After that incident, all Li Ziqing could remember was running.
Disoriented and trembling, she fled the apartment in a daze. Her hands were still stained with blood, her heart thudding like a war drum in her ears. Though her mind felt foggy, one thing was painfully clear—she had just committed murder. It was only a matter of time before the police came knocking. Her life, already in ruins, was now truly over.
She had no one left to mourn her, and no future to hold on to. With nothing but numb determination, she began walking toward the nearest police station to surrender.
By then, it was close to midnight. Streetlights flickered overhead as she trudged through the dim alleyways, her figure drawing curious stares from the few pedestrians still lingering outside. Blood on her clothes. Vacant eyes. Broken soul. People looked, whispered, but no one dared approach.
As she turned a shadowed corner, her world shifted again.
Whack.
A blunt force slammed into the back of her head. The sharp pain exploded through her skull, and before she could turn around or cry out, a thick burlap sack was yanked down over her body.
Darkness swallowed her whole.
---
When she next opened her eyes, Li Ziqing didn't know how many hours—or days—had passed. But the truth was undeniable.
She was no longer in China.
The damp, moldy air. The rusted metal door. The clanking chains outside the door. She had been smuggled across the border like livestock. Her body ached, her wrists were bruised, and her mouth tasted of iron and fear.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the groan of metal hinges. The heavy iron door creaked open.
Li Ziqing didn't move.
She thought it might be the same blurry man and cruel woman who had spoken before. Instead, she simply stared into the air—numb, detached, her spirit slowly unraveling.
But something was wrong.
Tuk… tuk… tuk…
Heavy footsteps echoed in the chamber—measured, cold, deliberate. Each step reverberated like a slow drumbeat of doom. The very air in the room shifted, growing sharp and frigid, as if warning her of an incoming storm.
She turned her head slowly.
And saw him.
A man dressed entirely in black stood in front of her—tall, motionless, exuding an aura that made her breath catch. His features were obscured by shadow, his eyes hidden behind pitch-black sunglasses. Though she had never met him before, a strange sense of familiarity clawed at her mind as if she had seen him somewhere before. And with it, a suffocating fear.
Her instincts screamed.
The man didn't speak. He didn't need to.
At that moment, the woman from earlier re-entered the room, her demeanor entirely changed—servile, fawning, desperate to please.
"Comrade," she said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes, "this is the new shipment that arrived today. She's all yours. You can play however you like."
The man's expression remained unreadable, but a cold sneer tugged at the corner of his lips. Though his eyes were hidden under sunglasses, the temperature in the room seemed to drop further, and the pressure in the air turned suffocating.
The woman faltered.
"D-Did I do something wrong, sir?" she asked, her voice shrinking. "If there's anything you're dissatisfied with, just say it…"
The man's voice cut through the air like a blade. "You think I would lower myself to touch this kind of filth?" His tone dripped with disdain, each syllable laced with venom. He didn't even look directly at Li Ziqing as he jabbed a finger in her direction.
The woman blinked, clearly confused. "But… didn't you tell us to follow her back in China? To bring her here to sell?" she asked hesitantly. "And you just offered fifty thousand Kyat to see her. I thought—"
"You're better off using that pitiful brain of yours to run your brothel." His sneer deepened, voice now layered with contempt. "I gave you the money not because I wanted her, but because I needed to see her… one last time. After this, she's yours to do with as you please."
With a dismissive wave of his hand, he turned away.
The woman immediately lowered her head and backed out of the room, clearly terrified of angering him further.
As the door slammed shut again, Li Ziqing sat frozen.
Her vision blurred as she stared at the man before her. Covered entirely in black—gloves, shoes, even his face hidden behind a mask and sunglasses—he appeared like a phantom summoned from her worst nightmares. The only visible part of him was a jagged scar trailing from the base of his neck down to his collarbone, a stark contrast against the fabric.
Her voice trembled as she managed to ask, "W-Who are you?" Then, as if struck by lightning, she remembered the woman's words from earlier. "And why did you ask them to kidnap me? Sell me here? I don't even know you!" Her tone cracked with disbelief and despair.
The man remained silent for a long time, as if he were studying her. The room grew cold, the air thick with dread. Then finally, his voice came—low, emotionless, and chilling.
"Because you were a threat to someone. And threats must be dealt with."
"What?" Li Ziqing gasped, unable to comprehend the words.
He took a step forward, his boots echoing ominously across the concrete floor. "All you had to do was rot in obscurity somewhere in Wuhan. But your brother's ambition soared too high. Like a phoenix trying to rise from ashes that didn't belong to him."
Li Ziqing's breath caught. A strange premonition clenched at her chest. "W-What are you talking about? Why are you bringing up my brother?" Her voice was a fragile whisper. "Did... Did you kill him?" she asked, trembling.
The man let out a low chuckle, sinister and slow. "You're more perceptive than I expected, Li Ziqing."
Her body gave way, and she slumped onto the bed. Her mind reeled. She could still remember the day the police informed them her brother had died in a car crash. Her mother had collapsed in grief, and she herself had stood frozen, as if the world had shattered beneath her feet.
"If he hadn't reached so high," the man continued, his voice steady and cruel, "he might have survived. Didn't your entire family scurry around in rags for fourteen years like sewer rats? Couldn't he have stayed there? But no. He had to excel in his studies. He had to create a game, launch a company. And with that, he attracted the wrong attention. He was bold enough to aim for the skies, and so, he died."
Li Ziqing's face turned pale as his words dug into her like knives. She shook her head, lips parting in disbelief, unable to speak. Her brother's face appeared in her mind—his bright eyes, his unwavering smile, the warmth he carried like a sunbeam even in the coldest days.
She remembered his voice the morning he left the house for the last time: "Mom, Sis, I'm registering the company today! Once the game launches, we'll move to the Southern District. Mom won't have to work anymore. Our good days are just around the corner."
They had celebrated last night with instant noodles and boiled eggs. Who would have thought that would be their last meal together?
The man observed her as if watching a performance unfold. "Society may no longer have emperors, but this world still bows to power and wealth," he said coldly. "Your family should've known its place. And your mother—wasn't she doing fine in that backwater village with her husband? But no, she had to dream. She had to try and leave."
Li Ziqing snapped out of her daze. Her grief turned into burning rage. "What are you talking about?!" she screamed. "What offense?! What did we ever do to you?"
She leapt from the bed and lunged at him, her hands clawing for his mask. "Who are you?! How dare you kill my brother and my mother?! Who did we offend?! You lunatic!"
But the man moved with deadly precision. He caught her mid-air, twisted her wrist, and shoved her to the ground before wrapping a hand tightly around her neck. She struggled, choking, but his grip only tightened.
"You think I'm Zhao Shide?" he sneered. "You think those little tricks of yours work on me? Listen carefully—your suffering was the result of your mother's mistake. If she hadn't tried to climb out of the gutter, you and your brother would still be alive and well."
He released her with a harsh shove, and she fell to the ground gasping for air. Her throat burned, but her gaze never wavered. She glared at him with eyes brimming with hate. "What did my mother ever do to deserve this?"
"You don't deserve to know," the man said as he turned and walked toward the door. "Just remember: this is the price you pay when you forget your place. Now die here—in despair."
He turned his back to her.
Li Ziqing stared at his departing figure, her mind a whirlwind of pain and revelation. Her mother's screams, the image of her water-soaked corpse, her brother's lifeless body smeared in blood—all came rushing back, sharper than any knife. Her life had been nothing but a cruel script written by someone hiding in the shadows.
Her chest rose and fell with short, violent breaths. She had no name, no face to direct her hatred at. But in that moment, her rage crystallized into one singular resolve: She would not die here. Not today, earlier she had no motivation to live, but now she has to live, to make the person in shadow suffer.
With a roar from deep within her, Li Ziqing grabbed a chair. Without hesitation, she hurled it at the man.
The chair crashed through the air with a sharp clang.
The man's instincts kicked in instantly. A seasoned killer, he spun around, pulled out a sleek black pistol from beneath his coat, and pointed it directly at her.
His finger curled around the trigger.
Bang....
Time slowed.
Li Ziqing froze, the bullet like a black void piersed into her soul. Yet she didn't flinch. Her eyes burned with defiance, no longer clouded with fear.
"I will never forgive you," she whispered.
And in that moment, something changed.