The stench of mildew and rot filled Yao Qin's nostrils as he leaned back against the crumbling wall of the Red Blossom Orphanage. The damp chill of the room crept through his threadbare clothes, and the faint sound of coughing echoed around him. It was as if the shadows of his past life hadn't left him - just shifted into a different form.
His dangerous eyes swept the room, taking in the thin, huddled forms of the other orphans. Some clung to one another for warmth, while others muttered in their sleep, their voices tinged with fear even in unconsciousness. Every detail was exactly as he remembered it. He clenched his fists, his knuckles whitening.
"I'm back," he murmured under his breath, the weight of realization pressing down on him.
His fingers found the shard of broken glass beside his mat, and he lifted it, angling it to catch his reflection in the dim light. A pale, gaunt face stared back at him, with hollow cheeks and unkempt crimson hair that hung limply over his forehead. Yet his eyes were sharper now, darker, filled with a depth that didn't belong in the face of a thirteen-year-old boy.
A faint smile flickered across his lips. "You sent me back," he whispered, remembering the Gravewalker's words.
"Your thread will not be restored. Instead, you will walk it anew."
The Gravewalker had always been a silent observer in his life, a shadow that guided him from death to life again. But now, Yao Qin's bond with it felt distant - severed, like an echo in the void. He knew what it meant. He would have to find the Gravewalker again to reclaim its power. Until then, he would have to rely on himself.
He set the shard down and leaned back, letting the tension in his shoulders ease. The faint warmth of anger simmered in his chest, steady and controlled. This time, he would not let himself be swept away by betrayal. This time, he would rise.
"Finally awake?"
The voice startled him, pulling him from his thoughts. Han Wei, his oldest friend and the closest thing he had to family, crouched beside him with a lopsided grin.
"You've been out for two days," Han Wei said, studying him with his usual mix of teasing and concern. "Thought you might've decided to give up on us."
Yao Qin's lips curved into a small smile. "Not yet."
Han Wei plopped down beside him, his broad shoulders filling the narrow space. His shaggy black hair framed the faint scar along his jawline, a mark from a fight he'd picked - and won - for Yao Qin years ago. That scar had always been a reminder of Han Wei's unwavering loyalty, a bond forged in the struggles of the orphanage.
"You've got that look again," Han Wei said, nudging Yao Qin with his elbow. "The one that says you're planning something crazy."
"Maybe I am," Yao Qin replied, his tone light but measured. "We can't stay like this forever."
Han Wei laughed, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Forever, huh? Pretty sure that's longer than we've got in this place. Just focus on getting through the day."
He tossed a small piece of bread onto Yao Qin's lap, breaking the heavier mood. "Here. Eat. You'll need it."
The bread was gone too quickly, the dry crumbs leaving his throat scratchy but his stomach marginally less hollow. Han Wei leaned back against the wall beside Yao Qin, his easy grin masking the exhaustion etched into his face.
"You're going to need that clever head of yours if we're going to survive another month here," Han Wei said, breaking the silence. "City's getting worse by the day. You've seen it."
Yao Qin nodded, his gaze drifting to the cracked window. Outside, the faint glow of Red Blossom's crumbling streets flickered like dying embers. Even as a child, he had known this city was a place where hope came to wither, but with his memories intact, he saw it now for what it truly was: a battlefield.
"What's on your mind, Qin?" Han Wei's voice broke through his thoughts.
"Just thinking about the future," Yao Qin said. "We can't stay here forever." The memories of his past life still swarmed across his eyes, the pain of what was to come...
Han Wei gave a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "You and that talk of leaving. You've got big plans, don't you?"
Yao Qin didn't answer immediately. Instead, he watched the faint outline of distant rooftops through the fogged glass, his thoughts heavy with unspoken truths. He turned back to Han Wei, studying the older boy's face - the warmth in his eyes, the faint creases in his brow from too many nights spent worrying about others.
"You ever think about what you'd do if you got out of here?" Yao Qin asked.
Han Wei shrugged. "Find some honest work. Maybe a farm, maybe something in town. Doesn't matter, as long as it's quiet." His smile turned wistful. "Nothing big. Just enough to live without all this."
Yao Qin's chest tightened. He admired Han Wei's optimism, but he knew better. The world outside wasn't any kinder than the one inside these crumbling walls. And worse - Han Wei didn't realize he wouldn't be leaving this place alive.
"And you?" Han Wei asked, nudging Yao Qin lightly. "What's the grand plan for the great Yao Qin?"
Yao Qin's lips twitched into a faint smirk. "Not as quiet as yours."
Han Wei laughed, the sound light and easy. "I'd expect nothing less."
As the evening wore on, the two boys sat in companionable silence, the weight of the day slowly giving way to the cool quiet of the orphanage. The sound of faint breathing filled the room as the other orphans drifted into uneasy sleep. Han Wei eventually rose, ruffling Yao Qin's hair as he moved toward his mat.
"Rest up, Yao Qin. You've got that look in your eye. Don't do anything too crazy," he said with a teasing grin.
Yao Qin nodded, watching Han Wei settle down across the room. Only when the soft sounds of sleep reached his ears did Yao Qin allow himself to move again.
Treading softly, Yao Qin ventured out of the orphanage into the damp streets of Red Blossom, his dangerous eyes scanning the alleys and storefronts. The streets were alive with misery - vendors hawking stale goods, children begging for scraps, and the lingering scent of decay wafting through the air. Crumbling buildings leaned like drunken skeletons, the remnants of a city's forgotten glory.
His steps slowed as he passed an alleyway marked with a faint, jagged symbol - a familiar mark etched into the brick. His breath caught. The Black Phantom Cult.
It was subtle, meant to blend into the grime of the city, but Yao Qin recognized it immediately. The symbol was not just a sign of the cult but a message: they were watching. A cold knot tightened in his chest. It wasn't fear - he had faced worse in his past life - but the memories that surged forward sent a shiver through him. The initiation trials, the ritual of the Ghost Eyes, and the cult's shadowy grasp on cities like Red Blossom all loomed large in his mind.
They were still here, somewhere beneath the surface, just as they had been before.
Yao Qin forced his gaze away, tucking his hands into his threadbare cloak as he pressed forward. He couldn't afford to let curiosity - or anger - cloud his purpose. Not yet.
The orphanage courtyard was quiet when Yao Qin returned, but tension hung in the air. A scuffle had broken out near the storage shed, where food was rationed once a week. A younger boy - Luo Shan, scrawny and trembling - was clutching a loaf of stale bread as an older bully loomed over him.
"Hand it over, runt," growled Bai Liang, a burly boy with a scar running down his cheek. His broad frame and scarred knuckles made him a tyrant among the orphans. "You don't get to eat unless I say so."
Luo Shan shook his head, clutching the bread tighter. "It's mine! I found it!"
Bai Liang raised a hand to strike, but a firm voice stopped him. "Leave him alone."
Han Wei stepped forward, his broad shoulders squaring as he placed himself between Bai Liang and Luo Shan. His usual easy grin was gone, replaced by a stern expression. "You want to fight someone? Try me."
Bai Liang sneered, stepping closer. "You're always playing the hero, Han Wei. But this time, you're out of luck."
A second boy - Bai Liang's wiry accomplice, Fang Hui - emerged from the shadows, cracking his knuckles. "Yeah. Let's see if you're so tough when it's two against one."
Han Wei's fists clenched, his stance steady, but the tension in his jaw betrayed his nerves. "I'm not afraid of you."
Fang Hui laughed, circling Han Wei like a predator. "You should be."
Hidden in the shadows near the corner of the courtyard, Yao Qin watched the scene unfold, his dark eyes narrowing. He had seen enough. Han Wei's bravery was admirable, but bravery alone wouldn't win two-on-one.
Yao Qin moved silently, his footsteps muffled against the dirt. He waited for the perfect moment, his mind calculating each move.
Bai Liang took the first swing at Han Wei, and that's when Yao Qin struck. He darted forward, a jagged brick clenched in his hands, and brought it down with a sickening crack on the back of Bai Liang's head. The burly bully crumpled to the ground instantly, unconscious before he hit the dirt.
The sound froze Fang Hui in his tracks, his wide eyes darting to Yao Qin. "What the - "
Yao Qin didn't let him finish. He pivoted sharply, driving his heel into the side of Fang Hui's knee with a force that made the joint snap backward with a grotesque pop. Fang Hui screamed, collapsing in a heap as he clutched his ruined leg.
Yao Qin loomed over him, his dangerous eyes gleaming in the dim light. He crouched down, his voice calm but cold. "You should've stayed in the shadows."
Fang Hui whimpered, his face pale and twisted with pain. "I-I'm sorry! Please, don't - "
"Quiet," Yao Qin hissed, his tone like steel. He reached down and grabbed Fang Hui by the collar, pulling him close. "If you touch Luo Shan - or anyone else - again, you'll wish I killed you tonight. Understand?"
Fang Hui nodded frantically, his breaths coming in shallow gasps.
Yao Qin shoved him back to the ground and stood, his gaze sweeping over the courtyard. The younger orphans were staring, their expressions a mix of awe and fear. Even Han Wei seemed momentarily stunned.
Luo Shan, still clutching his loaf of bread, whispered, "Thank you," before dashing off into the shadows.
Han Wei approached cautiously, his voice low. "You didn't have to go that far."
Yao Qin wiped his hands on his threadbare cloak, his expression unreadable. "Yes, I did. You were outnumbered."
Han Wei sighed, shaking his head. "You're not the same kid I used to know, Yao Qin."
"No," Yao Qin said quietly, his gaze distant. "I'm not."
Han Wei forced a small smile, trying to lighten the mood. "Well, remind me never to get on your bad side."
Yao Qin's smirk faltered, and he glanced away, his expression clouding. "You won't," he murmured, the weight of his words hanging in the air.
He didn't meet Han Wei's eyes, the faint stirrings of shame twisting in his chest. Even as he justified his actions in his mind - It was necessary. This is how you survive - a part of him hated the reflection of the person he was becoming.
The courtyard had barely begun to settle after the altercation with the bullies when the sound of heavy boots echoed through the gates. A group of men strode in, their presence commanding immediate silence. The orphans who had gathered around the scene scattered like frightened animals, retreating into the shadows.
The Great Sin Gang. Even before Yao Qin saw them, he knew who it was. The memory, sharp and unyielding, flooded his mind - the gang's arrival, their interest in Han Wei, and their inevitable demand for more.
At the front of the group was Ren Hu, known as Scarface, the gang's wiry second-in-command. His jagged brow scar twisted with his grin as he surveyed the courtyard. His sharp eyes landed on the unconscious Bai Liang and the whimpering Fang Hui, still clutching his ruined knee.
"Well, well," Scarface drawled, his tone laced with mockery. "What's this? A little blood sport in the orphanage?"
The other gang members chuckled. At Scarface's side, the towering enforcer Gao Rui cracked his knuckles, his expression cold and unreadable. Another, a skinny youth with darting eyes named Chen Fang, smirked and pointed at the blood staining Yao Qin's hands and the brick still clutched loosely in his grip.
Scarface's grin widened as his eyes flicked to Han Wei. "Looks like you've been holding out on us, Han Wei. Where've you been hiding this one? Kid's got a mean streak."
Han Wei's jaw tightened, and he hesitated before answering. "Yao Qin keeps to himself," Han Wei said finally, his tone cautious. "He's not usually like this."
Scarface raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by the deflection. "Not usually, huh? Shame, because this - " he gestured to Bai Liang and Fang Hui, " - this is art. Blood on his hands, bodies on the ground… kid's got potential."
Ren Hu stepped forward, looming over Yao Qin as he tilted his head. "What do you say, redhead? Feel like putting that mean streak to good use? We've got a spot for someone like you."
Scarface paused, his sharp eyes flicking back to Han Wei. "Now, I'll admit - I came here to make you cough up your taxes, as usual. But seeing this little display of talent…" He gestured at Yao Qin and the unconscious bodies. "I'm willing to give you a discount."
The other gang members chuckled darkly. Scarface's grin widened as he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "Bring him along to the Red Claw tomorrow. We've got a job lined up. Let's see if he's got what it takes."
Han Wei stiffened, his alarm clear. "Scarface, he doesn't need to get involved. He's - "
"He's what? A killer?" Scarface interrupted, gesturing to the blood and the battered bullies. "We both know he's a natural, just look at him. Better he learns the ropes with you than someone who'll chew him up and spit him out."
Scarface's sharp gaze returned to Yao Qin. "What do you say, redhead?"
Yao Qin's voice was steady and quiet. "I'll be there."
"Good," Scarface said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Don't disappoint me."
The gang began to move out, their heavy boots echoing in the quiet courtyard. Chen Fang lingered for a moment, giving Yao Qin an almost admiring glance before following the others. As they disappeared into the shadows, Han Wei turned to Yao Qin, his voice low and strained.
"Why did you agree, Qin? You don't have to do this."
Yao Qin looked away, his gaze fixed on the bloodstained brick on the ground. "It's not about what I have to do," he said quietly. "It's about what I can't avoid."
Han Wei frowned, searching Yao Qin's face for some clue to his meaning, but Yao Qin didn't elaborate. He dropped the brick, the faint thud breaking the silence. "Let's go inside."
Han Wei hesitated, then sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Fine. Just… stick with me tomorrow, alright? Don't try to prove anything."
"I won't," Yao Qin said, though his thoughts were already miles ahead, planning his next move. This was just the beginning.
As evening started to retreat into the early hours of the morning, the orphanage was quiet again, the courtyard now empty save for faint traces of blood in the dirt. Inside, the other children had drifted into an uneasy sleep, their breathing punctuated by occasional murmurs. The tension from the previous day lingered in the air, but Yao Qin's mind was elsewhere.
He sat cross-legged on his threadbare mat, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the cracked window. His hands still felt the weight of the brick, the ghost of the impact resonating through his fingers. Scarface's words echoed in his mind, mingling with the memories of another time, another life.
"Blood is strength. Pain is the price."
Yao Qin closed his eyes, steadying his breath. The image of Yao Rui came unbidden, her sharp grin and piercing gaze. "This path isn't for the weak," she had told him once. "Your body is your fortress, your weapon, your salvation. But only if you're willing to break it and rebuild it stronger."
The lessons she had imparted in his past life burned in his mind, clearer now than ever. The technique she had taught him - the Crimson Tyrant Body - was brutal, demanding, and dangerous. It was a path he had started before but abandoned, deeming it too painful and slow. This time, he would see it through.
Taking a deep breath, Yao Qin focused inward. He visualized the flow of blood through his veins, the rhythm of his heartbeat. The first stage, Iron Veins, was deceptively simple: accelerate the flow of blood, forcing his body to adapt to the increased strain. But the process was agony, like molten fire coursing through his limbs.
Yao Qin gritted his teeth as he began. The pain came immediately, sharp and searing, radiating from his chest outward. Sweat beaded on his forehead, dripping down his face as his muscles trembled under the strain. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, the rhythmic thrum growing louder, faster.
Endure. Focus. Push.
The words became a mantra in his mind, drowning out the pain. Minutes stretched into what felt like hours, each second an eternity of torment. His breath came in shallow gasps, his vision swimming, but he refused to stop. This was the foundation - weakness burned away, strength forged in its place.
Finally, his body gave out, collapsing onto the mat in a heap of exhaustion. His chest heaved, each breath a laborious effort. The pain lingered, a dull ache settling into his limbs, but beneath it was something new - a faint spark of warmth, an ember waiting to ignite.
Yao Qin lay there, staring at the cracked ceiling as his breathing slowed. His mind drifted to the faces he had seen that day: Han Wei's worry, Luo Shan's gratitude, Scarface's predatory grin. Each one lingered in his thoughts, vivid and unshakable.
Then the truth settled over him like a heavy shroud. All the faces here - Han Wei, Luo Shan, even the ever-grinning Scarface - within a week, they'd all be dead.
His breath hitched for a moment before he forced it steady again. There was no sadness, no fear - only the cold clarity of knowing. He had lived this before. Their fates were sealed, and there was nothing he could do to change it. Not yet.
But this time, as his fists clenched and a faint warmth flickered in his veins, he made a vow. This time, I'll make sure my path doesn't end the same way theirs will.
"Just the beginning," he murmured to himself, letting the exhaustion pull him into restless sleep.