Han Chen turned twenty-six in silence.
No fanfare. No celebration. Just a quiet sunrise watched from the remote mountaintop estate he'd changed to, a year earlier, away from the usual noise of the mortals—half cultivator retreat, half underground tech lab. A farm adjacent just for the beauty of it. The compound lay nestled against snow-swept cliffs far from the city, unreachable by drones or standard surveillance. A sanctum, not just a home per se.
And outside that serene bubble?
The world had changed. The previous city wide supernatural effect seems to be too unexplainable. It's too beyond commonsense that people chose not to talk about it.
Whispers, however, had traveled. Experts from every corner of the globe had descended upon the city, drawn by the frantic, often contradictory, eyewitness accounts. Six months of relentless research yielded nothing but dead ends. Some speculated about hidden alien forces, others about battling deities who had artfully erased their tracks. Whatever the cause, the damage control had been absolute, chilling in its precision. Every surveillance recording, from street cameras to the most secure data banks, had been physically annihilated or wiped clean. Even the satellite feeds above had been eerily masked, as if reality itself had been bent and then straightened, leaving no trace of the impossible.
Just due to the fact that their company is near the zone, it was pulled into questioning and all. But NovaGen was no longer their own. NovaGen was finally nationalized. Partially, anyway.
The Government's Move
Six months earlier, the central government had formally announced what many people already suspected: NovaGen Therapeutics would be brought under partial national control as a matter of, um, national interest and strategic security.
The excuse was airtight—NovaGen's technologies now deeply and directly impacted military readiness, public health policy, global economic competition. The whole increasing scientific and technological race between east and west was also a factor, apparently.
But here's the thing... the reason they weren't more forceful in their usual takeover approach? That was indirectly due to Han Chen and safety measures he left in place. See, there'd been these mysterious reports over the previous years to government and security intelligence of foreign governments and cultivation hidden clans.
Agents of governments or any other trying to infiltrate in company will receive termination notice before they enter the city. Mysterious accidents involved when trailing essential company research staffs, which later found totally coincidental and justifiable.
And the unexplainable and unscientific supernatural incident happened in that city.
Reports that indicated backing from some cultivation clan, which explained why they could quietly silence intrusions, physical or otherwise and lead the company in such rapid developments with not even a single successful attempt. How else could a new company like theirs take off so fast?
Well, the state had other theories too. Someone powerful enough to constantly silence problems had to be there—it could be a person. Especially considering Han Chen was involved. I mean, there were so many mysteries surrounding this guy. Lack of information about his online activities, suspicions reported over multiple cases, yet no direct linking evidence, backing of mysterious individuals.
His increasing connection with Yue Lan, subtle shifts in corporate control timed just before investigative audits no matter how secretive governments are, and all... it was suspicious, you know?
There'd also been some reports stating he'd been using aura to scare off martial artists who were pressuring martial artists and in board meetings and stuff like that. His realm was unknown. All of this was a factor in the... well, the elegant transition in government takeover.
In an unmentioned manner, the individuals involved—Yue Lan, Hye Won, Han Chen—they were also tight-lipped and not quite media-exposed. Even though many had tried to contact them, unless it was extremely important to company PR, they stayed silent. For the government, it was like a silent agreement on NovaGen.
The Last Discussion
Han Chen remembered discussion with wives before him stepping off.
"Are you sure about this?" Hye Won asked, turning to face them. "Once you step back, there's no coming back to this."
Han Chen looked up then, meeting her eyes. "Are you having second thoughts? What should I be yearning in doing this job? validation, or fulfillment? Or is it a cultural thing?"
"...."
Yue Lan was also there; She was quiet for a long moment, then shook her head. "No. Just... making sure we all understand what we're choosing."
The Elegant Takeover
Months passed from Han Chen's absence. In the conference room filled with serious-faced officials in dark suits. Ministers and military representatives, a thin man with wire-rimmed glasses, Minister Qin Haoran led the proceedings. The terms were explained in enthusiasm: "Retained positions, advisory roles, substantial compensation.." and so on.
"Ms. Yue —we appreciate your cooperation in this transition. The State recognizes your contributions to national technological advancement."
"Of course, Minister," Yue Lan replied smoothly. "We're patriots, after all."
***
The legal structure was elegant, actually. Not brute-force expropriation, but a state-backed equity realignment. A new nationalized holding company—State Biotech Alliance, or SBA—took a 51% stake. Strategic partners were allowed to remain, but only under intense oversight.
And yet... Yue Lan managed to keep the most important part.
The global licensing rights for NovaGen's core intellectual property—especially the third-phase enhancer series and the next ones in development, from enhancers to cancer research—remained in the hands of NovaGen International Holdings. A trust fund she'd quietly restructured a year ago. With Han Chen's help, she'd transferred ownership to this technology-backed layered offshore structure just before the nationalization rumors began. The move was legal, obscure, and locked down tighter than any ministry could touch.
The State got its majority stake. But they didn't own the golden key. Yue Lan had her own cards to play. Han Chen didn't even argue. He'd already step back. There was no announcement. No final interview. Just a statement filed through legal proxies:
"Mr. Han Chen, as of fiscal year-end, is no longer a stakeholder or executive in NovaGen or its subsidiaries. He thanks all contributors for their part in the company's vision and respectfully steps away from public life."
***
The Clean Exit
On paper, Han Chen exited NovaGen completely.
He liquidated his final silent shares—anonymously, through a staggered trust—and redirected most of the proceeds into his research institutes, orphan support networks, and a dozen hard-to-trace mineral trusts scattered across continents. Making money was more effortless than breathing for him. The number on the books after all conversions and investment details was staggering—enough to feed three generations of business empires, not just families. What left was still more.
But more than money, he gained time.
No more meetings. No more political and cultivators tightropes. No more foreign ministers, military personnel feigning courtesy while secretly probing every staff's qi signatures and placing trackers. With the company firmly in Yue Lan's hands, and most major cultivation sects now pacified through conditional licenses, he was... finally free.
And so, for the first time in years, Han Chen was... idle.
That's what he thought, until his parents confronted him again after an year. He showed up unannounced at his family's home more often. It was for his sister.
Han Ruo Xi. Months after she was born, caretakers were arranged to help her even with his mother taking extra care for her. Now nearly a year later she is walking on her own, still wobbly.
He played with his much-younger sister under the ginkgo trees of their courtyard, drawing illusions in the air and letting her giggling and chase after those glowing animals waving at her.
Sometimes he brought refined essence of spiritual berries as candies from the mountain estate—sweet, glowing things with no name in the mortal world. They made her cheeks flush with color and her dreams more vivid.
Many times, he took her flying. Only hover for a few heartbeats then higher. They hovered above the pine trees in the rear garden under a mist that would blur them from mortal sight. She screamed in delight, clapping her hands asking him to move in her own language.
He took care of her. Never swore her to secrecy. He didn't need to. To the world, she was a child spinning tales even if she can. But for him—those moments were a return to something almost human. Her laughter reminded him of his own past live incidents. Innocence.
Family Confrontation
At first, his parents thought he was simply taking a break. Besides its been a year and half since birth and parents went back to their usual roles thus slightly busy not having enough time to take care of her beyond normal parenting of this urban era. But as the weeks stretched on, suspicion bloomed. Then came the confrontation.
"You've left both girls in charge? and its been an year??" his mother asked during dinner, setting down her chopsticks slowly. "Just like that?"
"And what exactly are you doing with your law degree now?" his father added, not unkindly, but with the weight of old expectations. Both were nearing sixty now.
Having lifespan on average crossing 150 years for martial artists means people will work more, expect to stay on track before retiring more. Still vigorous, still the dual heads of Chen Energy Systems, their electric vehicle and power infrastructure firm now quietly growing in strategic importance as the national grid reshaped.
Han Chen countered with his part, his earnings were not primarily from job roles he had, but investments and tradings he did, and gained enough to be free like this. Seeing their not believe you face, he shown them his net worth.
His father scanned the summary, frown deepening. His mother made it halfway before her eyes widened. The numbers weren't just wealth—they were sovereignty.
"So you're telling us… you don't need a job?" she finally said.
"I am focussing more on training and state of mind" Han Chen replied. "Not necessarily employment."
"But you're still our son," his father said. "And there are things you owe—not to us personally, but to the idea of family. You were raised with our values. Everything has to be in balance. You can't just float off into mountain air and play hermit."
Han Chen tried to brush it off at first. "I'm not idling. I'm managing other things. Supporting people, projects…" But his parents weren't convinced. Not by the vague gestures or his deflections.
Eventually, a compromise emerged. They called it succession planning.
What they finally settled on was a hybrid solution:
Han Chen would join Chen Energy in a part-time, largely remote role, officially titled Vice President of Global Compliance and Future Strategy. It was a deliberately understated position, quietly powerful. His purview included long-range regulatory intelligence, intellectual property strategy, and alignment with emerging international frameworks—especially in the volatile sectors of clean energy, energy storage and qi-reactive materials.
A category the outside world barely understood but which his parents' empire had quietly begun mapping. Jade, once considered decorative, was showing conductivity when touched by martial intent and Qi. Foundations for array. But he didn't help them bypass learning stage directly. He thought it was for them to figure out on their own.
Corporate Warfare
"It's for your sister's future," he told himself. "For appearances." But in truth, it was a maneuver in a much deeper game by his parents. They knew how much of a genius his son is even without knowing the reports of NovaGen.
Chen Energy had grown vast—over two trillion yuan in market capitalization, woven into national grids, international carbon pacts. Now over two decades old, had matured into a publicly-listed, globally respected entity. Han Chen had watched it evolve from the margins for years, occasionally offering quiet support—anonymous legal scaffolds, discreet technical validations, internal audits his parents never fully traced back to him.
Now, with one foot inside, he re-engaged fully. He studied their blueprints with eerie calm, disassembled patent clusters like riddles, and redrafted entire tech roadmaps—often while sipping tea or floating lazily with his sister near the cliffs of his remote sanctuary and later returned with blueprints that outstripped existing R&D forecasts.
His parents, unsure whether to be impressed or unnerved, forwarded them to engineering without edits. He expanded the company's IP landscape with surgical precision—tightening internal control, shielding core patents, and deploying legal mechanisms to pre-empt competitors, modelled complex legal ecologies, predicted sector collapses before they happened, and executed strategies with uncanny foresight. Where others raced to catch up, Chen Energy was already there—coated in regulatory Teflon.
Competitors collapsed before they understood the terrain had changed. His efficiency even while being remote working had far-reaching consequences: while some were displaced, others benefited financially and grew more loyal. The company also saw increased market adoption and began to flourish as a symbol of excellence.
To the world, it looked like Chen Energy had simply become unprecedentedly thriving. To the shareholders, it became unshakable. No scandals. No strategic stumbles. The stock price climbed, the board restructured. Three more years passed.