Caleb

The morning sun filtered through the screens of the east courtyard, painting everything in clean golden light. Birds chirped, and the breeze stirred the vines curling along the carved eaves.

And Caleb Zhou wanted to break something.

He sat on a polished bench near the central koi pond, his fingers curled loosely around a ceramic teacup the warmth saturating his fingers. Claire had poured it for him without comment, without a smile, without even looking at him.

They were still together, technically. They shared a bed, a schedule, and meals when the staff remembered to prepare something for both of them. But the fire between them—the hungry, conspiratorial connection he remembered from their rise—had turned to ice.

It wasn't bitterness or conflict, just absence.

Claire asked him how he slept and told him when she was heading out. Occasionally, she updated him on the Wang estate’s social, political, and military obligations with all the warmth of a steward dictating a report. She wasn’t cruel, just indifferent.

That indifference cut deeper than rage ever could.

She used to light up when he entered a room. She used to run her fingers along his arm when she thought no one was watching. She used to remind him—without saying a word—that she’d chosen him, that they’d won.

But now? Now she offered polite nods, neutral tones, and hollow questions that didn’t want answers. What a difference three months had made.

He wasn’t sure when it had started to fade. Was it their return to his parents' house? Was it Ethan's appearance, filled with confidence and strength? Or had it been when Vivian showed up with gifts and beauty, stealing Claire’s thunder?

That night had been awkward. Everyone, including Claire, seemed to want to talk to Ethan, not him. It was as if Ethan mattered and he did not.

How could he not matter? He was the eldest, the golden child, the one destined to change the world. But Claire, his mother, his siblings, and even Vivian—they didn't seem to care about him.

Caleb exhaled sharply; his hand twitched, and the tea rippled in its cup.

Vivian.

Of all the things that had gone wrong, she was still the one who kept him awake at night. Not Claire. Not Ethan.

Her.

He remembered the first time he saw her in his last life—draped in violet and silver, eyes like a winter storm, mouth set in that cold, perfect line that promised nothing and dared anyone to ask for more. She had power, cultivation, bloodline, and most of all, presence. People bowed without realizing it. They spoke more carefully in her shadow.

She was the most delicious thing he had ever seen.

And Caleb, son of Zhou, golden heir of a rising martial clan—had tried.

He tried so hard.

He went to her family functions. He waited in the rain outside her training hall. He offered gifts, tributes, swords, and spirit-beasts. He tried to correct her bad behavior. He attempted to guide her the way a man of his caliber should. He told her she didn’t need to worry about all the house matters; he would handle them for her. After all, she was a woman, and what would happen when she had all his babies?

He was willing to be with her: to sleep with her, to have her serve him, to lead her. He would’ve given her everything—his name, his strength, his body, his loyalty.

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She gave him nothing.

No warmth. No affection. No approval. She didn’t want his help despite his obvious martial talent and intellect. She offered silence wrapped in silk and treated him like a footnote.

Worse, every time he turned away, she ran to that bastard Jun. She was smiling, speaking softly, touching his sleeve as if she’d forgotten Caleb even existed.

He’d convinced himself she was just slow to trust, that she would warm to him in time. He was the better choice. Everyone knew it, even the General, who never offered acknowledgment despite Caleb's obvious superiority. He thought that recognizing him was the obvious conclusion, that she would give in and understand her place.

But she never did, and she didn’t even act well enough to recognize her simple obligation to him.

In their past life, she hadn’t even shown up at the Zhou household. He remembered it bitterly.

In all the years they were married, Vivian Li never set foot on the Zhou estate. Not once. It started with the traditional home return; Caleb had the servants at the house prepare gifts (the other in-laws ignored him but still allowed him to use their resources). But despite him ordering her, as her husband, to attend with him, she blew him off. She left for some sword retreat the very next morning, as if she needed to wield a sword with him around.

He had come home with a single steward who spent most of his time insulting him. He had almost killed the man.

Meanwhile, Claire and Ethan—back then—had come together. They spent a bunch of time laughing, touching, and even kissing.

Most of their time was spent laughing.

Not in front of him. Never directly. But he’d heard it: laughter echoing down the corridor, private smiles, conversations that stopped when he entered a room. They never said a word to him. They never claimed to better out right.

But they didn’t have to.

He could see it in the way Claire looked at Ethan. They thought their relationship was greater. Claire, back then, thought Ethan was more than Caleb.

It was the most ludicrous thing he had ever seen. How could Ethan be superior to him?

Life didn’t get any easier for him after that. Vivian never accepted her place by his side. His in-laws, jealous of his talent and charisma, actively suppressed him. Despite his clearly superior individual strength, even he couldn’t stand up to the combined jealousy of the Li House. It all came to a head when, after Caleb demanded that Vivian fulfill her wifely duties, she, after a dirty sneak attack, beat him half to death and and tossed him out of her house.

Meanwhile, Ethan and Claire rose to prominence, with Claire becoming a Peak Human Realm Expert.

The thought caused him to heavily crack his teacup.

He didn’t move.

He let the hot liquid soak in.

He let the sting remind him that he was still here. Still flesh. Still the rightful heir of House Zhou.

He had been the golden son, the one with power in his veins, the one meant for greatness.

He was faster than Ethan. Stronger. More charismatic. Better looking. Smarter, even if Ethan had some accolades in that area. He was simply better. Everyone knew it. Everyone had seen it.

But it was Ethan that rose not him. It had happened in his last life: he and Claire had been seen as better than him. Now it was happening again. They were focused on Ethan.

Vivian—his Vivian, his wife, to whom he had been married for almost ten years—was with his brother. That was to be expected; he had orchestrated it.

Ethan was stupid, slow, and definitely less handsome.

Vivian was beautiful and cold, looking down on people who were clearly better than her.

They were perfect for each other.

But then the script failed. Ethan impressed the world with his restraint. Vivian appeared on his behalf. She showed up. And was acting affectionate?

Impossible. Was Ethan so pathetic that he had scraped and sulked his way into Vivian’s affection?

He couldn't even get started on the Lin Daughter showing up all bouncy and faking innocence, pretending she wasn’t interested in him.

Caleb had wanted to shout. To roar. To tear the damn hall apart and remind them who he was.

But he didn’t. He knew he was chosen. He was better. Why else would he be reincarnated?

The demon war was coming; he was obviously chosen to be the hero.

He had been waiting for a goddess—because it obviously had to be a goddess, a god would be jealous—to give him his sacred mission.

But to date, nothing.

Now everything with Ethan, Vivian, and Claire was different.

Ethan had always been ordinary, and this new version wasn’t.

He was making himself unforgettable in every conversation, every interaction, every whispered rumor.

Caleb could feel himself slipping. Claire didn’t reach for him anymore. His father had stopped calling him to council. Even the servants walked more carefully around the estate, as if waiting for something to fall. The world had turned upside down.

All of it came back to Ethan.

Caleb stood. The cracked cup dropped from his fingers and shattered against the stone. He didn’t flinch. He stared across the pond, past the flickering shadows of koi beneath the surface, past the trees, past the courtyard walls. He looked toward the rising sun and the distant conceptual silhouette of House Li.

He would not be forgotten. He would not be a footnote in someone else’s story. He was the hero of this story, and he would make sure everyone understood that.