The Liang Family Tragedy (1)

" No matter what happens," Lady Liang had whispered, pressing a bloodied kiss to her son's forehead, "you must live."

A-Jun had barely nodded before she had turned, stepping away from the shadows where she had hidden him. The last thing he saw was the glint of her hairpin catching the moonlight as she stepped into the path of the soldiers.

Then came the wet sound of a blade meeting flesh. The sickening thud of a body hitting the ground.

And silence.

His mother was dead.

A sob threatened to escape him, but he clamped his hand over his mouth, forcing it back. He couldn't cry. Not now. Not while the emperor's hounds were still hunting down the last of the Liang bloodline.

The air was thick with smoke, carrying the screams of the dying and the crackle of flames consuming his home. A-Jun could taste the ashes on his tongue, bitter and dry as he crouched behind the half-collapsed wall of his family's courtyard.

His hands trembled, clutching the dagger his mother had thrust into his grip.

Heavy footsteps crunched through the snow-covered rubble, drawing closer. A-Jun pressed himself against the shattered stone, his pulse thundering in his ears. 

The courtyard, once pristine, was now a graveyard. His father's lifeless body lay sprawled beside the koi pond, his blood staining the water black. His uncles, his cousins—people he had known since childhood—all slaughtered.

And standing amid the carnage was the man responsible.

Lieutenant Fa.

The very man who had once sworn undying loyalty to A-Jun's father. The man who had laughed at family feasts, who had sparred with A-Jun when he was a boy. The man who had opened the gates and led the imperial soldiers inside.

A traitor.

A-Jun's grip tightened around the dagger until his knuckles turned white. If he had a better weapon, a bow, a blade—anything—he would sink it into Fa's throat. But all he had was his mother's dagger and the fire burning in his chest.

"Search the bodies," Fa ordered, his voice void of remorse. "The emperor wants confirmation. No survivors."

A-Jun tensed, was it not bad enough they were slaughtered in cold blood? Would these evil people desecrate their bodies as well?

He forced himself to move, slipping through the wreckage. Snow swallowed his footsteps as he weaved between the fallen beams and smoldering ruins.

He reached the garden path, its stones now slick with blood, and darted toward the servant's quarters.

If he could make it past the rear gate, he could disappear into the forests beyond the city walls.

But fate had other plans.

A beam, weakened by the fire, groaned above him. A-Jun barely had time to look up before it snapped, crashing down with a deafening crack.

Too fast—!

Flaming wood slammed into him, searing through his tunic, knocking him off his feet.

Pain exploded through his ribs. His vision blurred as his skull hit the ground, and for a moment—he couldn't breathe.

Move.

Move.

Fire licked at his skin, the scent of burning cloth filling his nose. He was burning. He was going to die.

Gritting his teeth, he rolled onto his side, smothering the flames with trembling hands.

His mother's voice echoed in his skull, fierce and desperate—You must live.

Through the haze of agony, he heard shouts.

"I heard something over there!" 

No.

"There! Someone's alive!"

A-Jun forced his body up. His lungs screamed, his ribs ached, but he ran.

The shouts grew louder behind him, but A-Jun didn't stop. His legs burned as he pushed himself forward, vaulting over the broken remains of a garden wall and skidding into the outer corridors of the estate.

He had spent his childhood playing in these halls, racing his cousins through the winding paths. But now the once-familiar passages felt suffocating, narrowing with every turn.

An arrow hissed past his ear, striking the stone wall ahead of him. Another buried itself into the ground at his feet. He veered sharply, darting into the remains of the eastern hall, hoping the smoke would conceal him.

"Faster. Faster!"

A-Jun sprinted past the remains of the eastern pavilion, his vision blurring as his breath came in ragged gasps. If he could just reach the outer gates, maybe—

An arm shot out from the shadows.

A-Jun barely registered the blur of movement before a fist slammed into his ribs, knocking the wind from his lungs. He staggered back, choking on pain, but another strike caught him across the jaw, sending him sprawling into the snow.

His dagger slipped from his grip.

He scrambled for it, but a boot came down on his wrist, grinding it into the ice. A-Jun clenched his teeth against the pain and forced himself to look up.

A soldier loomed over him, grinning through bloodstained teeth. "Caught a little rat," he sneered.

A-Jun's pulse pounded, his mind screaming at him to move, but the soldier pressed down harder. His mind raced. What now? His hand still trembled from the flames, his legs weak from running.

Could he fight? No. He had never killed anyone. Sparred, yes. But this?

"Maybe we should take him back to Lieutenant Fa," another voice said, footsteps crunching closer. "Let him be the one to slit the brat's throat."

No.

A-Jun refused to die here.

His free hand shot forward, grabbing a fistful of snow and dirt. Before the soldier could react, he flung it into his eyes.

The man cursed, stumbling back, and in that split second, A-Jun twisted, yanking his trapped hand free. Pain lanced through his wrist, but he ignored it. His fingers found the dagger, and he struck—

Steel met flesh.

The soldier's scream tore through the night as A-Jun drove the blade into his thigh. Blood spurted, hot against his frozen skin, but he didn't stop. He ripped the dagger free and slashed upward, catching the man's arm as he tried to draw his sword.

The second soldier lunged.

A-Jun barely dodged in time, the edge of a blade slicing through the fabric of his tunic. Heat bloomed across his already aching chest—a burning sensation that sent a jolt of pain through his ribs.

Not a deep wound. He could still move.

A-Jun's escape from the burning estate was a blur of smoke and shadows. He slipped through the rear gate just as more soldiers poured into the ruins, their torches casting jagged silhouettes against the inferno. His legs ached, his lungs burned, but he didn't stop running.

Not until he reached the forest's edge.

Only then did he collapse against the base of a tree, gasping for breath.

Then—his vision blurred.

He tripped. His knees hit the frozen ground.

His fingers curled into the snow.

His chest heaved, and before he could stop himself—a sob broke free.

It was just one. A sharp, shuddering breath.

Then another.

Tears streaked down his face, burning against his frozen skin. His mother was dead. His father. His cousins. His home.

He was alone.

A-Jun dug his fingers into the snow, forcing the sobs down. 

Pain flared across his chest, sharp and unrelenting. He looked down, fingers trembling as he pulled at the charred remains of his tunic.

His skin beneath was raw, blistered, the flesh scorched where the burning beam had struck him.

He swallowed hard. The wound would slow him down. But he had no choice.

He had to keep moving.

The capital was no longer safe. He would be hunted, pursued like an animal until every last drop of Liang blood was erased. But he wouldn't let them catch him.

He would survive.

And one day, he would return.

He would make them all pay.