The rain washed away the blood on the battlefield, where Lin Fan stood alone among the corpses of his men. His broken sword rested in his hand, his heavy breaths rising into the cold night air.
"Where is everyone?!" he roared hoarsely, but only the wind answered with its mournful wail.
Then, he saw Liang, his younger brother, standing behind the enemy ranks alongside the clan elders.
Their cold eyes met his, filled with confusion and pain.
"So, you've finally fallen, our great leader." Liang sneered, stepping forward, his guards surrounding him like hungry wolves.
Lin Fan didn't need to hear more. He understood everything.
Years of wise leadership, sacrifices for the clan, and blind love for his brother… all wasted.
"Farewell, fool." Liang whispered with a devilish smile before signaling his guards.
A volley of arrows rained down on Lin Fan's exhausted body.
But before he could draw his last breath, he saw something strange.
For a fleeting moment, the shadow of a great dragon loomed behind him, as if the heavens themselves were offering him one last chance.
"If... I return..." he whispered with the last of his strength, "I won't let anyone stand in my way..."
---
(Awakening of the Past)
Lin Fan's eyes snapped open.
He found himself lying in his childhood bed, his breath rapid, his small body trembling.
"A return through time?" he whispered to himself, inspecting his tiny hands.
But he quickly realized—this wasn't just any ordinary technique.
In his past life, he had heard legends of the "Black Dragon Path"—an ancient art that allowed vengeful souls to break the barrier of time.
"So this is the price of returning..." He touched his chest, sensing a strange presence awakening within.
"The Dark Essence."
That forbidden energy, now his greatest weapon.
From the room next door, he heard Liang's laughter—once a source of joy, now a reminder of the betrayal to come.
"This time..." he closed his eyes as dragon sigils appeared on his small arm, "I'll make them all experience true hell."
---
The Noble Heir's Morning
The ornate wooden door of his room slid open with a soft rustle, like bamboo leaves in the wind.
Lin Fan stood at the threshold, dressed in a navy-blue silk robe embroidered with golden cloud and dragon patterns. A soft leather belt secured a small dagger at his side. His long black hair, tied roughly with a red tassel, reflected the style of noble sons from the Tang Dynasty.
The crisp autumn air brushed against his face as he stepped into the inner courtyard of the household.
Beneath his feet, carved stone tiles decorated with lotus engravings gleamed with fresh morning dew.
---
The Path to the Market
He walked through narrow alleyways, flanked by mudbrick and wooden walls, where red lanterns still flickered from the previous night's festivities.
"Young Lord Lin! Won't you take some mooncakes with you?" called an elderly maid from the kitchen window, waving a steaming tray.
"Not today, Grandmother Su." He answered calmly without stopping.
In the main street, morning vendors had already set up their goods:
Baskets of fragrant rice spread over bamboo mats.
Salted pork cuts hanging from taut strings.
A young boy banging on a brass plate, announcing the arrival of the fresh tofu cart.
"Make way! Make way!" yelled the bearers of an ornate golden sedan, carrying it toward the governor's residence.
Everyone bowed respectfully as Lin Fan passed. Even the armed guards at the market gate lowered their heads.
"Blessings upon you, Young Master!"
"May the heavens protect you!"
Yet his cold eyes never wavered.
---
A Cup of Bitter Tea
He entered a small wooden teahouse at the alley's crossroads. The aroma of roasted tea leaves and medicinal herbs filled the air.
Around low wooden tables, groups of traders played Mahjong, their voices loud with laughter.
"Ah! The young master of the household!" The teahouse owner hurried over. "Will you have jasmine tea as usual?"
"Bring me Pu-erh tea." His tone left no room for argument.
For a moment, silence fell over the teahouse. Even the pipa musician in the corner stopped playing.
"But... that tea is for old warriors, young lord! Its taste is—"
"I know its taste." Lin Fan cut him off and sat near the window.
As he sipped his tea, his sharp ears picked up the whispers of the maids behind the curtain.
"Look at how he drinks that bitter brew without even flinching! Like an old man!"
"He's changed so much since that terrible fever last month..."
Lin Fan's expression was unreadable, his cold eyes devoid of emotion.
Through the window, he saw Liang playing with the servants' children, laughing as he ran, his black hair fluttering like a dark butterfly.
"Are you trying to deceive me again, little snake?"
His grip on the cup tightened until it nearly shattered.
---
The Weight of Silver
He placed a silver Yuan coin on the table—a sum large enough to feed a family of three for a week.
"But… this is too much, young master!"
"Keep the change." He replied without looking back.
Outside, light rain had begun to fall. Lin Fan opened his red paper umbrella, its surface adorned with a golden dragon motif.
As he walked, murmurs followed him.
"Look! It's our young noble!"
"So refined! Like a prince from an imperial painting!"
But he moved as if he heard nothing.
At the temple's corner, he paused before the statue of Lu Gan, the legendary swordsman.
"Even you... how many fools have you deceived with your heroic façade?"
Then, he continued walking.
Winter was approaching, and soon, Jiu Yuan Academy—the Academy of the Nine Depths—would open its doors.
That night, Lin Fan sat on a rock by the riverbank, gazing at the reflection of the moon on the water.
His fingers idly played with a silver Yuan coin, while distant echoes of his brother's laughter drifted from another time.
He closed his eyes… and sighed.
Beneath the river's surface, the shadow of the Black Dragon opened its eyes—for a moment.
To be continued...