The villa clung to the cliff’s edge, icy wind howling.

Thunder growled. Rain slammed against the floor-to-ceiling windows—violent, suffocating.

"*Shuyi* is our child!"

The boy stared at the tender scene before him—mother and son reunited—his eyes bloodshot with fury.

His own eyes burned red, helpless, voice slightly trembling.

"Mom... what are you saying? *I’m* your son!"

His expression screamed disbelief. The woman’s gaze held a trace of reluctance.

"Hu Ming, I know this is hard to accept. But the truth is... you and Shuyi were switched at birth. *Shuyi* is our blood. And you—"

She didn’t finish. The truth hung heavy in the air.

Hu Ming clapped his hands over his ears. "No! None of this is real! I won’t believe it!"

He bolted for his room, anguish raw in his cry.

The woman flinched. She almost reached out to comfort the boy she’d raised for over a decade—but her gaze flickered to the gentle youth beside her. Her *real* son.

She studied his delicate features. The sharper the resemblance to her husband grew, the surer she became.

"*Shuyi*..."

"Mom, I’m fine. Go check on him. I know Hu Ming is hurting."

Han Shuyi offered a soft smile. Its quiet optimism pierced her heart.

She pulled him close, sobbing into his shoulder.

He patted her back, silent comfort in his touch.

While this drama unfolded in the hall, Hu Ming’s room held a different scene.

He stood at the window, hands on hips, watching the storm rage outside.

His eyes narrowed—utterly unlike the weeping boy from moments ago. Cold. Calculating.

He called himself Hu Ming. But he wasn’t *this* world’s Han Huming.

Rain had fallen that day too. Floodwaters knee-deep.

Fleeing, he’d slipped into an open manhole—and woke here.

His mind had flooded with this world’s memories.

The boy hugging the woman outside? Han Shuyi. The story’s true protagonist.

Their lives had been swapped at birth.

Han Shuyi endured poverty for years, clawing his way up through sheer grit—until the Khan Family found him. Reclaimed him.

And Han Huming? A spoiled brat despised by all.

When Han Shuyi’s true identity surfaced, Han Huming lashed out like a cornered beast. Only to be crushed by the protagonist’s rise.

His end? A bullet from Han Shuyi’s gun after threatening the heroine.

A perfect ending.

*Too* perfect.

Hu Ming saw the cracks: Han Shuyi’s polite mask hid deep hatred for his adoptive parents’ low status. After reclaiming his birthright, he cut them off without a glance.

*Not a simple man.*

But survival came first.

*Even cast out... better than dead.*

Hu Ming’s gaze sharpened.

*Knock. Knock.*

The door.

He opened it.

A girl stood there in a plain white tee, black skirt revealing slender legs. Faded canvas shoes. Thick-rimmed glasses shadowing calm, dark eyes.

She held a steaming bowl of chicken soup.

"Young Master Han, Madam asked me to bring you this."

"*Master*? I’m no master here. *Han Shuyi* is your master!"

Hu Ming raised his voice, almost swatting the bowl away—

But her eyes stopped him. Gentle. Unflinching.

"...But Young Master, I’ve always served *you*."

Her face stayed half-hidden by ink-black hair. Her voice, soft and sweet, sounded easily broken. *One shout, and she’d shatter.*

Hu Ming scratched his head. Arguing was pointless.

He waved her off and shut the door hard.

The girl stood frozen at the threshold for a long moment before walking away.

Hu Ming never saw the stunning beauty hidden beneath her glasses and hair.

...

No backlash came that night. Hu Ming slept soundly.

But by morning, servants whispered as he passed in the corridor.

News had spread: *He wasn’t a Khan.*

Those who’d always disliked him now dared to sneer openly.

He leaned against the hallway railing, watching the garden below.

The woman strolled with Han Shuyi, laughing behind her hand at his poised words.

*Of course,* Hu Ming thought. *Secure the mother first.*

Servants huddled nearby, voices sharp:

"Look at him—he’s jealous of Young Master Han!"

"Told you he couldn’t be our real master. Always hated by everyone. Obviously not the Khan bloodline."

"Today, *Shuyi* greeted me so warmly! Just seeing his handsome face gives me energy!"

"Unlike *that* impostor—ordering us around, never a kind word!"

Freed from fear, their words cut deep.

Hu Ming stepped around the corner, arms crossed. A smile played on his lips—cold, humorless.

"Oh? Should I smile at you all day then?"

The servants froze. Sweat beaded on their backs. They dropped to their knees, voices trembling:

"No, Young Master! We didn’t mean—"

"We meant no disrespect!"

Before Hu Ming could reply, an indignant voice cut through the hall:

"Hu Ming! Are you bullying the maids again?!"