Shadows of Betrayal

Seventh Moon of the Year of the Fire Dragon, 15th Night (12 years before)

Morning sun peeked through the courtyard trees as a small boy chased after his brother, feet pattering against the stone path. "Zhen-ge! Zhen-ge, wait!" His voice was breathless with effort, little legs pumping as fast as they could.

Li Zhen didn't slow down. His own bare feet knew every crack in these stones, every shortcut through the gardens. The servants called him the wild child of the Duke Li's house, and he lived up to the name, always running, climbing, getting into places he shouldn't. Today's mission was hunting wild chickens in the village. Sure, it wasn't proper behavior for the son of a great general, but Zhen didn't care. The feeling of dirt between his toes and wind in his hair meant more to him than all his father's rules.

Looking back at his little brother struggling to keep up, Zhen felt a twinge of guilt. His father would be furious if anything happened to his favorite son. "Go home," he said, giving his little brother a gentle push back toward the house. "If Father catches you with me, we'll both be in trouble." The little one's bottom lip trembled, but he nodded and turned back.

Zhen had gotten good at blending in with the common kids. He kept a set of worn cotton clothes hidden in a hollow tree near the compound wall, nothing like the fine silks his mother made him wear. Once changed, he looked just like any other street kid, despite his mother's royal blood. His father would probably die of shame if he knew.

In a narrow alleyway, amid the boisterous laughter of street children and the clamor of everyday life, He was in the middle of a game something about who could catch the most crickets, fate dealt a cruel hand. Dark, shadowed figures emerged, silencing the innocent mirth with a swift, ruthless force. Before Li Zhen could comprehend the danger, rough hands seized him, muffling his cries and dragging him away into the depths of an underground cell. The grim cage was filled with other lost souls, street kids whose eyes had long learned the language of despair.

At first, Li Zhen's innate curiosity saw this new world as a strange playground. Wandering among the ragged, dirt streaked faces of his fellow captives, he played as if it were merely another game. But when sleep finally claimed him, the fragile barrier of innocence gave way to a harsher reality.

 He woke to screaming, and the scuffle of desperate hands fighting the children were fighting over moldy bread crusts thrown down by their captors. Zhen watched, puzzled. He'd never been hungry enough to fight over food.

The cage door scraped open again. This time, the new arrival was different. Even in the dim light, his silk robes and jade pendant marked him as nobility. The boy crumpled to the ground, tears cutting clean tracks through the dirt on his face.

"Father!" he screamed, pounding small fists against the ground. "I want my father! Please, I want to go home!"

Nobody approached him. The street children knew better than to get close to nobility, even here. But Zhen, who'd never learned such caution, scooted over with his usual bright smile.

"Why are you crying?" he asked, reaching out to poke the boy's cheek. The noble child jerked back, startled by such familiarity.

"W-where are we?" the boy hiccupped, trying to shrink away.

"Don't know!" Zhen said cheerfully, drawing pictures in the dirt with his finger. "But look, I made a chicken!"

The noble boy stared at him like he'd grown two heads. "We are being kidnapped, Why are you smiling?"

"Don't know that either!" Zhen laughed, adding wobbly legs to his dirt chicken.

"How... how long will they keep us here?"

"No idea!" Zhen started drawing another chicken, this one with a funny topknot.

"Are you dumb?" the noble boy asked, but his voice had lost its fear. "You just keep saying you don't know everything!"

"My father says that a lot, so I guess I'm dumb," Zhen said, his laughter bright and infectious. The noble boy couldn't help but join in, his own giggles bubbling up like spring water.

"You are my best friend now," Zhen declared, his eyes shining with sudden certainty as he scooted closer until their shoulders touched. "No one can hurt you now," he promised, his voice warm with protective instinct.

Between fits of giggles, the noble boy's face grew serious. "How can we be friends if I don't know your name?" He lifted his chin with the practiced superiority of his class. "And my father would never allow it. You're just a poor boy, and I'm a nobleman." Pride coated every word.

Zhen leaned in close, his breath tickling the boy's ear as he whispered, "My name is Zhen, Li Zhen, and I'm a nobleman too." He matched the boy's haughty tone perfectly, his eyes dancing with mischief.

The noble boy's gaze traveled down Zhen's dirty clothes and scuffed hands, doubt etched across his face. "Are you lying? You look like a street kid, like all the others here."

A wide smile split Zhen's face, revealing a chipped tooth. "I like to look like them," he confided, his voice dropping as if sharing a precious secret. "This way I can play and explore, and no one watches me." His eyes lit up with excitement. "You should try it too! We could have so much fun together!"

They lost themselves in play and stories, until the noble boy's bottom lip suddenly began to tremble. "I want to go home," he whimpered, tears welling in his eyes like morning dew. His small shoulders hunched forward. "I miss my house... and my mother."

"You want to get out?" Zhen asked softly, his hand squeezing the boy's shoulder.

"Yes," the boy nodded, tears now streaming down his flushed cheeks.

"Okay, come with me." With gentle fingers, Zhen wiped away the boy's tears and clasped his hand firmly. Zhen's movements were quick and sure as he scrambled up the rocky wall and pushed against the door. It swung open easily—the men had been careless, thinking children too frightened to attempt escape.

Standing in the doorway, Zhen stretched his hand down toward his new friend, his face glowing with excitement. "Take my hand!"

Where Zhen was all wiry strength from daily adventures—running like the wind, hunting with sharp eyes, climbing anything that stood still—the young noble was delicate as a porcelain doll. His soft hands struggled against the rough stones, his breath coming in panicked gasps.

"You can do it!" Zhen called down, his voice filled with unwavering belief. "Think of your mother waiting for you! After, I'll show you hidden pathways only I know!"

Those words seemed to flow into the noble boy like strength itself. With a final effort, he reached the top. Panting but triumphant, they stood together in the light. Zhen turned back, offering his hand to the other captive boys, his face open and kind. Not one moved forward. Their hollow eyes told the story—they had no loving homes awaiting them, no families searching desperately for their return.

Freedom had barely tasted sweet when a shadow fell across their path. A man spotted them and lunged forward with a shout. His meaty hands closed around the noble boy—the most valuable prize. As the boy's terrified screams filled the air, Zhen's sharp eyes caught the glint of a knife at a nearby watermelon stand. Without hesitation, he snatched it and slashed wildly at their captor's leg.

The man roared with pain and rage, shoving Zhen with brutal force. The boy crashed down hard, blood flowing from a deep cut across his palm. But Zhen barely winced—he scrambled to his feet, grabbed his friend's trembling hand, and pulled him into a run. The maze of streets was Zhen's playground, and soon they had left their pursuer far behind.

"Zhen-ge, your hand!" gasped the noble boy, his face paling at the sight of blood dripping between Zhen's fingers. Great sobs shook his small frame.

"I'm the one bleeding, but you're doing all the crying?" Zhen teased, his smile gentle despite the pain throbbing in his hand.

The noble boy threw his arms around Zhen, his tears dampening Zhen's shirt. "You saved me," he hiccupped, his voice thick with gratitude.

"I promised, didn't I?" Zhen reminded him, hugging back with his good arm. "No one hurts my best friend. Not ever." The cuts and bruises that mapped Zhen's body were badges of adventure to him—this new one would be a badge of friendship.

As they wandered the streets together, Zhen watched his friend jump at every loud noise. "Why are you so afraid of everything?" he asked, squeezing the boy's shoulder. "Life's better when you're brave. Now that we're friends, I'll teach you how to be strong, okay?"

The noble boy nodded, eyes wide with admiration. "Doesn't your father get angry when you disappear like this?" he asked, clutching Zhen's sleeve as a cart rumbled past.

"Of course he does," Zhen puffed out his chest. "My father is enormous and terrifying. His army makes the ground shake when they march." Pride gleamed in his eyes.

"Aren't you scared of him?" the boy whispered, awestruck.

"Never!" Zhen laughed, the sound bright as bells. "He yells and shouts, but he'd never harm me. I'm his son, his blood." He tapped his chest confidently.

The noble boy stared at Zhen like he was looking at a mythical creature. In his world, his father's word was law, his displeasure something to be avoided at all costs.

Their chatter died when they felt the pull of a gathering crowd. Curious as kittens, they pushed forward. Zhen forged a path through the forest of adult legs, his grip on his friend's hand fierce and protective. When they finally broke through to the front, they lifted their eyes to the city gates.

There, swaying gently in the breeze, hung two severed heads. Zhen's body went rigid, as if turned to stone. Those vacant eyes that had once looked upon him with love, those lips that had whispered bedtime stories—they belonged to his parents, the mighty Li family. His father, whose laugh had boomed like thunder, was now nothing but a grotesque warning. Zhen couldn't even scream. The world narrowed to those two heads, everything else falling away into silence.

Beside him, the young noble's innocence shattered like glass. A scream tore from his throat as he pressed his face against Zhen's back, his entire body trembling violently. "Who are they?" he sobbed, his voice muffled against Zhen's shirt. "Why would someone do this?"

Around them, adults muttered like distant thunder.

"The price of greed," one man spat, nodding toward the grisly display.

"Challenged the holy sect for their riches," another whispered, her voice thick with a twisted satisfaction. "Death comes for the arrogant."

A guard's voice cut through the murmurs. "Witness the fate of those who reach beyond their station!" he bellowed, his face hard as flint. "No power can shield you from justice!" With sharp gestures, he began dispersing the crowd.

Only the two boys remained—Zhen frozen in place, his face a mask of shock, and his friend clinging to him, face hidden from the horror above.

"Zhen-ge?" the boy whispered, his voice small and frightened. No answer came.

"They are my parents," Zhen finally said, the words falling from numb lips, his eyes never leaving the gruesome sight. Something inside him was breaking, shattering into a thousand pieces, but not a single tear fell.

Before his friend could reach for him, a familiar voice cut through the terrible moment.

"Young Master Jian!" A servant rushed forward, face tight with worry. "Your mother has been beside herself! How could you disappear like this?" Strong arms scooped up the noble boy, pulling him away from his friend.

Young Master Jian twisted in the servant's grip, reaching back desperately. "Zhen-ge!" he cried out, watching helplessly as his friend stood alone beneath his parents' remains.

The last glimpse he caught was of a strange man grabbing Zhen roughly by the arm, dragging the unresisting boy away. Zhen's face remained turned upward, his expression empty as a winter sky

There are some wounds that never heal, memories that burn themselves into a child's soul and change them forever. For young Jian Yu, it was his father's cold eyes that scarred him deepest, each disapproving glance another crack in his heart.

Dawn broke over the Jian Manor, its grand halls waking to the stirrings of servants and the sharp voice of Lord Jian. Inside, a young boy knelt on the cold stone floor, head bowed, trembling beneath his father's furious gaze.

"Do you have any idea how worried we were?!" Lord Jian's voice thundered through the chamber. "You—my own son—running through the streets like a beggar, filthy and shameless, mingling with commoners!"

Jian Yu sniffled, struggling to hold back his tears. "I'm sorry, Father," he whispered, his voice barely above a breath.

"Enough with the crying!" His father's tone was cold, full of disdain. "Is that all you can do? I thought the heavens blessed me with a son I could be proud of, someone worthy of the Jian name! But you're just like your mother."

With those final words, Lord Jian turned and left without another glance. The silence that followed was heavier than the scolding itself. A servant stepped forward, gently helping the boy to his feet and leading him back to his room.

The Jian family stood among the empire's elite, their wealth rivaling even the mighty Li family. While the Li clan built their power through military might, the Jians wove their empire through cunning and ambition. They raised their children on a strict diet of excellence, teaching them from birth that only perfection was acceptable. Only those of equal or greater status deserved their friendship—such was the way of noble houses, who displayed their sons at festivals like prized stallions, forming alliances through their children's connections.

Across the city stood the estate of the Li family, their reputation stretching to the edges of the kingdom. Great General Li Rongxuan commanded the largest army in the realm—loyal, independent, and formidable warriors who answered to him alone, beyond the reach of even the king himself. With such power came many enemies, shadows that sought to pull Duke Li from his lofty position down to the lowest ranks of society.

Duke Li was no politician. He was straightforward, a man who dealt in war, not deceit. And in a world where power was built on schemes and betrayals, honesty was a dangerous weakness.

At home, he ruled with an iron fist. His sons were trained to be warriors, raised to be the next generation of leaders. Their mother, in turn, taught them the delicate art of politics—how to navigate court, how to speak, how to read the lies hidden behind polite smiles.

But Zhen—the eldest son—was nothing like what they wanted him to be. While his brothers learned the sword and studied war, Zhen snuck away, dressed in common clothes, blending into the streets like any other ordinary boy. He longed for freedom, for a life outside the suffocating weight of duty.

His father despised it. He couldn't understand why his son—his heir—refused to embrace the path laid out for him.

Zhenyu, the youngest, was different. He was obedient, respectful, everything his parents wanted. At gatherings and banquets, it was always Zhenyu who stood by their side, always him who was introduced to nobles and officials.

Few people even knew Zhen existed. And for a long time, that was exactly how he wanted it.

The morning sun cast a somber glow on the city gates where two small heads had been newly mounted—a display meant to instill fear. Zhen, barely conscious, had been whisked away on horseback by a loyal servant desperate to save at least one child from the massacre. The servant's efforts were in vain as guards in stark black and white armor descended upon them like crows to carrion, swiftly knocking the man from his horse and seizing the boy who had already fainted from the fall.

"Make sure you're not followed. Don't rush—wait until everyone has left," instructed the head guard, a weathered man in his forties, as he handed the unconscious child to another soldier. In his arms, he cradled the body of a dead boy with features similar to Zhen's—the desperate ruse Lu Haotian had devised to protect the duke's remaining son.

Lu Haotian, though right hand to Duke Li and his closest confidant, found himself powerless to act openly. With his own family to protect and his position in the army to maintain, saving the duke's sons was his only recourse. He had failed to save Zhenyin, but he would not lose Zhen too. By appearing to surrender "Zhen" to the authorities, he had momentarily secured his family's safety.

The following morning, sunlight glinted cruelly off the fresh heads adorning the city gates—two more tiny heads added to the grim collection. The city roiled with conflicting sentiments; some citizens muttered that the family had deserved their fate, while others mourned silently for the innocent children caught in the web of adult ambition.

In a private chamber of a teahouse overlooking the unsettled streets, Lord Jian and Duke Bai sat together, their faces illuminated by self-satisfied smiles as they watched the chaos unfold beneath them.

"I hear you're moving to the capital," the duke remarked casually, sipping his tea while gazing through the window at the milling crowds below.

"Yes," Lord Jian replied with a slight nod. "It's better for Yu and his future."

"You're right," the duke agreed, then added with a cold smile, "What a shame," as his eyes lingered on the tiny heads displayed outside. Their conversation drifted to their sons and the bright futures that awaited them—futures built upon the ruins of others.

Miles from the city walls, Zhen awoke in an unfamiliar room. He lay perfectly still, his mind unable to process the horrors he had witnessed, his body unwilling to acknowledge this new reality. Outside his door, hushed voices conferred: "He's asleep inside," one man whispered to another, unaware that the child had regained consciousness.

The door creaked open as General Lu entered, determined to see the boy one last time before departing. His eyes softened when he noticed Zhen was awake.

"Zhen'er, do you know who I am?" Lu asked gently.

The boy offered only the slightest nod, his eyes vacant pools of unprocessed grief.

"I'm sorry for what happened to your family," Lu continued, his voice thick with emotion that he struggled to control. Zhen remained silent, and Lu understood—how could a child possibly respond to such trauma? What words could possibly suffice?

"You must live on, Zhen," Lu said, kneeling beside the bed. "I know my words mean nothing to you now, but they will later. Your family watches from above, and they would want you to live for them."

Lu's calloused hand trembled slightly as he reached out to smooth the boy's hair. "I cannot go with you or protect you from now on, but you'll be in good hands. You'll have a new life, a new family." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Use this opportunity to show your father what you can become, how strong you can be."

With that, Lu pressed a gentle kiss to the child's forehead, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. Then he was gone, leaving behind a boy whose life would now begin anew—a life born from ashes, waiting to be written.