“Defendant Branden Ashford, convicted of drunk driving resulting in three deaths and one injury. Circumstances are especially serious. In accordance with the law, the sentence is death. Immediate execution.”

On the outskirts of Fairmont City, at the Qilihe execution ground, several condemned prisoners stood in a line.

Qilihe had once been an ancient battlefield. Later, in modern times, it became an execution site. So even in broad daylight, the place felt cold and eerie, like the air itself was soaked in resentment.

Branden Ashford stood in the middle of the row, wrists locked in handcuffs. The second the rifles were raised, his whole body started shaking uncontrollably.

“Branden, don’t worry. I’ll take good care of Qingwan... and your unborn child.”

Ralphie Whitfield, his so-called best friend, wore a face full of grief, looking every bit the loyal brother seeing him off on his last road.

Branden suddenly roared, almost tearing his throat open, “I didn’t hit anyone! I was framed!”

At the edge of death, that shout was the only way he could vent the fear crushing his chest.

But the evidence had already nailed him shut. No matter how hard he argued, it was useless.

The gunshots rang out.

In that instant, Branden felt his body go light.

His awareness floated free.

Everything before his eyes turned into a black-and-white world.

And then, weirdly enough, he heard it all.

The thoughts of everyone present.

The whispers of the onlookers.

The panic of the rookie armed policeman carrying out the execution.

And Ralphie Whitfield’s icy, smug laugh.

“Branden, you were just the fall guy. I had someone run those people over. That night, after getting you wasted, I dumped you into the driver’s seat. Clean setup. No flaws.”

“Heh. Your Ashford Group will be mine. Your wife, Gwen Mercer, too. So just die in peace.”

“Ralphie Whitfield, you bastard!”

Branden was stunned out of his mind.

He only remembered getting blackout drunk that night. He never remembered driving at all. So that was the truth. From start to finish, it had all been Ralphie’s trap. Ralphie had shoved him into hell with his own hands.

Branden lunged forward with both arms, trying to claw Ralphie’s face apart.

But his hands only slashed through empty air.

He couldn’t touch him.

Because now, he was nothing more than a half-transparent shadow.

Rage.

Hatred.

Utter unwillingness to accept any of this.

Then suddenly, a terrifying suction force surged up from the ground.

A strange power rose from the ancient battlefield, locking every dead soul at the scene in place. Branden was pulled in too, his form breaking apart into a mass of black mist.

Around the execution ground, countless streams of black mist circled endlessly.

They were the dead from thousands of years of slaughter on this old battlefield.

Originally, those souls should have drifted away long ago.

But the overwhelming magnetic field here kept them trapped, unable to leave.

Clumps of black mist slammed into one another, devouring, merging, fusing.

Then a particularly powerful strand of black mist crashed into Branden.

His consciousness jolted.

Something extra suddenly appeared in his mind.

Medicine.

Martial arts.

Mystic arts.

This was the Tai Xuan Sacred Clarity Scripture, an all-encompassing path of cultivation.

And now, that inheritance had fallen into his hands.

The black mist Branden had become instantly grew stronger.

He rushed upward with everything he had, fighting the field that imprisoned him.

He could not stay here forever.

He had to get out.

He had to take revenge.

His unwillingness, his grief, his hatred—they turned into raw power.

At last, he felt the pressure around him loosen.

He broke free from the magnetic prison of the ancient battlefield.

And the moment he escaped, his consciousness slowly sank into darkness.

“Ralphie Whitfield, I’ll kill you!”

On a bed, Branden jerked awake with a shout.

Then he froze.

This was nowhere he recognized.

A cramped room. Dim yellow light. Stale air. And a body that felt hollowed out by alcohol, weak and unfamiliar.

“I’m... Branden Ashford?”

His head throbbed so hard it felt like it might split open. The memories and awareness he had absorbed at the execution ground were all tangled together, leaving him dizzy and disoriented.

Little by little, his thoughts settled.

His original consciousness took the lead again.

Only then did he understand.

A full year had passed since his execution.

After breaking free from the ancient battlefield’s magnetic field, his consciousness had latched onto the body of a drunkard in Fairmont City.

And this drunkard just so happened to be named Branden Ashford too.

Almost thirty-one, accomplished absolutely nothing, had a wife but refused to work, spent every day eating, drinking, gambling, and fooling around with trashy friends. Whenever something pissed him off, he’d come home and beat his wife to vent.

He had gotten blind drunk last night, and by the time he woke up, it was already four in the afternoon.

Branden’s mind turned into a mess again.

A whole year.

How was his family doing?

His child should have been born by now.

Could his wife really withstand all that pressure and hold onto Ashford Group?

How was he supposed to get revenge?

How would he find them?

And even if he did, how could he possibly explain who he was?

Ralphie Whitfield, you piece of garbage. I swear I’ll kill you.

Just as he sat there with no clue what to do next, the door opened.

A woman stepped inside.

The second she saw him awake, fear flashed across her face.

“Branden... you’re up.”

She was Adriana Holt, the wife of this body’s original owner.

Life had clearly worn her down. She looked tired, haggard even.

But the outline of her face was still beautiful. With a little care, a little makeup, she would absolutely turn heads.

Only now, several bluish-purple bruises marked the corner of her mouth.

And her lower belly was slightly raised.

She was probably already three or four months pregnant.

“I...”

Branden opened his mouth, but had no idea how to explain himself.

“There’s no money left at home,” Adriana said softly. “We can barely afford food now. We’re already two months behind on rent.”

“I couldn’t borrow any money. My wages won’t be paid until the middle of the month.” Her voice trembled. “Can you please not hit me? The baby in my stomach... won’t be able to take it.”

As soon as Branden shifted, Adriana was so scared she stumbled back several steps.

One hand instantly covered her belly, as if afraid he would fly into a rage and hit her again.

To her, domestic violence was nothing new. It had long since become routine. For the sake of the child inside her, all she could do was endure in silence.

“What happened to your face?”

The moment the words left his mouth, Branden wanted to slap himself.

What happened?

This body’s original owner had beaten her after getting drunk last night.

What an absolute scumbag.

Seriously, how did a bastard like this end up with a wife this pretty?

“I’ll... go make you some porridge,” Adriana said, lowering her head.

“No, no, don’t. You’re pregnant. It’s not convenient for you.” Branden hurried to get up.

Adriana looked up in shock.

They had been married three years.

In all that time, Branden had never shown even the slightest bit of concern for her.

“I... I’m not your husband. I’ll be leaving soon,” Branden said awkwardly, not knowing how else to put it.

Since heaven had somehow given him another shot at life, he had to make good use of it.

First, he needed to figure out exactly where he was.

Then he had to go home, find a way to explain everything, and clear his name.

“You’re leaving?” Adriana’s eyes widened. Then she lowered her voice, almost pleading. “Can you wait until after the baby is born?”

“Branden, I’m not asking you to take responsibility. You can hit me, yell at me, gamble, go after other women—I won’t say anything.” Tears rolled down her cheeks in heavy drops. “I’m only begging you... when the child is born, please be there. I don’t want my baby to enter this world without even having a father by their side.”

After saying that, she shut her eyes tight.

She was clearly waiting for a slap to come crashing down.

“That... I’m sorry. Please don’t cry. It was all my fault before. I’ll change, okay?”

Seeing her cry like that, Branden was completely at a loss.

What a good woman.

She had thrown everything behind one man, married a street-level loser, and still held on like this.

And that bastard never cherished her at all?

There really were men this rotten in the world?

Adriana slowly opened her eyes and stared at him blankly.

She had honestly thought those words would earn her a savage beating.

But nothing happened.

What... was going on?

“I know I was terrible,” Branden said seriously. “I’ll change from now on. I’ll treat you well. I won’t gamble anymore. I won’t drink either. I’ll find a job and support this family, alright?”

Those words came straight from his heart.

This woman’s life was just too bitter.

Even if he might leave sooner or later, saying these things could at least make her feel a little less hopeless.

“Branden, I’m not asking you to change.” Adriana’s face was ashen, her eyes empty. She had already lost all hope in him. “I’m only asking you to let me give birth to this child safely. Is that okay?”

Branden froze.

A year had already gone by.

In his previous life, his own son should already be around six months old.

Maybe once someone became a parent—or was about to—their heart naturally softened.

If he left now, looking at this bare, broken home... could she really survive on her own?

“Branden, stop hiding, damn it! I know you’re home! When the hell are you paying back the money you owe us?”

A rough, booming voice suddenly came from outside, followed by violent pounding on the door.

Adriana’s expression changed on the spot.

“It’s Lance Whitfield. He’s here to collect the loan shark debt. Branden, hurry, climb out the window and go!”

Panic filled her face as she desperately pushed Branden toward the window.

“If I leave, what about you?” Branden was still a little dazed.

So the original owner of this body hadn’t just ruined his family—he’d also piled up debt bad enough for collectors to come to the door.

“I’m pregnant. They won’t do anything too bad to me,” Adriana said anxiously. “Lance said if you don’t pay again, he’ll chop off your hand.”

Branden hesitated for a second and walked toward the window.

Then, almost immediately, he slapped himself across the face.

What the hell was he doing?

Letting a pregnant woman stand in front while he ran?

Could he even still call himself a man?

Bang!

The door was smashed open from outside.

A bald man rushed in with two burly thugs behind him.

The moment he saw Branden, the bald man let out a cold, nasty laugh.

“Well, look at that. Trying to climb out the window again, Branden?” Lance Whitfield said darkly. “The money you owe me has snowballed to a hundred grand. So tell me—when are you paying up?”

“Fourth Brother, we’ll pay, we really will. Please give us a few more days.” Adriana spread her arms and stood in front of Branden, her voice full of fear.

“Get lost.”

Lance shoved her hard.

He used way too much force.

Adriana cried out and stumbled to the side.

“Wife!”

Branden’s heart jumped. He rushed over and caught her.

One hand pressed against her lower belly.

Her face had gone white, and big beads of cold sweat rolled down her forehead.

She was nearly four months pregnant. After that shove, it was very likely she had aggravated the fetus.

“Fourth Brother, please let him go. We’ll definitely pay you back. I’m begging you.”

Even now, she was still pleading for Branden.

“Pay me back? With what?” Lance sneered. “This idiot doesn’t do a damn thing all day. Adriana Holt, I seriously can’t figure it out. With a face like yours, you could’ve found any decent man. So why’d you pick this trash?”

He bent down slightly, eyes full of filthy intent.

“How about this?” he said with a lewd grin. “Get rid of the baby and follow me instead. I guarantee your life will be way better than this.”

As he spoke, he reached out and tried to pinch her chin.