The next day, Qin An woke at 3 a.m. His foster parents were long gone. He kicked his legs experimentally. The lingering effects remained, but nothing serious. Hadn’t he endured far worse injuries in his past life during countless missions?

Outside the window, stars glittered in utter silence. Even the earth slumbered.

His mind was awake, but his body still clung to sleep.

The biological clock from his previous life persisted stubbornly. Qin An rubbed his smooth chin, his expression far too mature for a boy his age.

First, he headed to his foster parents’ room. Time for a little "requisition." They’d left, but the problem of living expenses remained. Though he knew a hundred ways to make money, each carried huge risks—especially with his current frail body. Success was uncertain.

Qin An tugged the dresser drawer. *Locked.*

No obstacle for him. Two bent paperclips later, the lock clicked open. Picking locks was basic training for assassins—whether high-tech digital locks or old-fashioned ones like this.

*Click…*

Inside lay several savings cards and passbooks from different banks. Just as he’d guessed: flush with sudden wealth, they’d left the small change behind. The PINs? Child’s play.

Dawn was still hours away. Qin An did basic calisthenics. This weak body could barely steady a pistol—the recoil alone would knock him flat. After a run outside, the sky began to lighten. Diligent townsfolk emerged: setting up street stalls, heading to fields, commuting to jobs. The wheel of ordinary life started turning again.

Qin An inhaled the crisp morning air. *Is this the simple freedom I craved? Truly… beautiful.*

Back home, he washed rice and vegetables, then collapsed onto the bed for a short second sleep.

"Hey… Gege, wake up… wake up…"

Shoulders shaken. Qin An rubbed his blurry eyes open.

"Gege, why are you sleeping in Mom and Dad’s room? Where are they? I haven’t seen them all morning."

"They… went on a trip."

"A trip? Why didn’t they take me?" Qin Yage pouted, tiny feet stomping the floor in protest. Her cute white sneakers were already scuffed. They wouldn’t last much longer.

*Same old fiery temper.*

Only in this moment did Qin An feel truly alive—and feel his sister truly alive beside him.

Cooking porridge and stir-fry with clumsy hands left him sweating. *Kitchen duty is harder than assassination,* he mused wryly. Yet warmth filled his chest. In his past life, he’d have cursed such servant’s work. People only cherish what they’ve lost. This life, he’d seize every moment. No more regrets.

"Stay one meter behind me when we go out."

"Okay."

"But not more than three meters. Understand?"

This daily ritual never changed. At nine years old, Qin Yage’s doll-like face drew admirers from toddlers to octogenarians.

Qin An? Merely passably handsome—pleasant in a quiet way, growing on you slowly.

Few at school knew they were siblings. To outsiders, Qin An was invisible. Qin Yage? A shining star.

"Yo! Yage! Xiao An!" A neighbor boy waved from his doorway. Sun-kissed skin, sharp short hair, tight black tee and jeans. A red-and-white baseball cap sat tilted on his head, emblazoned with a bold "B". Familiar, yet distant.

Qin An filed him away as "childhood neighbor." His memories were fragmented—only moments with his sister remained vivid. Everything else felt erased.

Qin Yage marched ahead like a tiny general, glancing back to check if her brother kept his distance.

Overheard whispers painted the boy’s reputation:

"That’s the Little Tyrant!"

"Heard he crippled some middle schoolers with a baseball bat last week."

"Teachers just ignore him. Nobody dares mess with him."

The boy flicked his hair back, grinning. "Pretty cool, right?"

Qin An forced a dry chuckle. From his chatter, Qin An pieced together their history: annual New Year fights over lucky money and toys. The scrawny Qin An always lost. *He probably has no idea how much the old me hated him.*

Childhood clashes were frequent—minor scuffles every three days, major brawls every five. True enemies-turned-acquaintances.

Qin An slung a single-shoulder bag. No greetings came his way. Besides the Little Tyrant, he had no friends. He preferred it that way.

All he wanted now was an ordinary life.

Except for his sister. She was his most precious treasure. He’d watch her grow, guide her from wrong paths—even if it meant raising his hand. Whether he could actually strike her? Only time would tell. If anyone hurt her… killing wouldn’t be off the table. His desire for peace only held if she remained unharmed.

But imagining her grown—marrying, having children—a strange bitterness rose in his throat. *As long as she’s happy.* Yet even he didn’t believe his own thought. This tangled feeling defied words.

Then, just as quickly, Qin An’s theory of being utterly invisible at school was shattered by a sweet-faced girl.