Zhao Yichen.

That name meant little to the man who now stood before a sea of Shenzhen’s elite. But to the world, he was the rising star of the Bai family—an unshakable CEO, groomed under the guidance of Bai Zhongren himself. Years ago, he had been found unconscious, near death, after a major traffic accident. No name, no memory, no ID. Bai Zhongren had taken him in, given him a new identity, and in time, a purpose.

The man had shown talent, discipline, and fierce loyalty. Within just a few years, he had climbed through the ranks of Baihua Group and was officially announced as its CEO. The public adored him. Investors trusted him. Bai Zhongren called him “the future of this empire.”

He later married Bai Qianrou, the only daughter of the Bai family. To outsiders, it was a perfect match—power, elegance, legacy. Now, they had just welcomed their first child: a baby boy. The celebration was extravagant but tasteful, marked with charity, in the spirit of family honor.

Yichen didn’t remember where he came from.

But he had been taught who he was now.

He believed it.

Mostly.

This afternoon , the hall was grand and bright, decked in soft gold and ivory. A low hum of classical music filled the air as guests in tailored suits and glittering dresses clinked glasses of white wine. Cameras flashed. The centerpiece of the evening: Bai Yichen and his wife, Bai Qianrou, were celebrating the birth of their newborn son. It was not just a private gathering—it doubled as a charity event. Rows of cleanly dressed, quiet homeless guests sat along one side of the banquet, silently observing the wealth that surrounded them.

Yichen stood tall at the podium, dressed in a charcoal suit, speaking with calm precision. His deep voice carried across the room with ease.

“Tonight, we welcome new life. A new future. My son, Bai Lin. And in his name, we share our joy with those less fortunate.”

Applause rose politely.

Then the disturbance came.

A young woman pushed against the crowd at the edge of the hall. Her dress was modest, clearly worn, her shoes covered in dust. There was no place for someone like her in this carefully polished room.

“Ma’am, please—you’re not on the list,” one guard insisted, holding her back. “We’ve already let in the approved guests from the shelters.”

But she didn’t stop.

Yichen’s eyes turned, hearing the rustle behind the crowd. A staff member hurried over to whisper something to him. “She’s asking for you, sir. She’s been going around the city asking for Zhao Yichen.”

His gaze shifted.

And then he saw her.

There was something oddly familiar—something in the curve of her eyes, the way she stood, like a shadow from another life he couldn’t place. A sharp sting shot through his head. His brow furrowed.

“Guh…” Yichen winced, raising a hand to his temple. A memory? A dream? No—just pain.

“Should we escort her out, sir?”

He took a breath. “No. It’s fine.”

He stepped forward slowly, carefully, as if approaching something fragile. He studied her face—her eyes wide, her hands trembling.

“Who are you?” he asked, voice low and calm. “Why are you looking for me?”

There was silence.

But the ache in his chest wouldn’t leave.