The numbers didn't stop climbing.
Lin Cheng sat quietly at his desk, eyes fixed on the screen, posture relaxed.
To anyone watching, he looked like an ordinary student pulling an all-nighter. Only the steady rhythm of his breathing betrayed how alert he truly was.
The stock rose another point.
Then another.
Not explosively. Not recklessly. It moved with restraint, as if testing the waters—exactly as it had in his memory.
Lin Cheng didn't intervene.
This stage was critical. Too much interference would attract unnecessary attention. Too little would stall momentum. He had learned, painfully, that markets were like predators: show fear, and they devoured you; show desperation, and they tore you apart.
Calm was the only acceptable posture.
He adjusted his position slightly—nothing obvious, nothing aggressive. Just enough to guide the current.
The account balance refreshed.
The number staring back at him was already more than double what he had invested.
Lin Cheng didn't smile.
Money alone meant nothing. In his previous life, he had touched far greater sums—only to watch them vanish overnight. Wealth without control was just bait for vultures.
Outside, the city slept.
A streetlight flickered beneath his window. Somewhere in the distance, a motorcycle roared past, then faded into silence. The world moved forward, ignorant of the fact that something subtle but irreversible had already changed.
The butterfly had flapped its wings.
His phone buzzed again.
Unknown number.
This time, he glanced at it.
He didn't answer.
He already knew what this was. In the past, this stock's early movement had triggered quiet inquiries. Analysts probing. Funds sniffing for insider advantage. People who smelled opportunity but didn't yet understand it.
If he answered now, he would reveal himself too early.
Lin Cheng placed the phone face down and returned his attention to the screen.
The surge slowed.
Good.
That meant others were entering cautiously, unsure whether this was real or artificial. Uncertainty was his ally. It gave him time.
He checked the timestamp.
Exactly on schedule.
His fingers tapped lightly against the desk as another memory surfaced—one he hadn't planned to recall.
A boardroom. Glass walls. Expensive suits.
Zhao Minghao standing beside him, smiling confidently, introducing him as "a visionary partner."
And then, weeks later, the same smile as the contracts changed hands.
Lin Cheng's eyes darkened for a fraction of a second before returning to calm.
Not yet, he reminded himself.
Revenge was a long game.
The stock stabilized.
Lin Cheng exited part of his position—not enough to raise suspicion, but enough to lock in profit. His account balance surged again, now far beyond what a twenty-two-year-old student should reasonably possess.
He leaned back and exhaled slowly.
The first step was complete.
Across the city, in a quiet office overlooking the river, Chen Guoan stood by the window with a cup of untouched tea in his hand.
The office was minimalist. No unnecessary decorations. No awards on display. Only a large desk, several screens, and a single leather chair.
One of the screens showed market data.
A small company's stock chart pulsed steadily upward.
Chen Guoan's assistant stood silently nearby.
"This movement started at market open," the assistant said carefully. "No major news. No public policy announcements."
Chen Guoan nodded slightly.
"And the volume?"
"Unusual," the assistant admitted. "Controlled. Precise. Almost… guided."
Chen Guoan's eyes narrowed.
That word again.
Guided.
This wasn't the reckless surge of amateurs or the brute force of large capital. This was something else. Someone patient. Someone who understood restraint.
"Trace it," Chen Guoan said.
"We tried. The accounts are fragmented. Clean. No obvious institutional signature."
The old man's lips curved faintly—not in amusement, but interest.
"Then it's an individual," he murmured. "Or someone who wants us to think that."
Back in his apartment, Lin Cheng shut down the trading platform and powered off the laptop.
Tonight was finished.
Staying too long in the spotlight—even an invisible one—was dangerous. The smart move now was to disappear, let others argue over causes and rumors while he planned the next step.
He stood and stretched slowly, muscles relaxed, mind sharp.
This was only the beginning.
He washed his face in the tiny bathroom, the cold water grounding him in the present. When he looked at his reflection again, his expression was neutral, composed.
No triumph.
No excitement.
Only certainty.
As he lay back on the bed, Lin Cheng allowed his thoughts to drift—not to money, but to people.
Zhao Minghao.
Not yet powerful. Still building connections. Still pretending to be loyal.
And her.
He frowned slightly.
In this timeline, she hadn't betrayed him yet. She was still someone he trusted. Someone he had loved.
That would change.
Or perhaps… it wouldn't.
Lin Cheng closed his eyes.
This life would be different. Not because of revenge alone—but because he would never again surrender control of his fate to anyone else.
Across the city, Chen Guoan finally turned away from the window.
"Find out who it is," he said calmly. "I want a name."
"Yes, sir."
"And if you can't?"
Chen Guoan smiled thinly.
"Then that means they're worth meeting."
The butterfly effect had begun.
Not just in numbers.
But in people.
And Lin Cheng, asleep in a modest apartment, unaware of the gaze now fixed upon him, had just stepped onto a stage far larger—and far more dangerous—than before.