Since that day, Yu Chen hadn't seen Xu Yang again. Rumors said Ruo Yi had transferred schools. Mo Yi Tian and his gang were suspended for two weeks for bullying. Yi Tian's father lost his position as principal and was imprisoned for embezzling school funds.
Life moved on around him, but for Yu Chen, time felt frozen—every moment stretched thin with a quiet ache.
Graduation day had come, just like everyone said it would.
Cherry blossoms painted the school grounds a soft pink, their petals drifting like fragile promises on the spring breeze. The third-year students laughed and posed for pictures, clutching bright bouquets as families gathered with proud smiles. The air buzzed with joy and farewell—a bittersweet celebration of endings and beginnings.
Yu Chen stood apart. He wore the crisp school uniform—white shirt neatly tucked into dark trousers, the school blazer hanging heavily over his shoulders. A muted gray coat draped around him, its collar turned up against the gentle spring chill. Around his neck, a loosely tied syall fluttered faintly in the breeze, adding a splash of subdued color to his somber appearance. With no parents or family left to share this day, his photos were only with friends. Invitations to join the games and celebrations came and went, but he refused every time.
Because this day felt hollow.
He walked through the gates, the lively chatter washing over him like a distant tide. Then he saw Ying Yue, standing out in her pristine white graduation gown that shimmered softly in the sunlight, her brown hair perfectly styled, a delicate flower pinned behind one ear. Her laughter rang clear among her friends. Their eyes met briefly—her hopeful gaze searching for something in him.
He looked away.
It wasn't because he didn't care.
It was because he cared too much—and the weight of that care was suffocating.
Yu Chen felt the sharp sting of loneliness, the crushing absence of family on a day meant to be shared. The memories of betrayal, loss, and the painful fractures in his past clung to him like shadows.
He wanted to reach out, to break the silence between them, but the fear of opening old wounds kept his voice locked inside.
Why did it still hurt so deeply?
Why did her presence stir something he had tried so hard to bury?
He swallowed the knot tightening in his throat, forcing his feet to move forward even as the laughter faded behind him like falling cherry blossoms.
...
On his way home, Yu Chen's footsteps suddenly faltered. Ahead, in a narrow, shadowed alley, a man slumped against the grimy brick wall, struggling to breathe—clearly gravely wounded. Recognition struck Yu Chen like a jolt.
The man sat slouched, clutching his abdomen, dark waves of jet-black hair tumbling messily around a face so sharply defined it could have been carved from marble—strong jawline, high cheekbones, and a flawless, almost ethereal complexion. His eyes, a piercing steel gray, held a calm intensity that unsettled anyone who dared meet his gaze.
"What are you staring at, kid? If you're here to pity me, I suggest you leave. I could kill you before you blink," the man snapped, his voice low, laced with pain and warning.
But Yu Chen didn't back down. He stepped forward, his stance steady and resolute in front of the grimacing figure, who pressed his bloodied hand to a deep stab wound.
"Do you want to die here alone, or survive with my help? My place isn't far," Yu Chen said quietly but with unwavering resolve.
At that moment, Yu Chen locked eyes with the man who would pull him into the shadowy world of the country's secret assassin organization.
His name was Zhou Ze Yu.
Ze Yu stared intently at Yu Chen, his eyes tracing every inch of the younger man's cold expression. The longer he looked, the more he felt something unusual stirring within him—especially in Yu Chen's icy gaze, which seemed to radiate a hidden darkness.
"You're not panicking to see me like this, kid? Normally, someone would be terrified to see me dying," Ze Yu said, his voice low but teasing.
"The more you talk, the closer you bring death to yourself,"
Yu Chen replied calmly, repeating the phrase he had said before—he didn't want to arouse Ze Yu's suspicion.
Ze Yu chuckled softly.
"Alright then. Help me, young man," he said with a tired smile.
Yu Chen stepped forward, gently slipping Ze Yu's arm over his shoulder, then helped him to his feet. Together, they began to walk slowly toward Yu Chen's home.
When they arrived home, Yu Chen helped Ze Yu lie down on a thin cotton mattress spread on the floor in the living room. The mattress had been carefully prepared beforehand—Yu Chen had known all along that today would be the first time their paths crossed in such a way.
Without hesitation, Yu Chen grabbed a first aid kit and a modern medical sewing set, his hands steady as he worked to close the deep stab wound in Ze Yu's abdomen.
Ze Yu watched in silence, a flicker of surprise crossing his tired eyes. The precision and calm in Yu Chen's movements betrayed a skill far beyond that of a novice.
"You treat wounds like this often, kid? When did you learn?" Ze Yu asked, his voice rough but carrying a hint of admiration.
Yu Chen's eyes didn't waver.
"A long time ago," he answered shortly, guarding himself with a cool detachment. His pride steadied him, making sure no vulnerability showed.
As Yu Chen finished bandaging him, Ze Yu watched quietly. There was something about Yu Chen's calm strength and the deep feelings hidden behind his cold eyes that made Ze Yu feel uneasy—more than the pain from his wound.
Yu Chen moved to the kitchen. The soft clatter of dishes and the hiss of boiling water filled the small space as he prepared a simple meal—steaming cups of jasmine tea, a pitcher of clear water, and plain rice with some vegetables.
Carrying the few dishes carefully by hand, Yu Chen returned to the living room and set them down on the low wooden table nearby. Ze Yu, now sitting up with effort, looked up as Yu Chen settled across from him.
Not much happened—just small talk. Yet, beneath Ze Yu's casual questions, there was a subtle probing, as if he was searching for cracks in Yu Chen's carefully guarded exterior.
"Do you live alone? What about your parents?"
Ze Yu's tone shifted, becoming gentler.
"They're gone,"
Yu Chen said evenly, voice steady but carrying the weight of loss.
Ze Yu's expression tightened; regret flickered in his eyes.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"
"It's fine,"
Yu Chen cut him off softly, not wanting pity, yet not wanting to be alone with the memories either.
"And your brother? Does he live with you?" Ze Yu asked hesitantly.
"My brother… he's with my parents," Yu Chen said, his voice almost a whisper, as if saying it aloud made the loss more real.
Ze Yu's face darkened with guilt.
"I'm sorry."
Yu Chen's jaw clenched briefly at the well-meaning but unwelcome sympathy. He wasn't used to kindness, and it irritated him more than it comforted.
"That was a long time ago," Yu Chen said, standing up abruptly.
"Are you done eating? I'll wash the dishes."
He could feel the awkwardness hanging between them after the sensitive questions. Still, Yu Chen busied himself clearing the table, the simple, repetitive motion grounding him amid the turbulent emotions.
Ze Yu watched him for a moment longer, a quiet respect growing in his gaze.
Maybe this kid was tougher than he looked.
...
Knock Knock
Someone knocked on the door while Yu Chen was in the middle of washing the dishes.He pulled off his rubber gloves, turned off the faucet with a soft click, and walked toward the door with steady steps.
Standing there was a tall man with jet-black hair neatly combed back, wearing thin-rimmed glasses that caught the light. He was dressed sharply in a black suit, the fabric smooth and impeccably tailored. A small golden pin shaped like a feather gleamed on his lapel—a symbol
Yu Chen recognized instantly.
"Liang Yu Chen?" the man asked, his voice calm but authoritative.
"Yeah. Who are you?" Yu Chen answered cautiously, feigning ignorance, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied the stranger.
"My name is Xu Mu Chen," the man said with a polite yet confident smile.
"I want to have a talk with you. But it looks like you have a guest, so why don't we talk in my car instead?"
Yu Chen's gaze flicked toward Ze Yu.
The moment was tense—Ze Yu's eyes widened briefly, a flicker of shock and recognition flashing across his face.
Xu Mu Chen's own expression tightened for a split second, as if he too recognized Ze Yu, but then he quickly masked it with the same warm smile he gave Yu Chen.
Not wanting to create unnecessary trouble, Yu Chen nodded silently. He left Ze Yu resting alone inside and stepped outside, where the black sedan waited patiently under the streetlamp's glow.
He slid into the passenger seat beside Xu Mu Chen, the door closing with a quiet thud behind him.
Inside the car, the dashboard's dim glow cast long, angular shadows across their faces. The low hum of the engine was a muted backdrop to the tension that filled the tight space. Yu Chen's eyes, cold and unreadable, flicked to the worn brown envelope Xu Mu Chen slid across the console.
"Sorry to disturb you at this hour,"
Xu Mu Chen said evenly, voice measured.
"Let's keep this brief. Open it."
Yu Chen broke the seal without hesitation, his fingers steady, unfolding the contract with mechanical precision.
The bold heading stared back: Personal Attendant to His Highness Prince Xu Yang.
Xu Mu Chen's gaze searched Yu Chen's face, looking for any sign of weakness.
There was none.
"His Highness requests your service indefinitely—until you resign. Salary paid monthly, with annual bonuses. Full provisions: healthcare, food, housing. You'll undergo rigorous training—physical, tactical, strategic—to ensure the prince's safety. Your role is not mere service, but his personal shield."
The words landed like a cold verdict.
"No social media. No contact outside the prince's inner circle. You will sever all existing ties. Total loyalty is mandatory."
Yu Chen's expression remained impassive. To him, this was just another contract, another chain—one he'd decide to wear or break.
He allowed a faint, sharp smile to curve his lips.
"Does the prince truly lack attendants?"
Xu Mu Chen's brief hesitation was all the answer Yu Chen needed.
"I don't know. Only that His Highness specifically requested you," answer Mu Chen
"Until we meet again, Yu Chen. I'll repay your kindness."
So this is what he meant? Making me a servant?
Yu Chen's thoughts churned quietly.
Usually, he would have bristled at being recruited as a servant for the royal family—a lifetime of chains and control. But strangely, this time, a flicker of something like satisfaction stirred inside him.
Have I lost my mind? Why does the idea of becoming a servant make me feel… relieved?
"So, what do you say? Will you accept the offer?" Mu Chen asked, breaking the silence.
Yu Chen hesitated for a moment.
He had already met Ze Yu and was scheduled to become a hitman next month. But after helping Xu Yang, this unexpected opportunity to serve as a personal attendant to a member of the royal family had presented itself.
Could this be the sign of another kind of ending—a chance at a different future?
If he refused, he would fall back into the deadly cycle of a hitman's life, doomed to repeat the past.
But becoming Xu Yang's personal attendant meant stepping into the unknown. His future would change irrevocably—no more familiar contracts, no more bloodshed… yet questions lingered.
Why was knowledge of the royal family forbidden to hitmen, only entrusted to spies?
"I'll grab a pen first," Yu Chen said, breaking from his thoughts.
"Use mine," Mu Chen replied, handing over a sleek pen.
Yu Chen took it, the weight of the moment pressing down as he signed the contract over the official stamp.
The decision was made: better to bind himself as a servant of the royal family than return to the life of a killer.
He hoped this path would reveal the reason behind his sudden return to the past.
Two copies of the contract were carefully exchanged—one slipped into Yu Chen's hand, the other folded neatly in Mu Chen's. The paper felt heavier than its weight suggested, carrying the weight of futures altered and fates sealed.
Neither spoke another word. The air between them hung thick with unspoken understanding, the kind that only men who deal in secrets share.
Mu Chen gave a brief, respectful nod. The soft click of the car door closing echoed like a final punctuation mark.
Yu Chen stood there a moment longer, watching the taillights disappear into the night before he turned back toward the quiet house waiting for him. The door closed behind him with a subtle thud, leaving silence—and the contract—in his hands.
Inside the quiet house, Ze Yu lay asleep. Yu Chen pulled a blanket over him gently, then retreated to his own room, the weight of the new path settling around him.