June. The summer heat pressed down like a living thing, waves of scorching air rolling through the streets. At the entrance to Magnificent Garden, River City's most famous luxury residential complex, several security guards lounged around with premium cigarettes someone else had gifted them. They smoked lazily, watching a scene in the distance with the kind of glee that only came from someone else's misery. "That's all he's got? They say a live-in son-in-law is lower than a dog. I'd say that punk's worse than a dog!" "Useless, spineless trash. How did Rylie Norrell ever end up with him? Just because he's a little handsome?" "Pretty on the outside, rotten on the inside. If it weren't for this loser, Miss Norrell would've been a top-tier star already. He deserves every bit of it!" Where their eyes landed, a young man knelt on the ground, his face streaked with blood. Several vicious-looking men surrounded him, fists and boots raining down without pause. A few bystanders started to step forward, thinking to stop it. Then the attackers revealed who the victim was, and those same onlookers immediately curled their lips in disdain and turned away. Because the one being beaten was River City's infamous disgrace. A year ago, a wedding had shaken the entire city. The Norrell family's eldest daughter, Rylie Norrell, who had just begun to make a name for herself in the Entertainment Circle, had married an unknown nobody. Overnight, it became River City's biggest joke. And that nobody was the man getting stomped into the pavement. The Norrell family's live-in son-in-law… Reginald Lyson! Over the past year, Reginald Lyson's "identity" had spread through all of River City. Everyone knew the story. He had been a homeless drifter the Norrell family took in as a servant. Then, somehow, the toad actually swallowed the swan. He married Rylie Norrell, the girl with the looks of a future star and the dream lover of every single bachelor in River City. Because of that, Reginald endured a year of mockery and sneers. Worse, young heirs from River City's elite families occasionally sent people specifically to humiliate him, just to vent their resentment. Today was no different. Not far away by the roadside, a luxury car sat parked. A rich heir leaned half his body out of the window, shouting with wild excitement. "That's it! Hit him harder! What, you all skip dinner?" "Damn it, put some force into it! If you beat him to death, that's on me!" Maybe watching his men wasn't satisfying enough. The heir suddenly jumped out, gripping a golf club as he charged over. He swung it down at Reginald's head. Bang! The blow landed with a sickening weight. Blood sprayed out. The security guards who had been enjoying the show jolted like they'd been shocked, scrambling forward all at once. "Young Master Wokey!" "That's enough, that's enough! You'll kill him!" Young Master Wokey spat, face full of contempt. "So what? He's just trash. I beat him to death and nobody'll say a word!" But his lackeys understood what "too far" looked like. Panicked, they shoved him back into the car. One of them tossed a thick wad of cash at the guards, barking for them to send Reginald to the hospital, and then they sped off. Reginald collapsed on the ground. His vision blurred as he watched dark blood pooling on the pavement. Then, without warning, his mind snapped into a strange clarity, as if some sealed door inside him had been forced open. The next instant, an overwhelming flood of information surged into his brain. His legs jerked once. He blacked out. That night. Reginald opened his eyes on a hospital bed. If anyone who knew him had been there, they would have frozen. The timid man who used to bow his head to everyone was gone. The expression in his eyes belonged to someone else entirely. Reginald sat up, glanced around the quiet room, and slowly exhaled a breath that felt like it had been trapped in his chest for years. "Three years," he murmured. "So it really was three full years… and I got my memory back because of this." Scenes of the past flashed before him like a spinning lantern reel. River City thought it knew Reginald Lyson. It did not. No one knew his true identity: he was the founder of the world's most mysterious underground organization, Nine Heavens. People called him Divine Emperor Lord. Beneath him stood nine Nine Heavens Elder, each one a figure treated as an honored guest by world leaders and the heads of major organizations. Some had even suspected that Nine Heavens controlled power and wealth that surpassed half the world. That empire had been built by Reginald's own hands. And there was another secret, one even more absurd. Reginald Lyson was over ten thousand years old. Ten millennia ago, he had been born. Through a twist of fate, he had obtained immortality. It was precisely because he could not die that he had been able to forge Nine Heavens into a vast, shadowy dominion with his own strength. But three years ago, an accident had stolen his memories and left him wandering the streets. Divine Emperor Lord had always been elusive. He often vanished from public view for ten years at a time. So when he disappeared for real, Nine Heavens did not even realize it. That ignorance cost Reginald dearly. Until he married into the Norrell family. With his memories restored, he could have walked away at any time, leaving this small city behind without a second thought. Yet when the image of that flawless face rose in his mind, he realized he was reluctant to let go. 'Grandpa, he's kind of pitiful. We're short on help at home anyway. Why don't we take him in?' Two years ago, Reginald had drifted through the streets like a broken shell, hungry and cold, with nowhere to go. Because he was immortal, that suffering had felt endless. As long as his memories did not return, he would keep enduring it, day after day, with no finish line. And then Rylie Norrell's kindness had ended it. Repaying kindness with kindness was a rule Reginald had followed for ten thousand years. So even though he had awakened, he decided to maintain the marriage contract, to repay her, until the day she chose to ask for a divorce. Besides… the accident back then seemed to have more to it. He changed clothes, stepped down from the bed, and walked out of the ward with steady, unhurried steps. Before, he had been a cowardly, useless man. After, a commanding presence clung to him like a storm front, the kind that could shake the world. The change was so complete that the nurse at the station did not even realize her patient had left early. In the corridor, Reginald caught a glimpse of commotion outside the window. A crowd of reporters held cameras at the hospital entrance, blocking the way as if some important figure was inside. He spared it a glance and did not care. Then he caught a faint scent of tobacco. "Oh?" His eyes narrowed with interest. "That smell… in a hospital. Interesting." Reginald liked to smoke. But before his memories returned, he could never have gotten cigarettes in the Norrell household. The craving stirred, sharp and insistent. He followed the scent. Inside a stairwell, a nurse with oversized glasses was smoking. When she saw him step in, her beautiful eyes behind those bottle-thick lenses flickered with panic. Reginald looked her over, then smiled. "Nice cigarette. Mind if I have one?" The nurse studied him, puzzled. Her voice came out a little hoarse. "You know this brand?" Reginald's lips tilted. "Your cigarette carries a distinct herbal note. That scent only comes from tobacco grown on Cloud Ridge Mountain in the Southern Frontier. The cigarettes made from it smell clean and sweet, sweet and clean. Unfortunately, the yield on that mountain is low, so it's rare on the market." "You…" The nurse could not help laughing. Most of her face was hidden by the lenses, but the lips visible beneath them were striking enough to steal a breath. "I didn't think someone in little River City would recognize Cloud Ridge Cigarettes. Fine. I'll give you one." She handed him a cigarette, then thoughtfully offered a match as well. Reginald lit it and drew in slowly, savoring the first smoke he'd had in three years. He smoked differently from most people. Even with the hunger of deprivation, his movements stayed unhurried, almost elegant. The nurse's curiosity grew, and she stole a few more looks at him. "The reporters outside," Reginald said, flicking ash away. "They're here for you, aren't they?" "Me?" The nurse immediately grew flustered, shifting awkwardly. "You must have the wrong person. I'm just a nurse here…" "Sorry," Reginald said, shaking his head. "At the price of Cloud Ridge Cigarettes, a nurse couldn't afford to smoke them." "I… a relative gave them to me," she argued. "All right," Reginald said, exhaling a thin stream of smoke, his gaze calm and certain. "Then explain this." "First, you're definitely not a nurse here. One, that uniform doesn't fit you. Two, a real nurse would know the hospital forbids smoking, including in the stairwell. Three, nurse caps have a specific way they're worn, but yours is a mess. It looks like you put it on for the first time and had no idea how it should sit." He tipped his head slightly. "So, you stole someone's clothes and pretended to be a nurse?" The "nurse" sucked in a startled breath, and Reginald continued, voice unhurried. "Those reporters are loud, restless, and nosy. They're entertainment press. For them to swarm a hospital this late, there's only one reason. A celebrity was inside." "And then, right at the same time, you disguised yourself as a nurse and hid in here like you were sneaking around. You even put on a pair of thick glasses that barely have any prescription at all. That's practically a confession." By then, the "nurse" stopped denying it. She crossed her arms and tilted her head. "You really do know a lot." Reginald shrugged. "I've just lived a bit longer than most. You notice more things." She let out a soft laugh. "Lived longer? You look like you're in your early twenties." Then she leaned in slightly, confidence returning. "Since you know those reporters are here for me, can you guess who I am?" She had always been proud of her disguise. Even her own manager had failed to recognize her earlier. She did not believe Reginald could figure out her real identity just from sharing a cigarette. But Reginald only swept his gaze over her again, and a look of certainty settled onto his face, as if the answer had been obvious from the start. "Your fingers have distinct marks. From the spacing of those calluses and the faint impression along your chin, you play the violin often." "In the domestic Entertainment Circle, there aren't many female stars known for playing violin. But there is one who's famous for it. And with her net worth, she could certainly afford Cloud Ridge Cigarettes." He smiled faintly. "Am I right, Miss Monroe Quinny?"