Chapter 2: Reborn as a Wealthy Libertine

Late at night, in the capital, beside the Forbidden City, within an ancient courtyard house.

A man dressed in a black trench coat and wearing sunglasses gazed at the documents his subordinate had delivered. A shadow clouded his face. In front of him stood a man of unremarkable appearance and plain clothing.

After a long silence, the man in black spoke coldly, “There’s truly no news at all? Neither alive nor dead?”

“Yes. The explosion was so powerful that Young Master Ling must have been completely obliterated. You can rest assured—he will never be able to hinder you again,” the ordinary-looking man replied respectfully.

“But I sought out an expert for a divination. He said the boy's soul lingers still—he remains my nemesis. Keep watching. Especially if anyone appears using his former life's martial techniques, you must inform me. Go now.” With a dismissive wave, the man in black sent him away, and the plain man vanished as if he had never been there.

“Ling Tian, even if you become a ghost, I will see your soul scattered to the winds!” Under the cold, clear moonlight, the man’s expression twisted with malice as he silently swore a venomous oath.

...

A hospital in Jianghai City.

“Doctor, do you have any silver needles here?” Ling Tian, having examined his own cranial CT, had also pinpointed the location of the blood clot in his brain. He had no intention of undergoing surgery. Although this body was not as robust as his former one and lacked the true energy for cultivation, his medical skills had not diminished. This was a matter easily resolved with acupuncture.

“Silver needles? Ah, yes, yes, we do.” The doctor, seeing that Young Master Ling had requested silver needles, dared not ask further and quickly instructed someone to fetch them.

“You can all leave now. Tell my parents to come assist with the discharge paperwork in a little while.” Ling Tian could tell these doctors held his family in great esteem, so he didn’t bother explaining further.

“But, Young Master Ling, you’re supposed to have surgery...” The doctor was truly troubled.

“Come back in half an hour to check on me. I’m leaving the hospital today.” Ling Tian had no intention of performing acupuncture in front of so many people; it would only make the Ling couple suspicious. He wasn’t afraid they’d abandon him, but he worried Madam Ling would be too heartbroken.

“Very well, we’ll go inform your family now.” The doctor hurriedly ushered everyone out, leaving the room to Ling Tian.

Ling Tian took out the silver needles and inserted a few into his own head. After massaging for a moment, his mind cleared instantly, and fragments of memory began to surface—memories belonging to this body’s original owner.

The young man had been only eighteen, dying in a motorcycle race accident with friends. He’d been a typical playboy, a wealthy second-generation youth who spent his days in pleasure, brawling and racing—not the pretentious elite kind, but a true nouveau riche, brash and flamboyant, living life boldly and caring little for societal opinion, content as long as he was happy.

What left Ling Tian speechless was that, despite his age and wealth, the original Ling Tian had died a virgin—there was no trace of women in his memories, only a relentless pursuit of speed and violence. What a waste of such good looks and family fortune.

“Brother, rest easy. I know you died with regrets about your untouched status. Don’t worry, I’ll break this curse and find a hundred or so girlfriends to console your soul in heaven. I’ll also take good care of your parents.” Ling Tian silently prayed, hoping the original soul would find peace.

“Xiao Tian, the doctor says you’re insisting on discharge? What’s going on?” At that moment, Ling Tian’s father and mother entered. From his memories, he knew his father’s name was Ling Kun, his mother Li Meijun. His father was steady, mature, and a shrewd earner; his mother loved to spend money, and it was from her that Ling Tian had inherited his flamboyant, nouveau riche ways.

“Dad, Mom, my memory’s back. The blood clot’s gone, so of course I want to go home. If you’re not at ease, you can hire a pretty nurse to look after me for a while—she has to be beautiful though!” In this life, Ling Tian wanted a different path. His outlook and temperament had changed, and beautiful women now occupied much of his thoughts.

“Your memory’s back? That’s wonderful! Doctor, please check Xiao Tian again,” Li Meijun exclaimed excitedly. She had never expected her son to recover so quickly, and now that he was talking about women, her worries about never having grandchildren were gone.

“Doctor, please check him. If there’s no problem, we’ll proceed with the discharge,” Ling Kun said, equally emotional. This was his only precious son, and although Ling Tian’s physical injuries from the accident were not severe and had been treated during his coma, the main issue had been the blood clot. Now that it was gone, discharge was possible.

After a series of checks, the doctor confirmed Ling Tian had fully recovered. Although puzzled, he asked no further questions, completed the discharge procedures, and—at Ling Tian and Li Meijun’s request—arranged for the most beautiful nurse from the hospital to care for Ling Tian at home for two weeks, to observe for any aftereffects.

...

Though he retained the original memories, Ling Tian was still taken aback upon arriving at his home. The place was truly enormous—it took twenty minutes by car to get from the gate to the palatial villa. The household included a butler, maids, and servants. What stunned him most was the décor: From the outside, the villa gleamed in gold, more dazzling than the Forbidden City itself. The interior furnishings were also predominantly gold.

Li Meijun was the quintessential nouveau riche mother—her taste and love of gold knew no bounds.

The living room and other bedrooms were decorated in European style, but Ling Kun’s study was distinctly Chinese, and despite the European flair, Ling Tian could tell the study’s contents were more valuable.

The floor was made of golden-thread nanmu, the legendary wood once reserved for Qing dynasty palaces—used here just for flooring! How extravagant! Even his illustrious family in his previous life had never been so lavish. Ling Tian sighed at how modestly he had lived before.

The desk and large bookshelves were made of red sandalwood—the finest small-leaf variety, worth its weight in gold. Such massive furniture was exceedingly valuable! There were also several large book cabinets of rare Hainan huanghuali wood. Even if the books inside were worthless, the cabinets themselves were priceless.

When Ling Tian’s gaze fell upon a set of tea table and chairs made from ebony, his heart surged again. Ebony, a type of “shadow wood,” is formed from timber buried underground in special conditions, said to be worth more than treasure chests filled with gold. This set was made from the finest, thousand-year-old ebony—a true rarity.

The nouveau riche are not to be feared—unless they have culture. It seemed his father Ling Kun was a cultured and tasteful magnate, while his mother was the type who hoarded gold and cash. Touring his home, Ling Tian found new respect for his father, but decided he himself would emulate his mother’s brand of ostentatious wealth—he believed that was the true spirit of the nouveau riche.

There was another thing that delighted Ling Tian upon returning home: he had two personal maids, both about fifteen or sixteen, sweet-faced and charming, far more attractive than the other maids. But what excited him the most was the beautiful nurse from the hospital, around his own age, with a stunning figure and sweet looks, assigned to care for him. The prospect was truly tantalizing!