Chapter 3: Purple Mountain Villa

By noon, all matters had been settled.

As expected, when Xiao Yang chose not to contest the unfair terms, everything proceeded with startling efficiency.

Before departing, Lawyer Chen remarked with genuine emotion, "Such familial harmony would surely comfort Chairman Xiao's spirit in the afterlife." Having witnessed countless inheritance wars among the wealthy, he'd never seen one resolved so swiftly.

Xiao Yang smirked inwardly. Harmony?

When he was nine, this stepmother had marched into their home with her son in tow, driving his birth mother to suicide.

For fifteen years, he'd nurtured hatred for this family—most of all for his father. No wonder he'd felt nothing but numbness when the old man's accident was announced.

They slipped through my fingers in the last life. Let's see them try it now.

...

In the villa's opulent parlor, Xiao Ren's tantrum echoed off marble walls. "That bastard stole my brand-new Brabus G800—the limited edition Mercedes off-roader I just customized—and took the Purple Mountain Villa! Do you know how many connections I burned to get that property in Nanjing's most exclusive district? I haven't even slept there once! And now he's emptied all 2.5 billion from the accounts—how am I supposed to show face at the Haitian Summit next week?"

He paced like a caged jackal, designer shoes shredding the Persian rug. "All my friends expect me to dominate the apocalypse-edition yacht auction! If I show up empty-handed—"

"Enough!" Zhang Li's slap cracked across the coffee table. "You think luxury toys matter when we're fighting for control of Yang Corporation?" Her manicured finger jabbed at his chest. "Your fool of a father hid contingency plans, but thanks to that spineless boy surrendering everything, we're still winning."

Wang Jian, the family's longtime CFO, nodded from his leather armchair. "Once we consolidate equity through offshore holdings, you'll buy ten yachts if you please."

Xiao Ren kicked over a Ming vase. "I want what's mine now! That weakling's never beaten me—not in school, not with girls, not even in stealing Father's favor! He'll choke on every penny he took!"

As her son stormed upstairs, Zhang Li massaged her temples. "The offshore transfers?" she murmured when the footsteps faded.

Wang Jian's hands slid down her silk blouse. "Our Cayman shell company's ready to absorb the shares. Two weeks, and we'll be sipping champagne on a private island."

She batted his groping fingers away. "Not until Xiao Ren knows you're his real father."

"Why rush?" His laugh echoed through the vaulted ceiling as he bit her neck. "Let the brat enjoy his last days as an 'Xiao'."

...

The Brabus G800's twin-turbo roar shook pine needles from trees as Xiao Yang raced up Purple Mountain. The truck's military-grade suspension devoured the winding road, its exhaust snarling like the beast it was—a 900-horsepower declaration of dominance.

Waste of engineering, he thought coldly. In nine days, this mechanical marvel would be a frozen paperweight.

...

At 2:07 PM, Xiao Yang stood in the villa's third-floor master suite. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed a dystopian panorama: the university town below crawling with ant-sized students, oblivious to the death sentence hanging over them.

His inspection revealed critical flaws:

No independent heating. The coming frost would turn this marble tomb into a meat locker.

Single-pane windows. Useless against -50°C winds.

A swimming pool, not a water reservoir. Three days into the freeze, pipes would burst.

His phone buzzed with a contractor's confirmation. Good. They'll start tomorrow: triple-glazed windows, geothermal pumps, solar walls.

But first, he needed to revisit the tree that saved his life last time.

...

The ancient camphor tree's roots gripped the mountainside like stone serpents. Centuries of storms had split its trunk, creating a hollow that stank of rotting leaves and... something sweet.

Xiao Yang crawled inside. The nest held seven starling chicks—six cold and stiff. The survivor pecked weakly at his palm, its black eyes reflecting his own haunted gaze from another lifetime.

"Hungry?" He crushed a beetle against the wood. The chick swallowed greedily.

Survivors recognize their kind.