ms. Gao, added, "He's Gillian's *real* father. The gentleman who arrived earlier is Gillian's uncle." Nicholas's face instantly drained of color. He instinctively turned to leave, but Ms. Gao gently, yet firmly, blocked his path: "Today's meeting focuses on celebrating your daughter's essay, 'My Father.'" Nicholas stood there, rigid, watching Gillian approach the stage. Her young voice, clear and earnest, spoke of his endless patience, his warm companionship, and her wish for him never to leave. Every word, like a gentle knife, slowly carved out the image of the father he once prided himself on being. However, once the essay concluded, Gillian didn't walk towards him. Instead, she ran directly to "Uncle" Hank, who sat beside Mina, and hugged him tightly. Nicholas struggled to conjure a smile, but when Hank looked at him, his eyes holding a knowing, almost pitying expression, he asked nonchalantly: "Nicholas won't mind, will he, Nicholas?" In that instant, the smile utterly shattered, leaving behind only a forced facade, beneath which, a lifetime of accumulated regret silently wailed.

Elara’s smile was so serene it was unsettling. "I'm moving," she announced softly, yet gave her loyal bodyguard Ethan a strange task: to buy sugar-roasted chestnuts for "Joyce." He offered to help her move, but she waved him off, a glint of something unfathomable flickering in her eyes, as if they held the secrets of the universe. "You'll know soon enough," she promised, her voice ethereal, like a prophecy. Then, with a casual flick, she tossed her phone out the car window. It wasn't casual at all; it was a definitive farewell. Leaving only Ethan, and a strange, tearing tremor from where his mysterious tattoo lay. A strange sense of anticipation churned uneasily in his stomach. He had never felt so clearly that this was the first time he was bringing something for "Qiaoqiao" – a name he subconsciously associated with a tender nickname for Elara. His heart pounded as if it would burst from his chest, filled with an unprecedented excitement, like a caged beast about to break free. However, when the door finally opened, it wasn't Elara standing before him, but a radiant, utterly unfamiliar woman. "Ethan, you're here!" she chirped cheerfully, her voice light and carefree as a bird, taking the still-warm chestnuts from his hand. "They're still warm! How... how did you know I like chestnuts?" Ethan's breath hitched, all his anticipation instantly frozen into ice. Suspicions coiled around his heart like venomous snakes. "Didn't Elara tell you?" The woman, oblivious to the shock and rigidity in his eyes, continued blithely, "She's 'given' you to me! Elara agreed to marry the comatose son of the Xiao family in exchange for ten billion dollars. She went to Nordor, and now... you're my bodyguard." The sweet scent of chestnuts instantly turned to bitter ash in Ethan's mouth. His world tilted violently, spinning around him. Marriage? Ten billion? A comatose man? All these fragments collided violently in his mind, piecing together a suffocating, utterly absurd picture. An icy chill instantly seeped into his bones, a coldness that even surpassed the intense pain in his chest. His hand involuntarily trembled, clutching his chest – the tattoo there was now scorching, as if branded by a hot iron. "She... she married Charlie Xiao?" He barely managed to force out the words, his voice almost inaudible, hoarse as torn rags, as if it took every ounce of his strength. This truth, like a poisoned dagger, plunged fiercely into his heart, then twisted with malicious intent. Elara, what had she done? And what did this sudden, fierce pain in his chest truly mean? He felt utterly abandoned by the world.

In a neon-lit nightclub, Flo and Kathy confront Jonathan, pressuring him to make a choice. However, the atmosphere suddenly freezes when a wedding dress photo addressed to "Mr. Lin" arrives—featuring Nikki's smug face. Taunts from around pierce Jonathan like knives, but silently, he signs for the package and walks away. Flo tries to stop him, but Kathy confidently pulls her back: "He loves us. He won't leave." But Jonathan has already left. At his apartment, his assistant hands him a tablet and documents: footage of Nikki faking injuries and evidence of his forged identity. A text from Nikki arrogantly adds that Flo and Kathy won’t return home tonight. Without a word, Jonathan leaves his phone, documents, and a cake behind. Back at the nightclub, Flo and Kathy drink and discuss Jonathan's recent "odd behavior." Suddenly, breaking news interrupts: "Taixia Dragon VII officially launches today at 4 p.m., astronauts Qin Luo and Lu Mengshu will remain in space for ten years." Flo drops her glass; Kathy's pupils widen in shock. Jonathan truly left—not for another woman, but for a decade-long space mission. Rushing back to the company, colleagues bluntly reveal: "You've only had eyes for Mr. Lin. How would you notice Captain Qin?" At that moment, their pride and arrogance crumble before cold reality. Their love, once believed genuine, turns out to have been a silent farewell unnoticed by all. And that once-easy happiness now lies far beyond the stars.

The glitzy ballroom shimmered, but the air vibrated with malice. “Shameless bitch!” the elder woman shrieked, her voice cutting through the polite murmur. “You’ve disgraced the Harper family, you worthless trash!” Molly, elegant in her beaded gown, flinched, but before she could speak, her three companions stepped forward, a formidable wall of dark suits and quiet fury. “Don’t you dare touch my girl,” the man in the navy suit growled, his eyes dark. The one in glasses added, “Or you’re freaking dead.” The Harpers scoffed. “These broke-ass nobodies couldn’t send such gifts! We know the big shots from Hopkins are coming!” the younger Harper woman sneered, holding up a small vial. “I sent these. My boss, Mr. Carter, invented this anti-aging serum.” A knowing smile played on the lips of the man in glasses. “Actually,” he began, taking the vial from the smug woman’s hand, “I developed these Alpha-3 stem cell kits. Mr. Carter had nothing to do with them.” He pulled out his phone, making a quick call. “Tell HR to process William Carter’s termination. And that new intern he hired? Fire her, too.” The younger Harper woman’s face contorted in disbelief as her own phone rang, then dropped from her trembling fingers. Her job offer, her very career, vanished with a single, devastating call. The Harpers, once so loud, were utterly silenced, their cruel words now hollow echoes in the stunned room.