Qin An slightly opened his eyes. Under the dim glow of the incandescent bulb, everything before him felt hauntingly familiar.

The cracked ceiling. The 1995 Panda-brand black-and-white TV. The wobbly dining table. After his sister’s death, he’d often come here alone, cooking two portions of meals, then spacing out for entire afternoons. This was his former home.

But the present situation was far from comforting. A kitchen knife pressed against his throat. The faint chill and sharp sting against his skin confirmed its terrifying reality.

This scene had played out years ago. It was this very incident that propelled Qin An to prominence in Doville—and shattered his heart beyond repair.

"Xiao An, come sign your name here and press your thumbprint. Mommy will put the knife away. Be a good boy, okay?"

Qin An scoffed inwardly. *Do they really think I’m three years old?*

In the past, he might’ve believed the saying: even tigers don’t devour their young. No blood relation, but six or seven years as family—surely even former child traffickers could be softened by so-called kinship. But…

"Xiao An! Mommy’s only thinking of your best interest! A thirteen-year-old kid like you, carrying that much money? You’d get robbed before you knew it. Let Mommy keep it safe. We’ll save it for your future bride!"

*A bride?* Ten billion dollars—for a *bride*?

Ten billion. A number that made hearts race. No wonder they’d gone utterly mad.

Qin An never knew what his birth parents did. His memories of them were fragmented, reduced to nothing but news of their deaths. They’d sent no photos—only a simple will:

*"I leave everything to my poor child."*

*Heh.* He never learned how they’d tracked him down. Even after becoming a Level-S Esper assassin in Doville, he never sought clues about them. What was the point? If they’d let him and his sister drift alone for so long, only remembering them at death’s door… they clearly hadn’t mattered much.

Memories of his life here made Qin An’s stomach churn.

His adoptive parents gave him bare survival—no warmth, no love. Only his sister, Qin Yage, was treated like a princess. Qin An? Just a cheap servant wearing the label of "son."

"Xiao An! I know you adore Yage! Sign here obediently, and Mommy promises not to lay a finger on her."

His adoptive mother grinned, sickeningly sweet. Beautiful, untouched by time—yet her face twisted like a hag’s. Qin An had endured her beatings since age six, when he first stood on a stool to reach the stove. A six-year-old knew nothing of housework.

Break a plate? No sleep that night. He’d lick his wounds like a stray kitten. Qin Yage never knew. She thought he did chores just to please their parents. She never realized he’d slept on the living room floor since he was ten—*she’d* decided she was too grown-up to share a room. Did his adoptive parents spare a bedroom for him? Of course not.

The small two-story house looked like a quaint villa from outside. No spare rooms—only a study, his adoptive father’s forbidden sanctuary.

One day, sneaking in while they were out, Qin An knocked over a folder. Panic seized him. Then he saw the documents inside: dates and prices for child trafficking. His and Qin Yage’s names were listed—crossed out in thick black ink. A failed transaction.

He couldn’t believe it. Refused to believe it. Until the day he overheard them talking behind their bedroom door.

"When do we sell Yage? She’ll be a beauty. We’ll get a fortune after raising her this long. Ten years have passed—the heat must’ve died down."

"Maybe we shouldn’t… She’s been with us so long."

"You fool! Fallen for the little vixen?"

"Impossible! I’ve never touched her. Xiao An’s always taken care of her. You’re the only one I love, darling!"

"Xiao An’s a treasure. Cooks, cleans, never fights back or talks back. Perfect punching bag for my frustrations. And now he’s brought us ten billion."

Qin An and his sister had always seemed distant. After she grew up, she blamed him for stealing their parents’ love—parents who’d never truly loved her anyway. She’d grown to resent him.

But as a child? She’d shared her candy with him. Saved half her cake. Played with him. Trivial things she’d long forgotten. Qin An remembered every warmth.

Resistance was futile now. Against two adults, his strength meant nothing. A dozen ways to kill them flashed through his mind—but impossible to execute. And they held his greatest weakness. He was trapped.

Knife at his throat, Qin An calmly signed and pressed his thumbprint. Most kids his age would’ve wet themselves. *He* had, back then.

"Good boy," his adoptive mother cooed, patting his head. Qin An just rolled his eyes, silent.

He felt no attachment to them. *Go to hell, for all I care.*

"Husband! Ten billion! We’d never dream of this!"

"With this, we’ll never work again. No more dirty jobs. No more fearing the police."

"Let’s travel!"

"We could take space tourism trips—several times over!"

"Hahaha—"

"Let me warn you," Qin An cut in.

"Trying to back out, Xiao An? It’s legally binding now!"

He shook his head. "Run. Fast."

"Why?"

"Because you’re not the only ones who want that ten billion."

His adoptive mother’s eyes widened. "Husband! Pack our things!"

"But… you’re seven months pregnant."

"Money and life matter more."

*Seven months.* So it had been two lives lost that day. He’d mistaken her swollen belly for weight gain.

Limping heavily, Qin An climbed the stairs. Yesterday, he’d received the will. Last night, his adoptive mother had beaten him until his leg buckled. A few days’ rest would fix it—he was used to this.

Their cruelty had forced him to uncover the truth. Otherwise, he might’ve died believing they were kind.

He pushed the door open gently. Qin Yage lay asleep, peaceful. Her milky-white nightgown, doll-like features, one small foot kicking off the blanket—revealing five delicate toes and slender calves.

Qin An smiled, tucking the blanket around her. Then his legs gave way, and he sank to the floor.

"So small…" he whispered, staring at his own pink, child-sized hands. This was undeniably the moment before Doville’s assassins took him—before the fight over the inheritance.

He still remembered Qin Yage trembling, watching their adoptive parents die at the assassins’ hands.

At twelve, he’d begun daily lessons in survival: animal combat footage, assassin fundamentals, secret techniques, how to kill Espers.

*Nature selects the fittest.*

Then came human vs. human, human vs. beast. He was never the strongest—especially dragging a "burden" behind him. Yet somehow, he’d survived. A miracle.

"I really am a kid again," Qin An murmured, examining his tiny hands.

A tear-off calendar on the white wall read: *April 4, 2000. Qingming Festival.*

*The rebirth of happiness.*

In that moment, he truly felt it. His sister’s steady breaths echoed in his ears, in his heart.