Years later, standing before the newly renovated gate of the orphanage, Ye Chang’an would always recall that distant afternoon when his father took him to change his name.
His first name was Ye Huaixian.
A Taoist priest, squinting slightly, declared he could not bear the profound and enigmatic destiny hidden behind that name.
So at six, he changed it.
No longer Ye Huaixian—but Ye Chang’an.
He was born into staggering wealth. “Privileged” didn’t cover it; “lavish” barely scratched the surface. Unimaginably rich, the Ye Clan’s branches sprawled intricately across the globe—a dynasty both distant and familiar from urban web novels.
His branch was the main lineage, holding transcendent status. As the youngest child, he was endlessly doted upon.
Textbook setup for a spoiled young master.
Yet he became an otaku.
A total hikikomori.
Perhaps it showed during his Zhuazhou ceremony as a child—when his eyes locked instantly on an adorable cloth doll and he clutched it tightly in his tiny hands.
Adults and siblings teased him about it, always kindly.
They never rejected his path. They found it charming.
After all, in a near-noble clan, an otaku was a rare, delightful anomaly—truly one in ten thousand.
Spoiled rich kids? *Those* they found tiresome.
Too many nobodies had latched onto the Ye Clan’s name, taken a sliver of charity, and strutted around calling themselves “Young Masters of the Ye Clan.”
Only Ye Chang’an was the true heir of the main lineage—the cherished youngest son.
Chang’an once believed he’d live forever sheltered by his family’s love, happily immersed in his otaku world.
Until thirteen. The plane carrying his parents and siblings crashed.
Holed up in the mansion as usual, Ye Chang’an survived.
Yet night after night, waking in the dark, he wished he’d been on that plane too—plummeting into the deep blue abyss.
He neither fought nor schemed. He kept only the honorary title of head of the Ye Clan and claimed his inheritance. Rental income alone could fund luxury for lifetimes. Not to mention his parents’ colossal bank fortune.
The company went to his uncles. No one pressured him to inherit.
After all, Ye Chang’an was just a lovable otaku.
A remarkably peaceful transition.
Many assume noble clans drown in schemes, bloodstained coins, tangled plots.
Perhaps. That’s the norm.
But the Ye Clan was an exception.
Especially for Ye Chang’an.
At thirteen, he withdrew from school and secluded himself in the mansion for two years.
Life demanded zero worry. His wealth could hire 365 maids worldwide—each with Victoria’s Secret curves and angelic faces, rotating daily to attend to every need.
An outgoing cousin tried pulling him into the “real world,” even threw a wild party at the mansion. Ye Chang’an just sipped his juice.
*What a white cup… Wait, no—the juice is so round…*
He politely declined. The flashy world held no interest. The 2D world? Different story.
Helpless, his cousin gifted him Japan’s latest robotic girlfriend.
Surprisingly, Ye Chang’an liked her.
She’d whisper gentle “good mornings” and “good nights,” just like his family once did. She could seamlessly shift into heroines from his favorite anime.
He thought he’d spend his life carefree—binge-watching anime, admiring bishoujo, then ascending to heaven.
Why not the 2D world? He never believed his family was there. They were in heaven.
So the boy forever cherished by his family decided to make one small sacrifice: join them in a heaven filled with blonde bombshells.
Then—life shifted.
At fifteen, on a whim, he used his parents’ fortune to found a foundation aiding orphans like himself.
The phrasing was… delicate.
The clan rejoiced. Though he held no real power as ceremonial head, they followed his lead without question.
*Let the young master play. It’s charity—better than shady foundations exploiting goodwill.*
A single spark can ignite a prairie fire. But a volcano? Far easier.
The Ye Clan’s influence was that volcano. The Chang’an Foundation swiftly rose to global prominence, centered in China, aiding countless children orphaned by tragedy.
Preferring anonymity, Ye Chang’an became director of an orphanage in his hometown, Anyang City.
Or simply: orphanage headmaster.
He was fifteen.
Chang’an Orphanage, funded by the Chang’an Foundation, welcomed its first ten children.
With them, Ye Chang’an lived two years of laughter and tears, sweetness and sorrow.
Just as he felt he’d found his life’s purpose—
He transmigrated.
Chotto matte!
Nanda yo!
He only recalled standing dazed at the orphanage gate for a heartbeat—*why did I transmigrate?!*
He realized it instantly.
Same gate. But the renovated facade, the ivy now swallowing the wall, the wooden door replaced by iron bars—every detail screamed change.
Peering through, children beamed with joy while nannies chatted nearby, glancing curiously at the stunned boy frozen outside.
Gathering courage, Ye Chang’an asked a passerby the time.
The answer shattered him.
“Bro… it’s already 2020!”
Five years later?!
He sank to his knees, clutching his head.
*Creak.*
The iron gate opened behind him. Children’s voices chimed:
“Sister Shi Xia!”
A girl in a Western-style dress stood at the gate, smiling at the kids before turning—her gaze landing on the familiar crouched figure.
No one saw the flicker of disorientation in her eyes.
“Excuse me, is there anything I can…”
He turned.
A beautiful, stunned face—hauntingly familiar.
Her handbag clattered to the ground.
She covered her mouth. Eyes reddened. Tears streamed freely.
Then, a voice trembled from her throat—woven with disbelief, doubt, and a hope forged through endless despair:
“Dad…?”
