"Fast as lightning" doesn't even begin to describe it—Jack Young was basically a bullet tearing through the air. Even while sprinting at breakneck speed, he managed to memorize the mini-map by the roadside at a glance. He realized Lujiazui was right by the Shangri-La Hotel, but he himself was still far away from Lujiazui. Twelve o'clock? Not enough time. He had to be fast, faster, infinitely fast!
He never even considered stuff like, "So what if I'm a minute late?" Every fiber of his being was laser-focused on making that noon appointment.
She's there. She's waiting for me!
Roaring inside, his mental energy exploded outward, dragging all the drifting black mist in the world toward him. Right now, that black mist only responded to mental force, and his spirit was so obsessive, so intense, it was borderline insane.
Black mist converged on him from every direction, swirling around his body and boosting his power. Everywhere he passed, he left behind expanding, inky ripples—rings that strung together into a surreal tunnel, marking the path of his high-speed dash.
Jack Young was like a comet, blazing and trailing debris, rocketing east with a burning intensity.
The sun was high, the sky was blue, the clouds were white, and the sunlight was blinding.
Atop the Oriental Pearl Tower, Bobby Brooks and his crew were on lookout duty, eyes peeled in every direction. They took to heart what Big Bro said the day before—no one dared mess up.
"He's coming! I see him!" someone yelled. Bobby Brooks immediately grabbed the binoculars, and his jaw nearly hit the floor. "Holy crap, send the signal!" Someone instantly whipped out a mirror and flashed it toward the south under the noon sun.
Now that wireless comms were totally dead, the old-school signaling methods finally got their moment to shine.
"Prince Your Highness is just... ruthless! I always thought Queen Jill was the crazy one, but now I see—it's a family thing!"
Through the binoculars, Jack Young was a streak of black light, zigzagging through the skyscrapers. Nothing—horizontal, vertical, whatever—could slow him down. He sprinted up the glass facades, shattering every pane he touched, sending a rain of shards crashing down to the streets below.
If a building blocked his way, he'd just smash right through—like a bullet through an apple—bursting out the other side in an explosion of glass. No hesitation, no slowing down.
Everyone who saw it—especially the regular folks—totally lost it. In broad daylight, this kind of thing was just... what the heck?! Shock, panic, screaming, confusion—it was chaos. Cameras tried to catch Jack Young, but all they got was his afterimage.
As for the Fated Ones, some clenched their fists, some stared wide-eyed, some smirked, some gritted their teeth, some yelled, "No!", and some just laughed maniacally, "That's what I'm talking about!"
On this day, in this international metropolis, in front of over ten million people, Jasper Xiao's viral video and a black meteor tore through Shanghai's sky, shaking up the city and blowing people's minds.
This was more shocking than a jet hitting the World Trade Center. More insane than any coup, any manifesto, any riot, any natural disaster. It freaked people out, caught them off guard, and made everyone realize—the world had changed.
After today, the whole world would know: there are superhumans out there.
People would learn there's a third kind of power—beyond money and influence: strength! The kind of raw, unbeatable, mythic force straight out of ancient legends.
These two became the scissors that snipped open the curtain of a new era. This moment would be legendary—unless, of course, something even crazier happened later.
No one can predict the future. Bobby Brooks just thought, "Today's gonna be wild," but whatever comes next, you deal with the now first. If you can't handle the present, there is no future. So Bobby muttered under his breath, "Prince Your Highness is a beast—if anything goes wrong, let's hope Jasper Xiao's got our backs."
A blast of wind hit him head-on. Jack Young's eyes burned as he leapt across the Huangpu River, charging toward Pudong's most famous bend.
He paused for a split second on the roof of the Believe It or Not Museum (yes, that's really its name). His nose twitched, instantly breaking down the endless scents in the wind—he pinpointed one. Got it. That person is up ahead!
Boom! The museum's roof exploded like it got hit by a cannon. Chunks of concrete went flying as Jack Young shot off, trailing black rings behind him.
Countless timers ticked down the last few seconds—12 o'clock, right on the dot!
Crack! Jack Young landed like an arrow, slamming into the street. Yep, the scent was coming from this way. He scanned the area, his eyes flashing with black light—his vision swept near and far. He saw it!
Just beyond the wall of screaming, fleeing people—just past the blur of bodies—he spotted a figure. He froze, staring. Yes, that silhouette: elegant, confident, with pale golden hair. The same unforgettable figure he'd glimpsed back in November 2011, even with his nearsighted eyes!
It's her!
But she was walking away, stepping through a doorway into a building.
Where's she going?
"Daisy Summers!" Jack Young roared, his voice booming like thunder and shattering nearby car windows. But she didn't turn around—she seemed to exist in a parallel world, totally unfazed. Light on her feet, like a fairy, she slipped through that doorway.
"No, no, don't go! I'm right here—I'm here!" Jack Young sprinted after her, vaulting over flowerbeds and smashing through barriers, plowing through the crowd like an icebreaker, charging toward the far side of his dream.
Thankfully, his obsession hadn't gone totally off the rails—he didn't actually kill anyone. He reminded himself: girls hate blood and gore, gotta make a good impression. So he slowed down, dashed through the door, and found himself in a lobby.
The lobby was packed, everyone lugging bags and staring at Jack Young in terror. He didn't care. He heard familiar footsteps, looked up fast, and spotted her at the top of the escalator, heading for the second floor, sunlight catching her as she turned the corner—just a glimpse of her profile.
That profile—haunting his dreams.
Wait, a rolling suitcase?
Hold up, that suitcase looks familiar—isn't that the same one from the day I sent her off?
What is she up to?!
Jack Young clenched his teeth, his brows knotted, fists tight—he was getting worked up, agitated, like a wounded beast, eyes flashing with fury.
At the same time, not far behind, a passenger lowered his newspaper—Jasper Xiao! He watched Jack Young's back with tense eyes, gripping the handle of his hammer.
A day earlier, Ethan Zhuo had told him: "Our plan is risky, and your job is the final safety net. If things spiral out of control—if he totally loses it—you've got to go all out and shut it down, even if it means hurting him!"
That day, he pounded his chest and swore a steel-clad oath to everyone, and to his own holy light: "I will never let the innocent suffer violence."
Jasper Xiao's eyes glowed with holy light, his heart thundering like war drums: Teacher Yang, if you really go over to the dark side, I'll stop you. As a friend, as a brother, I swear I'll stop you—even if I have to kill you, even if it costs me my life.
That's my justice.
But Teacher Yang, I believe you won't let us down. Your family trusts you so much. She said she has a way.
Yang Shu, Auntie—I'm counting on you.
Next moment, the sound of a cello filled the air. No speakers, no equipment—just the purest sound of the instrument, the soul of the musician.
Yesterday, Ethan Zhuo had told Yang Shu: "His condition can only be treated with hypnosis, but he's almost impossible to hypnotize—it's like an ant trying to shake a tree. So we have to create the perfect atmosphere, control his emotions, and guide him nonverbally. Only you can do this, Auntie."
And right now, in a room upstairs, Yang Shu was pouring her soul into her violin. Every note, every vibration, was heavy yet light, like a wise elder's advice wrapped in warmth. This wasn't any existing song, nor anyone else's composition—it was pure soul, Yang Shu's own endless spirit.
She hadn't even opened her eyes or seen Jack Young's current state, but she was absolutely confident.
She was his aunt—and his soulmate.
Her music could reach the deepest part of his heart.
Down in the first-floor lobby, the moment the music started, Jack Young shuddered, his eyes going hazy. His rage faded, the color in his eyes softened. He looked up at the second floor—and finally, he stepped onto the escalator.
With every step, his face changed a little. With every stride, his mind grew more distant.
In this déjà vu moment, he drifted from reality into memory—back to two years ago.
He even started panting, just like an ordinary office worker.
He ran up the escalator, out the exit, around the corner, eyes wide, searching.
He saw that familiar silhouette.
Familiar clothes, familiar person, familiar rolling suitcase.
And—he glanced around instinctively: clusters of passengers, electronic guide signs, the tracks below the platform, and a rumbling train pulling in.
It was a light rail station—a familiar one. On this familiar platform stood a familiar figure.
Just like that New Year's Day at noon.
The train stopped.
"No..."
The doors opened.
"No..."
People got off.
"No..."
People got on.
And that silhouette—the wind played with her pale golden hair, a strand stubbornly sticking up. She stepped forward, crossing the threshold of the train doors—just like two years ago.
"Don't—!!"
Jack Young roared, his voice raw and desperate.
The whole world seemed to blur into fantasy.
He reached out, he ran, he gasped for breath—he felt so slow, so powerless.
Every step took him deeper into the abyss of memory, back to that half-day that trapped him.
A voice in his mind told him: You’re different now. You’re stronger. You can do this—break free!
Smack—finally, Jack Young grabbed her hand, the one holding the suitcase.
After crossing such a long road, through countless worlds, seeing all the splendor and sorrow, living through life and death—after two years, he finally reached out to memory and grabbed hold.
He panted, wounded, but smiled. He gritted his teeth, but softened his breath. All his thoughts finally came together. At last, he said the words he'd wanted to say but never could.
"Don't go... you, don't go—!!"