Caleb Zhou. First son of House Zhou.
The sun cut through the morning haze like a blade—warm and sharp across the marble veranda of the Wang estate's eastern terrace. Caleb Zhou stood barefoot on the polished stone, sweat already running down the corded muscles of his back, a practice blade in hand.
He liked the sound of steel on air. Liked how his breath timed itself to motion. Liked how the servants paused to watch when they thought he wasn't paying attention.
They should. He was worth watching.
He pivoted into a downward arc, feet gliding across the damp floor in practiced rhythm. The blade sliced through empty space, edge gleaming silver in the light. Again. And again.
This was his morning ritual—motion and memory, all woven into blood and muscle.
Caleb Zhou. First son of House Zhou.
Golden child turned disgrace.
Disgrace turned golden son reborn.
And he'd never felt more righteous in his own skin.
Everything was falling into place.
He smirked to himself as he adjusted his grip, switching to a tighter, short-range form. He could still hear the whispers from the night before—noble families weighing the significance of his marriage to Claire Wang. She was beautiful. Ambitious. And while the Wang family wasn't much now—not compared to the Li family—he had firsthand knowledge that would change.
It had in his last life.
Claire Wang had become a powerhouse. An expert who ascended beyond the Human Realm entirely. To what level… he couldn't remember. Only that it had been spectacular.
Before Caleb killed Ethan, Ethan had enjoyed the fruits of that transformation. Prestige. Wealth. Legacy.
His legacy.
But this time, Caleb had been chosen.
He'd been given another chance.
Claire was his now.
Not Ethan's.
His.
And all it had taken was a little pressure, a little magic, and a few well-timed smiles.
Claire had always been soft beneath her confidence—ambitious, yes, but also hungry for recognition. Attractive in a gentle way. But most women between the ages of sixteen and ninety spent more time than was healthy comparing themselves to the Four Great Beauties of the Empire—those women at the pinnacle of beauty, power, and attention.
That comparison created an environment where winning over anyone else felt like child's play.
Women like Claire—pretty, but not in the same league—craved attention.
So Caleb gave it to her. In waves. Made her feel like a queen.
And in the future, that would put a crown on his head.
The thought made him smile.
He had no regrets.
Not even about Vivian.
He paused his drill, lowering the blade, breathing deep.
Vivian Li.
Now that had been a lesson. A painful one.
In his last life, she'd cut him down slowly—and publicly. Refused his advances. Mocked his jealousy. Let him embarrass himself in front of half the noble court. She'd made him feel small. Insignificant.
Weak.
This time?
He didn't even look her way. Didn't have to.
Let Ethan deal with that icicle. Let him try to thaw something that had never been warm to begin with.
Though... Caleb did have a score to settle with Vivian's White Moonlight. That bastard Jun. The smug expressions. The stolen glances. The humiliations. (He wasn't the Li son-in-law yet—it wouldn't be hard to find him and stab that bastard in the face.)
He dismissed the thought. Messing with the timeline wasn't smart. Vivian's obsession with Jun had been unhealthy, but removing him might bring unpredictable consequences.
Better to focus on Claire. His cultivation. And enjoying watching his brother suffer the way he had.
He rolled his shoulders and returned to the blade, slipping into a more aggressive set of forms—close-range, bone-breaking strikes.
Still, his thoughts wandered. Compared.
Claire versus Vivian.
Vivian's body, her face—they'd been unbelievable. And it pissed him off that he'd never gotten to experience it.
Maybe after his cultivation improved, he'd pay her and Jun a visit. Take what should've been his. Make her feel the pain of it.
The idea made him grin.
Still… Vivian had never looked at him like Claire did.
Claire giggled when he said something bold.
Claire melted when he leaned in close.
Claire let him win.
And Caleb liked winning.
A servant approached quietly, bowing low at the edge of the platform.
"Lord Zhou, breakfast is prepared. Lady Wang is waiting."
"As she should," Caleb said, sheathing the blade and letting the sweat cling to his skin. He grabbed a towel, draped it across his shoulders, and strode back toward the manor with a lion's gait.
The Wang estate wasn't as vast as the Li compound, but it was sleek. Glossy. Mirrors inlaid into every corridor. Floating light-chimes pulsing with the family crest. A place that begged to be admired.
Much like Claire herself.
She was waiting at the center table, surrounded by dishes neither of them would finish. Her gown was pale green, cut to flatter, hair swept into soft, romantic waves.
She beamed when she saw him.
"There you are," she said. "I was starting to think you preferred swords to your new wife."
"I can do both," he said smoothly, taking the seat beside her instead of across from her. "Multitasking's a core strength."
She laughed and leaned into him, not caring that he hadn't changed out of his training robe. The scent of sweat, steel, and herbal oil clung to his skin.
He knew she liked the way he smelled after a workout.
He liked the way she fit against him—pliant, adoring.
This was how it should've been the first time.
He grabbed a dumpling and bit into it. "Heard anything interesting?"
Claire raised a brow, stealing a piece of fruit from his plate. "Well… the Li celebration is raging."
Caleb snorted. "Of course it is. They've got fifty times the inheritance and a hundred times the ego."
She smiled. "Still, people are talking. There's a rumor that Vivian Li commissioned a starforged blade as a wedding gift."
Caleb stopped chewing.
He swallowed slowly. "Vivian gave Ethan a starforged blade?"
"That's what I heard."
He leaned back slightly, letting the thought sink in.
Vivian never did anything without intention. If she gave Ethan that kind of weapon, it meant one of two things: either she was trying to elevate him… or trying to destroy him.
Probably the latter.
Still, Caleb found himself smiling.
"Poor Ethan," he said. "He's not going to know what to do with it."
Claire shrugged. "He's smart. Actually has decent mana. His channels and purity are pretty high. Maybe he'll surprise everyone."
Caleb waved her off with a grin. "Being smart and being capable aren't the same thing."
Still… a starforged blade?
He tilted his head.
"Does Ethan even have enough mana to hold it?"
He could picture it—his little brother standing in the middle of that impossibly gilded estate, stiff-backed, hands folded like a scholar pretending to be a husband. Vivian standing beside him, cold as the blade she'd handed him.
"Honestly," Claire said, voice low and mischievous, "I didn't think she'd go through with the wedding. I thought maybe she'd find some way to stall it."
Did he hear a trace of regret in her voice?
No. That was impossible.
"Vivian would never cross her mother," Caleb said. "That woman's more terrifying than any general in the capital."
Claire nodded with theatrical solemnity, then grinned. "Still… it's hard to imagine them together."
Caleb tilted his head. "Why?"
She shrugged. "He's just so… reserved."
Caleb took a sip of tea. "Ethan? He's always been a cold little wraith. Smart, sure. Good with runes and spellwork. But no presence. No flair. No circumstance. Tragic, really."
Claire's gaze flicked toward the projection screen mounted in the corner of the courtyard wall. It was off now, but last night it had displayed parts of the Li wedding to high-ranking observers.
"That's the thing," she said. "There were a lot of Path Icons at the celebration. He looked… different. Stronger. Not physically, but… I don't know. Centered. Like he knew something no one else did."
Caleb's grip tightened slightly on the teacup.
He hated Path Icons.
Not because they were powerful—most of them weren't.
But because they chronicled everything. Every duel. Every misstep. Every whisper, dressed up as commentary. And when his own marriage had imploded in silence, it was the Path Icons who gave that silence teeth.
They hadn't just reported his disgrace.
They'd immortalized it.
He laughed it off.
"That's just the Li influence," he said, waving a hand. "They've got all the Path Icons in their pocket. The world only sees what the Li family wants it to see. It's all staged. You could put a talking crab in their robes and they'd make it look like nobility."
Claire giggled. "You're so cruel."
"It's how I cope," Caleb said.
Still, the word stuck like a burr.
Centered.
Ethan?
Centered?
That wasn't the Ethan he remembered.
Later that morning, Caleb strolled through the lower training yard of the Wang estate, watching a few junior cousins spar. He offered sharp commentary here and there, corrected a stance, redirected a strike. His presence was magnetic. They hung on his words, eager to impress.
It should have satisfied him.
But that sword—Vivian's sword—kept gnawing at the back of his mind.
Starforged, Claire had said.
Starforged blades were exceedingly rare. They weren't just weapons—they were companions. Soul-bound constructs made from starmetal, half-sentient in their own right. And Vivian had commissioned one specifically for Ethan.
He couldn't help but remember the first time he walked into the Li household in his previous life.
Everything had gone wrong almost immediately.
The night of their wedding, Vivian had refused him intimacy, struck him in private, and then left—to go see that bastard Jun. The celebration week that followed had been a disaster.
He'd participated in a trial spar against Vivian's three brothers—all of them trained in Li-style: fluid, brutal, elegant. He'd talked big that day. Loud. Said he'd crush them. That the Zhou bloodline and technique were superior.
He'd lost.
Badly.
All three of them beat him down like he didn't belong on the platform.
He'd tried to save face afterward, blaming the dull-edged training sword he'd been handed. And to be fair, the weapon had been garbage—poor balance, chipped edge, barely fit for drills.
But if he was honest?
They were just better.
And he'd been humiliated.
Vivian had watched it all from a balcony—expression unreadable, arms crossed like a queen passing judgment. She hadn't said a word afterward. No correction. No comfort. No symbolic apology to help him recover face.
She hadn't offered him a better blade.
Not even a gesture.
She'd let him walk off the mat with his pride shattered, and the rest of the court pretending not to laugh.
And now she was giving Ethan—cold, awkward Ethan—a starforged blade. A soul-bound weapon made from metal so rare most sects had never seen one.
A weapon with consciousness.
His jaw flexed.
She never gave him a sword.