It started when a bloody rain was about to fall.

The first move has been made.

The phone screen gradually dimmed, revealing a blurry reflection of Lin Ye's handsome face—pale, cold, with eyes like an icy pool.

After finishing all this, Lin Ye got up from the wooden chair and went to the window again, where he saw that the morning light had completely dispelled the shadows of the night.

In the distance, on the horizon, the glass curtain wall of the Yip Group headquarters building reflects a golden light.

At a height of 350 meters, it overlooks everything in the megacity of Beijing, like a silent giant.

It is also...where she is.

Ye Qingrou.

The name rolled through Lin Ye's mind, bringing him a sharp, piercing pain. The pain was like a thorn growing into his heart, intertwining and growing with the myocardial fibers, becoming a part of his flesh and blood.

Every heartbeat tugs at it—not the excruciating pain that makes one cry out, but a dull, lingering ache that has become part of life itself.

The image of her demise in her past life flashed through Lin Ye's mind—

She lay in a pool of blood, her chest torn open by the annihilation power, leaving a gruesome wound.

The edges were not red flesh and blood, but grayish-white nothingness—the places that were hit simply "disappeared," leaving only jagged remnants.

Life force slipped away like sand through an hourglass. Those eyes, once as clear as an autumn lake, gradually dimmed, like the light on a lake at dusk sinking inch by inch into darkness.

In the very end, she seemed to recognize him, yet also seemed not, and only managed to utter those words in a barely audible voice:

"I feel like I've seen you... somewhere before..."

Then, the poignant smile on her lips bloomed like an ice flower, only to freeze in an instant.

The rain in my memory is cold.

Her blood was warm—when Lin Ye bent down to kiss her forehead, the blood seeped through his clothes, carrying the last warmth of her body, making him tremble all over.

Lin Ye's heart froze completely at that moment. It wasn't sadness, nor despair, but the very core of his being was shattered.

From that moment on, every day he lived was a search for an answer to that shattered core.

"In this life, I will not let you die again."

Lin Ye clenched his fist. His fingernails dug into his palm, and blood seeped out.

The real pain came from his palm—this pain convinced him that he was truly alive, had body temperature, a heartbeat, and the opportunity to change everything.

"I will become stronger, strong enough to stand proudly beside you. But not now..."

Lin Ye loosened his fist, and blood was seeping from the crescent-shaped wound on his palm. The blood flowed along the lines of his palm, drawing scarlet lines on his hand.

"I'm not qualified yet."

At this moment, he was just a low-level young man delivering food, living in this rented room of a dozen square meters.

Their daily routine involves navigating the city's capillaries, delivering warm food to others while they themselves eat the cheapest instant noodles.

She is the jewel of the Ye Group and the most dazzling socialite in the metropolis of Beijing.

Her photos frequently appeared on the covers of medical and financial magazines, and her name was repeatedly mentioned by professors during her school years. Her every move became a hot topic on campus forums.

There is an insurmountable chasm between them—a gulf composed of class, wealth, resources, and fate.

This chasm cannot be crossed in a day; it requires time, accumulation, and countless carefully calculated days.

But in the end times, all classes will be broken down and reorganized.

When crimson rain washes over the metropolis, when skyscrapers crumble in acid rain, when the edifice of order collapses—all the old rules will become obsolete.

Power will become the only passport; survival will become the only morality.

But before that, Lin Ye needs to survive and build a foundation.

Without power, all vows are empty words. Without resources, all plans are nothing but illusions.

There are only six months left.

The countdown has begun.

Outside the window, the city's clamor rose like a tide. The sounds of traffic, people, and machinery mingled into a final symphony of civilized society.

The symphony is so grand, so taken for granted, that no one thinks about what it will look like when it suddenly stops.

At this moment, Lin Ye stood in the morning light, looking at everything outside the window. His back was thin and upright, like a sword drawn from its sheath—the blade was still covered with rust and the edge was not yet sharpened, but its shape was already that of a sword.

At the same time, his gaze pierced through the rows of buildings, as if he could already see the torrential rain that would turn the sky crimson six months later.

The rain will wash away the pretense of the old world, revealing its naked truth.

That rain will also irrigate the ruins of the new era, where, amidst bones and blood, the evil flower called "power" will bloom.

Lin Ye will plant the seeds of revenge and redemption in this garden.

One hundred and eighty-two days.

Enough ants to build a towering tower.

Enough for mortals to touch the stars.

Enough of the dead... to return from the end of time.