The morning mist had yet to leave the mountains when the first sound of wood striking wood echoed across the Vardhan estate.
Clack!
A wooden staff swept toward Krishna’s shoulder.
He tilted his body.
The weapon passed barely an inch from him.
Before his opponent could recover, Krishna stepped forward, turned his wrist, and tapped the wooden sword in his hand against the old man’s chest.
Silence descended over the training courtyard.
Krishna froze.
Across from him stood an elderly man dressed in a simple white training uniform.
His silver hair was neatly combed back, and despite his age, his posture remained straighter than many soldiers Krishna had seen.
The old man’s eyes slowly lowered toward the wooden sword touching his chest.
Then they rose toward Krishna.
Krishna immediately withdrew it.
“Grandfather, I—”
“Hahahaha!”
Thunderous laughter interrupted him.
Li Jianhong threw his staff aside.
“Good!”
The old man walked forward and slapped Krishna’s shoulder.
“Very good!”
Krishna smiled helplessly.
“You almost broke my shoulder five minutes ago.”
“Nonsense.”
Li Jianhong stroked his beard.
“If something that small could break you, how could you call yourself my grandson?”
Krishna stared at him.
“…You said the same thing when you threw me into the lake.”
“You learned to swim.”
“I was seven.”
“And?”
Krishna sighed.
There was no winning against his maternal grandfather.
Yet beneath his exasperation was unmistakable warmth.
Years had passed since Krishna had first awakened in this world.
At first, everything had seemed foreign.
The Vardhan name.
The Li family.
The Eastern Federation.
Even the people who lovingly called him their son, grandson, brother, and friend had once felt like characters in a world into which he had suddenly been dropped.
But time was strange.
Repeated breakfasts became memories.
Scoldings became familiar.
Festivals became traditions.
Arguments became bonds.
And somewhere along the way, Krishna stopped thinking of these people as the family of the person whose body he had inherited.
They became his family.
Li Jianhong was among the first to accomplish that.
The old man never treated Krishna as a fragile young master.
When Krishna succeeded, he praised him.
When Krishna became arrogant, he knocked him on the head.
When Krishna failed, he made him try again.
And whenever Krishna visited his mother’s family, the supposedly dignified patriarch of the Li household mysteriously found excuses to monopolize his grandson’s time.
Chess.
Calligraphy.
History.
Martial arts.
Tea.
Sometimes they simply sat together.
Krishna had once asked him why.
Li Jianhong’s answer had remained with him.
“Because one day everyone will look at your surname before they look at you.
Your grandfather should at least remember to look at you first.”
Perhaps that was why Krishna loved spending time with him.
“Again?” Krishna asked.
Li Jianhong looked offended.
“Again?
Do you think these old bones exist only for you to beat?”
Krishna raised an eyebrow.
“You’re admitting defeat?”
The old man’s eyes narrowed.
“Pick up the staff.”
Krishna laughed.
Breakfast at the Vardhan residence was rarely peaceful.
“Give it back!”
“No.”
“Brother!”
“No.”
“You are abusing your authority!”
Krishna calmly lifted a plate higher while **Ananya Vardhan—Xinyi to their mother’s Li relatives—**tried desperately to reach the last sweet pastry.
“You’ve already eaten three.”
Ananya placed both hands on her waist.
“That isn’t relevant.”
“It becomes relevant when Mother asks who finished them.”
The little girl’s expression froze.
Krishna smiled.
“Exactly.”
“Krishna.”
A composed female voice came from across the table.
Krishna glanced toward his eldest sister.
Ishani Vardhan, whom their Chinese relatives called Xueying, possessed the remarkable ability to sound like their mother despite not being particularly old herself.
“Stop bullying Ananya.”
Krishna looked offended.
“I’m protecting her health.”
“You stole the pastry first,” said another voice.
His second elder sister, Kavya Vardhan—Ruoxi among their Li relatives—, rested her chin against her hand while watching the situation with obvious amusement.
“That makes you a thief, not a physician.”
“Thank you for your legal interpretation.”
“You’re welcome.”
Beside Krishna sat his younger brother, Arjun Vardhan, or Haoran, who had been suspiciously quiet throughout the entire conflict.
Krishna slowly turned toward him.
Arjun avoided his gaze.
Krishna narrowed his eyes.
“Open your hand.”
“No.”
“Arjun.”
“I have nothing.”
“Then open it.”
Arjun immediately shoved something into his mouth.
Krishna stared.
The missing half of another pastry disappeared between his younger brother’s cheeks.
Ananya gasped.
“TRAITOR!”
Arjun began chewing faster.
“You said there was only one left!”
Krishna finally burst into laughter.
Ananya abandoned Krishna and launched herself toward her twin brother.
“Give it back!”
“I already ate it!”
“Then give it back anyway!”
“How?!”
Ishani closed her eyes.
Kavya laughed.
Krishna finally lowered the remaining pastry and placed it onto Ananya’s plate.
The little girl’s anger vanished immediately.
She beamed.
“Best brother!”
Krishna stared at her.
“Your loyalty is remarkably inexpensive.”
Arjun pointed accusingly.
“She was trying to attack me two seconds ago.”
“You stole my food.”
“It wasn’t yours!”
“It was spiritually mine!”
Kavya nearly choked on her tea.
Even Ishani’s disciplined expression cracked.
This was another thing Krishna had learned.
Great families appeared terrifying from the outside.
The Vardhans possessed military prestige accumulated over generations.
Their influence stretched throughout the Eastern Federation.
Their estate contained guards, advisors, officials, and traditions older than many modern institutions.
But inside the dining room?
They were simply a family.
Krishna had two elder sisters who believed it their sacred duty to interfere in his life.
Ishani was the responsible one.
Whenever Krishna pushed himself too hard, she noticed first.
She would leave food beside his books without saying anything or simply order him to sleep with the authority of someone who had decided being the eldest sibling gave her command over everyone below her.
Kavya was different.
She teased him relentlessly.
If Krishna won ten competitions, Kavya would congratulate him on finally becoming “moderately competent.”
If girls at school stared at him, she would spend the entire evening embarrassing him about it.
Yet Krishna knew that beneath her playful personality was the same fierce affection.
Then there were the younger twins.
Arjun and Ananya.
Haoran and Xinyi.
They followed Krishna almost everywhere whenever their schedules allowed.
Arjun constantly challenged him.
Chess.
Running.
Archery.
Mathematics.
Anything that could conceivably become a competition.
He almost always lost.
And almost always returned the next day demanding another match.
Ananya preferred stories.
She invaded Krishna’s room whenever she became bored and demanded tales about heroes, kings, warriors, musicians, and distant worlds.
Sometimes Krishna unconsciously told her stories from his previous Earth.
Stories that no longer existed in this world’s fragmented history.
And every time he saw her eyes brighten, he wondered whether perhaps stories could preserve things that history had forgotten.
He helped his younger siblings with their studies.
His elder sisters corrected his manners whenever he became too casual.
He covered for Arjun and Ananya’s small disasters.
Ishani covered for his.
Kavya usually discovered everyone’s secrets and demanded snacks as payment for silence.
It was chaotic.
It was irritating.
It was warm.
And Krishna wouldn’t have exchanged it for anything.
His previous life’s memories had given him maturity far beyond his apparent age.
The Heaven-Defying System amplified his abilities even further.
Learning became frighteningly easy.
Languages that required years could be mastered in months.
Mathematics became intuitive.
History became interconnected patterns rather than isolated dates.
Economics became a study of incentives.
Politics became a study of power.
Military strategy became a study of people.
And acting…
Acting was different.
Whenever Krishna secretly studied performances from films, dramas, theatre productions, and operas, something inside him awakened.
The God-Level Acting System responded almost instinctively.
But Krishna told no one yet.
There would be a time for that dream.
For now, he had another responsibility.
“Again.”
Aditya Vardhan’s voice was calm.
Krishna looked toward the tactical map.
Red represented his forces.
Blue represented his father’s.
His army had already lost forty percent of its simulated strength.
“You’re cornered,” Aditya said.
Krishna leaned back.
“Am I?”
Aditya’s eyebrow moved slightly.
That tiny reaction told Krishna everything.
He looked at the terrain again.
Mountain.
River.
Supply route.
Civilian settlement.
Bridge.
Then he smiled.
Aditya noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Krishna moved three pieces.
Arjun, who had somehow convinced Aditya to allow him to observe, immediately frowned.
“Brother, you’re abandoning the eastern defensive line.”
“Yes.”
Arjun stared at the board.
“Then Father reaches the capital.”
“That’s what I want.”
Aditya’s gaze sharpened.
Arjun looked between his father and brother.
“You want Father to win?”
Krishna smiled mysteriously.
“Watch.”
Ten minutes later, the result became apparent.
Aditya’s advancing forces had entered territory Krishna had deliberately abandoned.
Their supply lines stretched.
The bridge behind them was captured.
Reserve units emerged from the mountains.
Aditya’s simulated army found itself trapped between the river and Krishna’s returning eastern division.
Krishna placed the final piece.
“Checkmate.”
Arjun stared.
“This isn’t chess.”
Krishna smiled.
“Everything becomes chess if Grandfather Li teaches you long enough.”
Arjun immediately looked toward Aditya.
“Father, can Grandfather teach me too?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“One troublesome strategist is enough.”
Krishna almost laughed.
Aditya remained focused on the map.
“Why did you sacrifice the eastern line?”
“Because territory can be recovered.”
“And soldiers?”
“Cannot.”
Aditya’s eyes changed.
Krishna continued.
“If I defended every position merely because losing territory looked shameful, I would have exhausted my soldiers.
So I gave you land and made you believe I was retreating.
You pursued because victory seemed close.”
“And if I hadn’t?”
“I would have reorganized and fought defensively.”
Aditya nodded.
“You prepared for both possibilities.”
“Yes.”
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Aditya stood.
“Good.”
One word.
Nothing more.
He walked away.
Arjun watched their father disappear through the doorway.
Then he leaned toward Krishna.
“That’s basically a standing ovation from Father.”
Krishna chuckled.
“You’re learning.”
Aditya Vardhan was not an affectionate man by nature.
He rarely praised extravagantly.
He demanded discipline because discipline had been demanded from him.
The Vardhan family had produced generals, strategists, commanders, and soldiers for generations.
Aditya carried that history everywhere.
And Krishna knew his father expected him to carry it next.
Yet Aditya was not cruel.
Krishna had learned that distinction.
His father’s love existed in actions.
When Krishna trained too late, a servant mysteriously arrived with food.
When Krishna became ill, Aditya continued working as though unconcerned—while asking the family doctor for updates every hour.
When Krishna achieved the highest examination results in his academy, Aditya merely said:
“Acceptable.”
Krishna later discovered those results framed inside his father’s private study.
That discovery had made him laugh for several minutes.
Aditya was different around one person.
Li Yuerou.
Krishna discovered this one evening when he entered the garden and immediately stopped.
His parents were sitting beneath a pavilion.
His mother’s head rested lightly against Aditya’s shoulder.
No ministers.
No military officers.
No servants.
No Vardhan patriarch.
No Li heiress.
Just husband and wife.
“You frightened him again today,” Li Yuerou said.
“He wasn’t frightened.”
“He came to me afterward.”
Aditya frowned.
“He complained?”
“No.
He asked whether you had eaten.”
Aditya became silent.
Yuerou smiled.
“That child understands you far too well.”
“He thinks too much.”
“He inherited that from you.”
“He inherited stubbornness from you.”
Yuerou lifted her head.
“Aditya Vardhan.”
“Hm?”
“Would you like to repeat that?”
“…He inherited determination from you.”
“Much better.”
Krishna covered his mouth to suppress his laughter.
His father—the man capable of silencing military officers with a glance—had surrendered without resistance.
Suddenly Yuerou looked toward the bushes.
“Yichen.”
Krishna’s expression collapsed.
Aditya turned.
“Come out.”
Krishna stepped from hiding.
“I wasn’t spying.”
“You were standing there for three minutes.”
“I was appreciating the garden.”
“At night?”
“The moonlight improves it.”
Yuerou laughed.
Aditya’s lips twitched.
Krishna saw it.
“Father, did you just smile?”
“No.”
“You did.”
“I didn’t.”
“Mother?”
“He smiled.”
Aditya looked betrayed.
“Yuerou.”
She smiled innocently.
“What?”
For once, Krishna laughed without thinking about systems, destiny, his previous world, or the enormous future awaiting him.
He simply laughed as their son.
Dilraba became another constant in his life.
Unlike the children of political families who visited the Vardhan estate accompanied by etiquette instructors and carefully prepared greetings, Dilraba had known Krishna long enough to be unimpressed by his surname.
“Yichen!”
Krishna turned.
Something struck his shoulder.
He caught it.
An apple.
Dilraba stood beneath a tree, looking triumphant.
“You were daydreaming again.”
“I caught it.”
“Because I missed your head.”
“Your concern is touching.”
She grinned.
Dilraba’s father was a nationally respected opera performer and one of Aditya’s closest friends.
Their friendship had begun long before status complicated their lives.
Because of that, Dilraba had grown up moving naturally between both households.
She had seen Krishna dirty from training.
She had seen him fall asleep over books.
She had seen him lose arguments with his mother.
She knew Ishani and Kavya.
She had endured Arjun’s endless challenges.
She had been dragged into Ananya’s schemes.
Most importantly, she had known Krishna before the world began expecting things from him.
They walked together through the estate.
“I heard your final academic results arrived.”
Krishna nodded.
“And?”
“First.”
Dilraba stopped.
“Again?”
“Apparently.”
“You’re irritating.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m serious.
Normal people are supposed to struggle occasionally.”
“I struggle.”
“With what?”
Krishna considered it.
“Understanding why you put sugar into tea and then complain that it’s sweet.”
Dilraba kicked his leg.
He laughed.
Then she became quieter.
“Your examination is soon, isn’t it?”
Krishna’s smile faded slightly.
“Yes.”
Every male heir of the Vardhan family eventually faced it.
It was not an ordinary academic test.
The Vardhan Examination existed to determine whether a descendant carrying the family’s privileges possessed the ability and character necessary to carry its responsibilities.
Intelligence.
Strategy.
Physical endurance.
Leadership.
Judgement.
Military knowledge.
Psychological resilience.
And, above all—
Responsibility.
Krishna had known about it since childhood.
Passing it meant entering the next stage of his life.
Dilraba looked at him.
“Are you nervous?”
“A little.”
She blinked.
“You?”
“I’m still human.”
“Debatable.”
Krishna smiled.
Dilraba looked ahead.
“Everyone says you’ll break the family records.”
“Everyone talks too much.”
“Your grandfather says it.”
“Which grandfather?”
“Both.”
Krishna sighed.
“That’s worse.”
She laughed.
Then she nudged his shoulder.
“Just come back safely.”
Krishna looked at her.
There was no teasing in her expression now.
Only concern.
Something warm moved through his heart.
“I will.”
“Promise?”
He extended his little finger.
Dilraba stared at it.
“Seriously?”
“You asked for a promise.”
“We aren’t children.”
“We technically are.”
She rolled her eyes but hooked her finger around his.
“Promise.”
“Promise.”
Neither of them understood how long that simple promise would remain between them.
The graduation ceremony arrived beneath clear skies.
Krishna stood among hundreds of students.
When the rankings were announced, nobody was surprised.
Krishna Li Vardhan — First.
Academics.
Strategic theory.
Languages.
Mathematics.
Political science.
History.
Physical evaluation.
Again and again, his name appeared at the top.
Teachers applauded.
Students whispered.
Officials observed.
But Krishna’s attention went toward his family.
Ananya was jumping excitedly while Arjun applauded beside her.
Kavya abandoned all dignity and shouted his name.
Ishani initially maintained the composed bearing expected of the eldest Vardhan daughter.
Then Krishna caught her smiling proudly.
Dilraba clapped with a brilliant smile.
Li Yuerou’s eyes were moist.
Li Jianhong looked as though he personally deserved credit for every mark.
And Aditya…
His father simply stood there.
Straight-backed.
Expression controlled.
But when their eyes met, Aditya gave him a single nod.
Krishna smiled.
That was enough.
That night, Krishna entered the ancestral hall.
Portraits of generations of Vardhans surrounded him.
Soldiers.
Generals.
Commanders.
Men and women whose decisions had changed history.
Aditya stood before them.
“You understand what comes next?”
“Yes.”
“The examination will not care about your academic rankings.”
“I know.”
“It will not care that you’re my son.”
“I know.”
“It will not care that your mother is a Li.”
Krishna nodded.
Aditya turned toward him.
“For generations, our family has possessed power.
Political influence.
Military authority.
Wealth.
Respect.”
His voice became heavier.
“Those are privileges.”
He stepped closer.
“But privilege without responsibility creates parasites.”
Krishna’s expression became serious.
“The examination exists so that no Vardhan heir forgets that.”
Aditya placed his hand on Krishna’s shoulder.
For perhaps the first time, Krishna felt not the pressure of his father’s expectations— but their origin.
Aditya was not trying to create another soldier.
He was trying to ensure his son became someone worthy of the power he had inherited.
“Krishna.”
The use of his full first name surprised him.
Aditya rarely used it during serious conversations.
“You don’t need to become me.”
Krishna looked up.
“You don’t need to become your grandfather.”
Aditya’s grip tightened slightly.
“But whatever you choose to become, become someone capable of standing behind his own choices.”
Krishna remained silent.
Those words entered somewhere deep within him.
Years later, when father and son stood against each other because Krishna chose an acting stage instead of a military command…
both would remember this conversation.
Aditya stepped back.
“Tomorrow, your examination begins.”
Krishna bowed.
“Yes, Father.”
He turned toward the ancestral portraits.
In his previous life, perhaps he would have laughed at the idea of carrying another family’s legacy.
But they were no longer another family.
Li Jianhong was his grandfather.
Ishani and Kavya were his elder sisters.
Arjun and Ananya were his younger siblings.
Li Yuerou was his mother.
Aditya Vardhan was his father.
And Dilraba…
Krishna smiled faintly.
Dilraba was simply Dilraba.
Someone who had somehow occupied a place in his life without ever asking permission.
He looked toward the generations watching silently from the walls.
He possessed the Heaven-Defying System.
He possessed the God-Level Acting System.
He possessed memories from another world.
Perhaps one day he would stand above the world’s entertainment industry.
Perhaps billions would know his name.
Perhaps his performances would become legends.
But before any of that…
He was Krishna Li Vardhan.
Brother to Ishani, Kavya, Arjun, and Ananya.
Son of Aditya and Yuerou.
Grandson of two great families.
And tomorrow, for the first time, he would prove whether he deserved that name.
Outside the ancestral hall, Aditya looked at his son for several seconds before walking away.
Li Yuerou waited for him.
“Did you tell him?”
Aditya frowned.
“Tell him what?”
“That you’re proud of him.”
Silence.
Yuerou sighed.
“Aditya.”
“He knows.”
“How?”
Aditya glanced back toward the ancestral hall.
“He’s my son.”
Yuerou stared at her husband before shaking her head.
“Sometimes I wonder which of you is more troublesome.”
Aditya’s expression softened.
He reached for her hand.
Inside the ancestral hall, Krishna unknowingly smiled.
Tomorrow would begin the Vardhan Examination.