Yes, Yin Chengjue had been reborn.
Reborn ten years in the past, back to when he was twenty-four.
At this time, he had just entered the Yin Group. Since his father, Feng Chengda, was the CEO of the Yin Group, and his mother, Yin He, was the largest shareholder, he was naturally appointed as the general manager of an entertainment subsidiary under the Yin Group.
And just as naturally, no one had high expectations for him.
Nepotism, after all, was bound to invite criticism—even though Yin Chengjue at the time was full of ambition, determined to prove himself through his own abilities and earn the recognition of everyone in the company.
Yin Chengjue reached for the glass of water on the nightstand and gulped down several mouthfuls, washing away the sour, metallic taste in his mouth.
The balcony door was left open, and the night breeze lifted the half-drawn curtains. The cool air brushed against Yin Chengjue’s face, jolting him fully awake.
He glanced at his phone—it was only 4:30 AM.
Yin Chengjue turned on the bedside lamp, staggered into the bathroom, and splashed his face violently under the faucet. Then he stared silently at the dripping reflection in the mirror.
This was the third day since his rebirth after death. Even now, he still found it hard to believe.
He even began to wonder if he had just woken up from a long dream—one where he had lived through ten years of life. Or perhaps this was the dream, and in reality, he was lying in a hospital bed as a vegetable after that car accident.
Yin Chengjue raised his wrist, looking at the countless bite marks—all self-inflicted, each one confirmed to hurt.
He took a deep breath, then suddenly clenched his fist and smashed it into the mirror!
Bang!
The mirror shattered into a spiderweb of cracks, reflecting Yin Chengjue’s fragmented face.
A broken smile slowly curled on his lips.
“Heh… Hahahaha…”
Yin Chengjue suddenly burst into laughter, his pitch-black eyes burning with an almost manic intensity.
“Ming Qian… Just you wait.”
Yin Chengjue opened his laptop and saw that the email he had sent his mother three days ago had finally received a reply.
At this time, Yin He was abroad attending an art auction and negotiating business deals, her schedule packed to the brim. When Yin Chengjue first woke up in this timeline, he had messaged her, only to receive a single reply: Sweetie, Mommy’s busy right now, let’s talk later, okay? I’ll bring you a gift when I’m back, mwah!
Yin Chengjue had only wanted to confirm her safety, so seeing her reply put him at ease. But remembering what would happen ten years later, he couldn’t help but urge her to call or email him when she had time.
Now that Yin He had replied, Yin Chengjue quickly typed out a message and sent it.
Less than two minutes later, his phone rang—it was Yin He calling.
Yin Chengjue wasn’t surprised. He tapped the answer button. “Mom.”
“Sweetie, what’s wrong? Why are you telling me to divorce your dad?” Yin He’s voice carried a mix of exasperation and indulgence. “Did your grandfather say something bad about him again?”
Back then, Yin He had insisted on marrying Feng Chengda, who was a poor man with no background or money—naturally, the Yin family disapproved.
Because of this, Yin He had fallen out with her father. Later, after some incidents, Yin’s grandfather finally relented, but only on the condition that Feng Chengda marry into the family.
Even so, Yin’s grandfather still looked down on Feng Chengda, convinced that he didn’t truly love Yin He and was only after the Yin Group’s wealth.
So when Yin He saw her son’s email telling her to divorce Feng Chengda, her first thought was that her father had been badmouthing Feng Chengda again, making her son take it seriously.
Yin Chengjue tightened his grip on the phone, suppressing the fury inside him—a rage so intense it felt like it could burn Feng Chengda to ashes. “It has nothing to do with Grandfather. This is my own decision. It’s hard to explain over the phone. When you come back, I’ll show you something, and then you’ll understand.”
Yin He was taken aback by her son’s unusually serious tone. After a pause, she finally agreed. “Alright, sweetie.”
After hanging up, Yin Chengjue exhaled deeply and opened Weibo, searching for an official account from memory.
Unlike the past three days, this time, he finally found it.
Clearly, the account had only been registered a few hours ago, with fewer than a hundred followers. But Yin Chengjue knew that tomorrow, this account would post promotional images and buy trending hashtags to advertise their upcoming talent show.
And it was on this talent show that Ming Qian would make his debut.
Yin Chengjue was eager to see—without his deliberate backing this time around—whether Ming Qian could still thrive so effortlessly in the entertainment industry.
Hmm…
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