Chapter One: The Madman

"Are you sure you're not joking?"

In the darkness, this cold and aged voice of doubt was like an emperor issuing an imperial edict from on high.

“Yes.”

There was no storm of rage, no indignant outburst. The youthful, clearly inexperienced voice responded with an unusual calm.

A fortune that could drown a person in cash, a family background so influential that the mere flex of a finger could shake half of China—such a person, as the only heir of his illustrious family, the sole descendant for three generations, was dead set on becoming a plastic surgeon and opening his own clinic.

Such a person was either a fool beyond remedy, or a madman obsessed to the point of insanity.

As fate would have it, Lin Yang, who had just graduated from Fudan University, was clearly the latter—a textbook case of a fanatic.

Anyone who had never witnessed the terrifying power of the Thirteen Celestial Blade Techniques could not understand its wonders; those who had never applied the Golden Silkworm Powder to wounds would never know its miraculous speed of healing. These were the burning secrets hidden in Lin Yang's heart.

A boy who, by eighth grade, had already set his sights on the path of cosmetic surgery—such a rare breed is hard to imagine, yet Lin Yang was precisely this kind of oddity, and he remained so to this day, for reasons even he could not explain.

Some things are simply a matter of liking or not liking; you can’t always articulate the reason.

Ever since, at fifteen, he had stumbled upon two yellowed ancient tomes in his family’s secret chamber, Lin Yang’s dream of becoming a plastic surgeon had grown stronger by the day.

The Thirteen Celestial Blade Techniques—an ancient manual from a medical compendium, a legendary surgical method utilizing internal energy, which in ancient times was held in the highest esteem, known as “the uncanny hand on the blade’s tip.” It had once brought untold benefit to those who pursued beauty or needed healing, leaving behind a golden reputation.

Golden Silkworm Powder—an ancient formula for rapid wound recovery without scarring, just one of the many elixirs recorded in that ancient tome.

Undoubtedly, these were treasures from a lost age, secrets never meant to be passed on, which had nearly vanished from the world save for their chance relegation to the Lin family’s secret chamber, discarded as worthless.

If not for Lin Yang’s childish curiosity, rummaging through boxes and cabinets, these two earth-shattering manuals might have remained forever buried in darkness, sealed for eternity.

As a child, he had mentioned them several times to his perpetually busy and stern-faced father, Lin Cheng, only to be dismissed as if he were talking about trinkets from a street stall. It must be said, this was a loss for the Lin family’s ambitions in the field of cosmetic surgery.

However, after practicing the Thirteen Celestial Blade Techniques, Lin Yang gradually understood why these were consigned to oblivion; they were not for ordinary people. Without unwavering willpower, it was best to give up early—this was the conclusion he had reached himself.

Six years of hard practice, his will tested and honed countless times, his meridians repeatedly cleansed. Through wind and rain, of the thirteen blades, he had only mastered the first three: the Breaking Blade, the Blood-Sealing Blade, and the Bone-Setting Blade. His inner energy had grown by a pitiful amount, progressing at a snail’s pace—something he attributed to a stroke of luck: as a child, he’d mistakenly swallowed a thousand-year-old wild ginseng intended for his grandfather’s sixtieth birthday, greatly enhancing his constitution, though not without suffering for it.

Yet, with the gradual accumulation of inner energy, he could feel his mental strength growing by the day, matching the book’s description: after mastering the sixth blade, the Barrier-Shattering Blade, one could even see the secrets of the body’s structure.

But the breakthrough to the fourth blade, the Heaven-Slaying Blade, remained a distant dream, let alone crossing the threshold to the sixth blade.

...

A private greenhouse swimming pool, a gym, a vast rear garden, rockeries, flowing streams, meticulously arranged groves, a brand-new three-story European-style mansion, and fully automated floor-to-ceiling windows—every detail was a testament to luxury, status, and power. Even in a provincial capital like Yinchuan, such opulent private villas were exceedingly rare.

Among the three great families of Yinchuan, the Lin family’s “Nightmare Pavilion” was one of the most prominent, situated in the bustling center of Qingyang District. Its construction cost could not have been less than fifty million.

Late at night, the sky was pitch black, with only a few faint stars twinkling. A chilly wind howled by, swirling fallen leaves and rustling the trembling branches, sending ripples across the calm surface of the water.

The brightly lit Nightmare Pavilion stood out starkly against the dark, like the moon in the night sky. Inside the tranquil villa, uniformed professional bodyguards, eyes sharp and alert, worked in concert with a dense array of hidden infrared sensors to safeguard the sanctity and security of this luxurious home.

On the second floor, in the main hall, the atmosphere was so tense it was suffocating. In the forty-square-meter space, four pairs of eyes, each with its own expression, were fixed on Lin Yang, who sat nonchalantly on the edge of a sofa.

Because of his wildly unconventional decision, his grandfather Lin Tianba—who had not set foot from the National Security Building and the military district’s seat of power in years—had returned home in a fury; his father, whose influence in the north was unrivaled, abandoned a two-hundred-million-dollar deal, swearing to give him a good beating; his mother, Qin Moyun, usually shuttling between planes and meetings, had been forced to delay her flight just to persuade her stubborn son to put down the butcher’s knife, see the light, and turn back before it was too late.

"Xiao Yang, quickly apologize to your grandfather and say you were just speaking on a whim, merely joking," coaxed Qin Moyun, dressed in formal evening wear, her voice soft as she glanced at her father-in-law's nearly contorted face. She had rushed home straight from the airport without even changing clothes—truly, the life of a career woman was not without its tragedies.

“Save your breath, Moyun. This brat’s wings have hardened—he's set on defying heaven! Four years at Fudan, all wasted. With so many industries in the family, he wants to become a damn plastic surgeon?” Lin Cheng, known for his volatile temper, brusquely interrupted his wife, who was about to waste her breath, and roared at his son slouched on the sofa.

The good cop, bad cop routine had little effect; Lin Yang was immune to all attempts. His patience was nothing short of formidable.

"Enough." With a single word, Lin Tianba silenced the squabble. The hall fell silent. He stood, his posture straight as a spear, his gaze sharp as a blade as he stared at his unperturbed grandson. His tone was chilling and domineering—had it been one of his subordinates instead of his grandson, he would have kicked him across the room without hesitation.

“I cannot allow you to waste your youth so recklessly. You must give me a convincing reason, or the family’s burden will still fall on your shoulders.”

His voice brooked no argument.

The struggle for freedom is eternal, but there is always a price to pay.

"So what do you propose, Grandfather?" A question in return—a clever move. Lin Yang was no fool; otherwise, he would never have managed to learn even the first three of the lost Thirteen Celestial Blade Techniques.

As if already prepared, with no hesitation, Lin Tianba slapped the table. "Let’s make a wager!"

“Within five years, carve out your own place in the world—either surpass the family's power or its wealth. Achieve either one, and you may live as you please, your freedom your own. If not, you will shoulder the family's responsibilities—our family does not nourish weaklings.”

With this, he left no room for maneuver. It was a forced hand, a triple win for the old man: if Lin Yang succeeded, he would be beyond his grandfather’s control, yet the Lin family would gain even greater influence. If he failed, it would take only a word to call him back.

Lin Yang was truly between a rock and a hard place. Five years? To surpass the family's power? What a joke! His grandfather’s position was coveted by many, beset by intrigue and assassination attempts, yet he remained unshaken—if he so much as stomped his foot, all of China would tremble.

To surpass the family's wealth? Even he had no idea how vast the family’s fortune was.

For once, Lin Cheng and Qin Moyun, usually ready to argue, found themselves in rare agreement. They exchanged glances with Lin Tianba and their son, who was lost in thought, and said nothing. The look in their eyes was clear: Let’s see if you can keep up your bravado now. The old man has given you a path—whether you can and dare to walk it is up to you.

After about five minutes, a surprisingly cheerful "Fine" broke the tension. Lin Yang stood, a cunning smile hanging from his lips, as if he were Sun Wukong escaping from the Buddha’s Five Finger Mountain.

This left the four of them exchanging looks. Lin Yang’s grandmother, the very model of traditional virtues, had said little, but in her heart, she wondered what extraordinary abilities her grandson possessed to dare make such bold claims. Having spent the most time with him, she was the one most entitled to doubt.

“Bring pen and ink,” the old man said after a brief shock, regaining his composure first. He didn’t hesitate.

“Seriously? You want this in writing?” Lin Yang was momentarily stunned. Did people still do that these days?

But when the old man spoke, Lin Yang would never dare disobey. Having won himself a chance to act freely, he considered himself lucky. At this point, he felt indifferent, even grateful to Guanyin Bodhisattva and the Buddha himself. He’d almost considered thanking Jesus’ mother too, but then thought better of it—after all, he was a son of China, what business did he have with the West?

“In case you try to back out, there must be proof,” the old man said solemnly. His expression betrayed nothing, making it impossible to tell his true thoughts—no wonder he held such a position in the military district.

The inheritance dispute was, for the moment, settled. With the matter resolved, the three busy family members each departed for their own affairs, leaving the spacious villa to the grandfather and grandson.

“Yangyang, you…” After the others had left, his grandmother hesitated.

“All right, Grandma, I’ll step out for a bit,” he said, disappearing before she could reply.

“Going to see that Tang family girl? If so, bring her back for dinner. It’s been a while since she visited, and I do miss her,” his grandmother called after him, a barely perceptible smile on her face. But apart from the echo, there was no answer.

Under the dark night, two figures walked side by side, their shadows stretched long in the pale moonlight.

“Xiao Yang, are you really leaving Yinchuan tomorrow?” A melodious voice, tinged with reluctance, questioned him.

Lin Yang showed neither joy nor sorrow, answering calmly. Yet in his heart, he felt a wave of reluctance—he had just signed the contract, after all, and he was not one to yield easily.

Having grown up together with Tang Yixue, who was a year older and lived in the neighboring compound, Lin Yang rarely kept secrets from her. They were, in truth, childhood sweethearts.

“Grandfather would never agree so easily. That’s not his style,” Tang Yixue said after a pause, curiosity getting the better of her. Coming from an equally prominent family, and with ties so close that her grandfather considered her a granddaughter-in-law, she had plenty of contact with Lin Yang’s grandfather, and knew his temperament well. Lin Yang, as the sole heir, was not someone the old man would allow to wander off and become a plastic surgeon.

Helplessly, Lin Yang explained the five-year pact his grandfather had given him.

After hearing this, Tang Yixue regarded him with a strange look, as though she were looking at a monster, making Lin Yang’s skin crawl.

“You certainly have guts. But it's nothing—at most, when the five years are up, the old man will just drag you back. Maybe he’s just letting you have five years of freedom to toughen you up.”

Women—when they’re too clever, it’s downright frightening.

Lin Yang was no fool; he’d thought of this himself. Still, he would never make light of a promise. A man must do as he says—that was his bottom line.

“So, where are you going?” Tang Yixue hesitated before asking; she knew Lin Yang well enough to be sure he would never choose Yinchuan to open his clinic.

“Jinhai City, probably. At least I know the place, and it’s far from grandfather,” Lin Yang said, gazing at the stars. He had no intention of hiding his plans from her—her family’s resources would make it easy to track him down anyway.

“Maybe in a few months, I’ll come find you,” Tang Yixue said, as if by chance.

Hearing this, Lin Yang’s heart rippled with excitement. She would come find him? Was she planning to throw herself into his arms, live as husband and wife? That would be perfect.