New identity

For days, the horse's hooves marked their journey away from the capital, each step carrying them further from the chaos that had shattered a noble house. Young Zhen sat like a ghost in the saddle, his small body pressed against General Wen's chest as they rode. The world passed by in a blur of greens and browns, but Zhen saw none of it his eyes remained fixed on some distant point, seeing only the horrors he'd left behind.

The silence between them stretched like a taught rope until, finally, it broke.

"Where is my brother?" The words came out rusty from disuse, barely more than a whisper. They were the first words Zhen had spoken in days, and they made General Wen's heart ache.

"A-Zhen," the general began, his voice gentle but firm. He wouldn't insult the boy with lies, he'd seen too much truth already. "Your brother is probably dead."

"Where is he?" Zhen's voice grew stronger, insistent. "I want to see him."

"His body was never found." The words hung heavy in the air between them.

Their destination was Yangzhou, a city as different from the capital as earth from heaven. Where the capital breathed intrigue and poison, Yangzhou exhaled peace. It was a place where merchant ships dotted the Grand Canal, where gardens bloomed year-round, and where the sweet scent of osmanthus flowers filled the air instead of the metallic tang of politics.

General Wen's jaw clenched as he thought of his old friend, General Li. They had been more than commander and subordinate, they were brothers in all but blood. The betrayal that had destroyed the Li family had torn Wen's heart to shreds, but he couldn't even properly mourn. Not yet. Not while shadows followed their every move, watching, waiting for him to make a mistake that would reveal his loyalty to his fallen friend.

He couldn't keep the boy. That truth burned like acid in his stomach. But he could save him. The plan was already in motion, a new identity, a new family, a new life as far from the capital's reaching claws as possible. The Xiao family would be his salvation.

Lord Xiao and his wife had been good people, close allies of the Li family before illness claimed them both. Lord Xiao had succumbed to a wasting disease, and his wife's heart had given out soon after. Their only son, born sickly, had been sent to the Temple of Golden Light at birth. Now that boy's identity would become Zhen's shield , Xiao Wei, the miraculously recovered son, returned at last to claim his inheritance.

But first, they had to survive the journey. Assassins had already found them three times on the main road, each attack barely thwarted. Now they traveled through lesser known paths, though danger lurked there too.

"Elder, may I ask where this road leads?" General Wen inquired respectfully.

The old man paused, leaning on his wooden staff. "This path leads to an old temple. A place of prayer and forgotten souls." He studied the general with shrewd eyes. "Where might you be headed, my lord?"

"Merely wandering," General Wen replied with a polite nod before slipping a few coins into the man's palm.

The temple might provide them a place to rest and a secluded spot to meet the Xiao family's trusted servant. He could not accompany Zhen to the very end it was too dangerous for both of them. But he would see to it that the boy reached safety, no matter the cost.

Meanwhile, in a lavishly appointed room in the capital, two men sat drinking tea from cups worth more than a farmer's yearly harvest. Sunlight filtered through ornate screens, casting shadows that seemed to dance around them like conspirators.

"The boy is with him," one said, reading from a freshly delivered message. His silk robes rustled as he set down the paper.

"They must die." The other man's voice was calm, as if discussing the weather rather than murder.

"I know." A cold smile curved the first man's lips. "They won't make it through the night. I'll make sure of it."

The tea ceremony continued, each careful movement a stark contrast to the casual cruelty of their words. In the capital, death was just another item to be discussed over fine tea and sweet cakes.

Back on the forest road, General Wen felt a chill run down his spine. He pulled Zhen closer, scanning the deepening shadows. The Temple waited ahead, but would they reach its sanctuary before the killers found them? The answer lay somewhere in the gathering dusk, where branches creaked and leaves whispered of dangers yet to come.

The ancient temple stood silent and empty as General Wen led the young boy inside. He had already sent word to the Xiao household, though his mind was heavy with worry

The temple air hung heavy with incense long since burned away. Dust motes danced in the shafts of dying sunlight as the General settled beside Zhen on the worn steps of the altar. The boy's eyes were vacant, lost in a darkness the General wished he could chase away.

"Zhen'er," he called softly. The child was aware of his surroundings but seemed trapped in a fog of exhaustion and despair, lacking the will to respond. The General understood the boy's state all too well.

"I remember when you and your brother came into this world," the General continued, letting warmth seep into his words. "Such tiny things, but your first cries shook the rafters." A ghost of a smile touched his weathered face. "Your father, that proud, stern man, he wept. Actually wept! Two sons, he kept saying. The heavens had blessed him with two sons."

"He hates me," Zhen whispered, breaking his silence.

The General shook his head gently. "He doesn't hate you, Zhen'er. He wanted you to become the best version of yourself." He smiled sadly, remembering his old friend's strict principles. "Your father was frustrated that you had different ideas and interests, yes, but he was proud that you pursued what you loved. He was harder on you because he wanted you to be ready to take his place someday. Your brother was different, he embraced your father's teachings eagerly but that doesn't mean your father loved you any less."

"Was my father a bad man?" Zhen's question hung heavy in the air.

"No," the General answered firmly. "He wasn't."

"Then why is he dead? Why do people say he did terrible things?"

The General chose his words carefully. "People often speak without understanding. Your father was straightforward and lived by his principles. He was powerful, and..." he paused, searching for the right words, "some people feared that power. That's why they plotted against him."

Tears welled up in Zhen's eyes. "I want my brother."

"I'm sorry, child. Your mother helped him escape, but..." the General's voice cracked. "They caught him. He's gone."

"Why didn't they kill me too? I'm part of the family," Zhen asked, surprising the General with his directness.

"I believe it's because few knew of you, and your different way of dressing protected you from recognition. Though not from everyone, we've been attacked all the way here."

"Why couldn't you save my father like you saved me?" The boy's question struck deep into the General's heart.

"I'm sorry, my boy. It was beyond my power to save him." The General took a deep breath. He placed a hand on Zhen's shoulder. "Listen to me now. From this moment on, you will go with another man who will take you to a safe place. You will live under a new name, free to grow and find your own path. That is what your father would have wanted."

The boy's lips trembled. "Are you leaving me too?" he asked, his voice breaking.

The general's heart ached at the sight. "I must, Zhen. If I stay, we will both die. But you must live. For your family."

Zhen threw his arms around the general, sobbing. Wen held him tightly, knowing this might be their final embrace.

Suddenly, the General tensed. Something felt wrong. He quickly hid Zhen in a secure spot and drew his sword, waiting. A priest in white robes, his head cleanly shaven, entered the temple.

"What an interesting hour to seek the gods," the priest mused.

"Is there a set time to pray?" the general retorted, his grip firm on his blade.

The priest chuckled. "You are right." His eyes flicked to the sword. "Are you planning to kill me with that?"

"If I must."

"Aren't you afraid of divine punishment for spilling holy blood?"

The general smirked. "I am not a believer."

The priest laughed again. "Then I am no threat to you. I only came to visit an old friend."

Wen remained suspicious but did not strike. The priest turned to leave. "Should you ever need anything, you may find me nearby."

After the priest departed, the General barely had time to breathe before he heard them, many footsteps approaching. "A-Zhen, stay here and remain silent," he commanded before investigating.

Peering through a crack, he saw them, a sea of faceless men cloaked in black. A lethal force. He knew instantly they could not fight them all.

There was only one choice.

He scooped up the boy and fled through the back. Running through the fields, he ensured no one saw them. The priest's house was close. He hurried there, but found it empty.

"Zhen'er, stay here. When the old man returns, seek his help. Someone will come for you soon," the general said hastily.

"No! Don't leave me!" The boy clung to him, weeping.

General Wen had no choice. He knocked the boy unconscious, gently placing him inside through a window.

Then, he sent a message to the Xiao family before turning back to the temple.

The General knew that staying with Zhen meant certain death for them both. Instead, he would make his last stand count, if he was to die tonight, he would ensure none of their pursuers survived to threaten the boy ever again.

Blood roared in General Wen's ears as he faced the shadows that seemed to birth demons. His hands, calloused from thirty years of swordplay, gripped his blade with the desperation of a father protecting his child. Because that's what Zhen had become to him not just his friend's son, but a piece of his own heart.

The first assassins died quickly, their blood black in the moonlight. But there were so many, too many. Every breath burned in his lungs, each parry sent shockwaves of pain through his aging muscles. A blade kissed his ribs, hot and sharp, and he felt warm blood soaking his inner robes. Another cut opened his shoulder, the pain distant but insistent, like an old friend's nagging voice.

"For Zhen," he whispered through gritted teeth, his sword finding another throat. "For his father." Another slash, another body falling. "For his mother." Block, parry, thrust. He was dancing with death, and his partners were multiplying.

His vision blurred, from sweat or tears or exhaustion, he couldn't tell anymore. This was it, he thought. This was where his story would end. But then...

Lord Xiao Feng burst into the courtyard like an avenging spirit, his personal guard fanning out behind him. Their arrival transformed the battle. Where before the General had fought for survival, now the assassins found themselves trapped between hammer and anvil.

Xiao Feng fought with the precise brutality of a man born to power and trained to keep it. His sword techniques were different from the General's battlefield style, more elegant, but no less lethal. Together, they carved through the remaining assassins until only one remained, disarmed and pinned by Xiao Feng's guards.

The General swayed on his feet, blood seeping through his robes. They made their way to the priest's house, where they found the holy man waiting, herbs and bandages already prepared. The priest's hands moved with practiced efficiency as he treated the General's wounds, while Xiao Feng's men disposed of the bodies and secured their prisoner for questioning.

Dawn was breaking when Zhen finally stirred. The boy's first conscious thought was of his protector, and panic seized him immediately.

"Uncle Wen!" His frightened voice echoed through the small house. "Uncle Wen!" Tears streamed down his face as he scrambled through rooms, each empty space feeding his terror. "Please, no, please..." He was sobbing now, convinced he'd lost another piece of his shattered world.

Then the door opened, and General Wen stepped in. Despite his bandaged wounds and obvious exhaustion, he smiled at the boy. Zhen launched himself across the room, colliding with the General's legs.

"You're alive!" The boy's voice was muffled against Wen's robes.

The General laughed softly, though it pulled at his wounds. "Yes, I'm alive, little one."

Xiao Feng entered behind them, his sharp eyes taking in the scene. "If your father saw you crying like a girl, he'd weep," he said bluntly.

Zhen hastily wiped his tears, embarrassment coloring his cheeks.

"I am Xiao Feng, your father's friend," the lord continued. "I'll be the one ensuring your safety from now on."

"I don't want to go with him," Zhen declared, clinging tighter to Wen and meeting Feng's gaze with defiance.

Xiao Feng's eyes hardened. "I see why your twin was considered the better son. You lack both manners and respect."

Zhen fell silent, but his grip on Wen didn't loosen.

"I want to stay with you," he whispered to the General.

"Earlier you wept at the thought of his death," Xiao Feng's voice cut through the moment like a blade. "Now you would condemn him to it by staying? Your entire family lies dead, and you survive only through fortune and others' sacrifice. Yet here you stand, disrespecting those who risk everything to keep you breathing."

"Lord Xiao," Wen began, protective instinct rising, "he doesn't understand—"

"He must learn to understand," Feng interrupted. "General Wen has his own family to protect, yet he places them in danger for your sake. And this is how you repay that sacrifice? With selfishness?"

Something shifted in Zhen's expression. The defiance melted away, replaced by understanding that aged his young face. He stepped back from Wen and bowed deeply.

"I apologize for my attitude," he said formally. "I was thinking only of myself."

The men exchanged surprised glances, having expected tears or further defiance. Instead, they saw a glimpse of the man this boy might become.

"Good," Xiao Feng said, his tone softening slightly. "You know how to acknowledge your mistakes and make amends. Now bid farewell to the General and thank our host. We must leave quickly, for everyone's safety."

Zhen turned to the priest and bowed again, offering sincere thanks for the shelter and protection. Then he faced General Wen, emotions warring on his face. This time when he embraced the General, it wasn't with desperate clinging but with gratitude.

« we are going to meet again," Zhen said softly.

The General patted his head gently. "I hope so, Zhen'er."

They parted then, each to their separate paths, the priest to his prayers, the General to his family, and Zhen to whatever future Xiao Feng could salvage for him. The morning mist swallowed their departing figures, leaving the temple grounds peaceful once more, as if the night's violence had been nothing but a dream.

The journey to Yangzhou stretched through a day that felt endless. By nightfall, Zhen had fallen into exhausted slumber, his small body curled trustingly against Lord Xiao Feng as their carriage finally passed through the massive gates of the Xiao estate. Lanterns cast dancing shadows across the courtyard as servants hurried to greet their master's return.

Feng carried the sleeping boy himself, dismissing the servants who stepped forward to help. Zhen stirred slightly as they climbed the stairs to the eastern wing, but didn't wake. The chamber had been prepared with careful attention, fresh linens, a bowl of clear water, screens positioned to block the morning sun. With unexpected tenderness, Feng tucked the boy into bed, his hand lingering briefly on Zhen's head before he turned away.

In his own chambers, his wife Lady Ming waited, her elegant features lined with concern. She rose immediately as he entered, her eyes scanning him for injuries.

"Are you alright, fujin?" Her hands fluttered like nervous birds. "And Zhen? Is the child safe?"

Feng drew her into his arms, breathing in the familiar scent of osmanthus that always clung to her hair. "I'm fine, furen. The boy is sleeping soundly."

"And the others?" She pulled back slightly to study his face. "How did everything proceed?"

"For now, all is well." Ming moved to help him out of his travel-stained robes, her movements practiced and intimate. "Though the rumors are spreading like wildfire through Yangzhou. Everyone whispers about the surviving son of the late Lord Xiao. They wonder what he looks like, whether he can possibly live a normal life now." Her voice carried the weight of genuine worry. "The gossip spreads too quickly. I fear what might happen if someone recognizes him..."

"Don't worry," Feng said, catching her restless hands in his. "I'll make everything right." But even as he spoke the words, he knew the challenge that lay ahead.

The Xiao mansion was a spider's web of competing interests and old grievances. In the main wing lived Feng with Ming and their daughter, Mei, a precocious child of twelve who already showed signs of her father's sharp mind. The eastern wing housed Feng's younger half brother, Jun, and his wife Su-Lin, a marriage that had brought wealth but little harmony to the household.

The family matriarch, Lady Chen, maintained her own quarters in the northern wing, from where she ruled the domestic sphere with an iron will barely softened by silk and courtesy. And in the western wing dwelled Jun's mother, Lady Wu, the second wife of their late father, a woman whose ambitions for her son had never quite been satisfied by his position as the younger brother.

Now into this delicate balance, they were introducing Zhen, the orphaned son of their deceased cousin, a branch of the family that had fallen from grace in spectacular fashion. The boy's very existence would upset carefully maintained alliances and reignite old jealousies.

Feng could already imagine the reactions: Lady Chen would see the boy as both obligation and opportunity, a chance to reshape a young mind to the family's advantage. Lady Wu would view him as a threat to her son's position, another competitor for the family's resources and attention. Jun might resent this reminder of the cousin who had once overshadowed him, while Su-Lin would calculate how this new addition might affect her own standing in the household.

Even now, Feng could feel the ripples of change spreading through the mansion. Servants whispered in corners, carrying tales between wings like bees bearing pollen. Tomorrow, when Zhen woke, the real challenges would begin.