New Identity

Lord Pei sat in his study reading a letter, his face grim. His wife Ming watched him with worry in her eyes.

"What does it say? Why do you look so sad?" Ming asked, sitting beside him.

"Duke Li is dead. His wife too," he said, his voice heavy with sadness.

Lady Ming's hand flew to her mouth, stifling a gasp. "Heavens preserve us," she breathed, her eyes glistening with sudden tears. "He was a great man, noble in ways few understand these days."

"Indeed he was," Lord Pei replied, memories of his friend's laughter momentarily softening the grief etched upon his face. "One of the last truly honorable men in the kingdom."

"The children," Lady Ming's voice quavered as the full horror of the situation dawned on her. "Have they executed the children too?" The question hung in the air, terrible in its implications.

Lord Pei closed his eyes briefly, as if to shield himself from the weight of his knowledge. "The youngest is confirmed dead," he said, his voice barely audible. "But the eldest—" He paused, calculating the risks even in the privacy of his own chambers. "The eldest has not yet been found."

"Can we help somehow?" Ming asked, leaning forward.

"We can't do anything right now," Pei said, rubbing his forehead. "General Lu promised to save the last child if he can. If he succeeds without problems, we might be able to help the boy. But we must be careful. The Li family has been labeled as traitors. Anyone caught helping them will face the same punishment."

The Pei family's own history was marked by both privilege and pain. After the untimely death of the late Lord Pei and his wife in a tragic accident, their firstborn son, Pei Xianrui, had been sent to a temple at birth due to a permanent, contagious illness. while Lord Pei Yifeng, the younger brother, had taken up his sibling's mantle and responsibilities.

The following day, Lord Pei received another message from General Lu. Lady Ming watched as her husband's expression shifted while reading the hurriedly penned characters.

"The boy is safe for now," Lord Pei read aloud, his voice tense. "I cannot remain to protect him. I seek your help in keeping him secure until we determine our next course of action."

Lady Ming's brow furrowed with concern. "Where can we possibly hide him?" She paced the room, hands clasped tightly before her. "We must act quickly, before someone discovers him. Did the General provide his location?"

Lord Pei nodded. "I've already dispatched someone to retrieve him discreetly. We cannot afford to draw attention."

"And once he arrives?" Lady Ming pressed, her mind racing. "Where will you conceal him?"

Lord Pei's expression betrayed his uncertainty. "I confess, I am not certain."

They fell into troubled silence, each lost in thought. Suddenly, Lady Ming's eyes widened with inspiration.

"I believe I know a way," she said cautiously, studying her husband's face.

"What is it, Furen?" he encouraged, noticing her hesitation.

"What if," she began, choosing her words carefully, "instead of hiding him, we allow him to live freely, with a proper identity and future?"

Lord Pei's brow furrowed in confusion. "What are you suggesting?"

"Pei Xianrui," she said meaningfully, holding his gaze.

He stared at her, processing her implication. Understanding dawned slowly, followed by alarm. "Surely you don't mean to present him as my nephew?"

"Yes," she replied simply.

"That's madness!" he exclaimed, rising from his seat. "Do you wish death upon our entire family?"

"Just listen," she implored, her voice steady despite his outburst. "The boy has been declared dead – no one is searching for him. There are no portraits, no descriptions circulating. Few even knew him by sight. Meanwhile, poor Xianrui suffers from an affliction that cannot be cured. He is destined to remain in that temple for all his days."

Her voice softened with compassion. "Why not give his identity to Zhen? At least one of them might enjoy a normal life. What's the purpose of saving his life if he must forever remain hidden? No one knows Xianrui's appearance. And think of your mother – how her health has declined since losing her eldest grandson. This could bring her joy again."

Lord Pei's expression remained troubled. "It's still perilously dangerous."

Lady Ming stepped closer, taking his hands in hers. "I am not afraid to take this risk," she said, her eyes shining with determination. "If I am not afraid, why should you be?"

Lord Pei was a man of principle, much like his friend Duke Li. Both were straightforward and honest men in a world increasingly dominated by deception. When General Lu had contacted him about protecting the boy, Lord Pei yifeng wanted to agree without hesitation. Yet bringing a strange child into their household would inevitably raise questions. The solution would require subtlety and careful planning.

"Young master, we're starting our journey," the servant said to Zhen. Even though the boy didn't answer, the servant kept talking to him. "Lord Pei will meet us when we reach the city."

Carefully, he lifted the child into the waiting carriage, and they set forth. Throughout their travels, the servant sent regular updates to Lord Pei, assuring him of the boy's safety. But their good fortune was not to last.

As daylight faded into twilight, they searched for lodging along the increasingly deserted road. The servant felt a crawling unease as the shadows deepened around them. Perhaps they should have brought additional guards, despite the risk of drawing attention.

The attack came swiftly – more than ten bandits armed with hammers and axes emerged from the darkened forest. The servant's blood ran cold as they surrounded the carriage.

"Please," he begged, trembling, "I have nothing of value – just myself and my sick son."

The bandits dragged him from his seat and flung him to the ground while others searched the carriage, finding only the silent boy sitting within.

"Is this your son?" one demanded, his voice rough with menace.

"Yes," the servant pleaded, desperation making his voice crack. "Please, he's ill—"

The leader cut him off with a cruel laugh. "If you want him back, bring money and find us. If not," he added with a malicious grin, "he'll make our pets' next meal."

The servant prostrated himself, begging them to take him instead of the child. His only answer was a vicious kick to his stomach.

"Your flesh is old," the bandit sneered.

They departed with the boy, leaving the carriage in splinters. With shaking hands, the servant reached for his messenger bird, scrawling a frantic note to his lord even as pain radiated through his battered body. As the bird took flight, he closed his eyes in silent prayer, knowing that Lord Pei's wrath would be terrible indeed, but would it come soon enough to save the child?

Yifeng's heart hammered against his ribs as he paced the study floor. The wooden planks creaked beneath his feet, marking each anxious step. Outside, rain tapped gently against the paper windows, as if nature itself was counting down the moments. He glanced at Ming, his wife, who sat with her hands tightly clasped in her lap, knuckles white with tension.

"What if they reject him?" she whispered, voicing the fear that had kept them both awake for nights.

Yifeng stopped pacing and knelt before her, taking her trembling hands in his. "Then we face it together," he said, his voice catching. "But he belongs here. He's family."

Ming's eyes shimmered with unshed tears. She nodded and squeezed his hands. The unspoken worry hung between them, this announcement could tear the family apart.

When they finally gathered the courage to enter the dining chamber, the weight of what they were about to do made Yifeng's steps heavy. The family waited in tense silence. Lady Chen, once vibrant and commanding, now looked frail, her shoulders slightly hunched as if carrying an invisible burden. Her eyes, though clouded with age, still held the sharp intelligence that had guided the family through countless crises.

Lady Wu sat beside her, back straight as a sword, her perfectly arranged hair adorned with jade pins that caught the light from the oil lamps. Her mouth was set in a thin line of perpetual disapproval. Young Jun slouched in his chair, picking at his fingernails with bored indifference, while his wife Su-lin sat like a porcelain doll, beautiful and cold, her eyes constantly calculating.

"Son," Lady Chen called out, her voice thin but carrying the authority of decades as family matriarch. "You've kept us waiting." The lines around her eyes deepened with concern. "What troubles you so much that you call us all together like this?"

Yifeng felt Ming's hand slip into his, her touch grounding him. The room suddenly felt too small, too hot. He cleared his throat, mouth dry as desert sand.

"I have news," he began, his voice stronger than he felt. "Good news that will bring joy back to our household."

All eyes shifted to Ming, whose cheeks flushed pink under their scrutiny. Lady Chen's gaze dropped to Ming's belly, a smile starting to form on her weathered face.

"We are bringing a child into our family," Yifeng confirmed, watching hope bloom across his mother's features.

"Oh!" Lady Chen exclaimed, pressing a hand to her heart. "After all this time! How far along are you, dear?" she asked Ming, whose blush deepened to crimson.

Yifeng raised his hand, heart twisting at having to redirect his mother's joy. "Mother, it's not what you think." He paused, gathering courage. "It's about Xianrui."

The name fell into the room like a stone into still water. Lady Chen froze, her smile fading. Lady Wu's eyes narrowed to slits. Jun's head snapped up, suddenly interested. Su-lin's fingers tightened around her teacup.

"My grandson?" Lady Chen's voice quavered, hope and fear battling in those two simple words. "What of him?"

Yifeng couldn't contain his smile any longer. "He has recovered from his illness. He's coming home to us."

Lady Chen's reaction was immediate and raw. A strangled sob escaped her lips as she pressed trembling fingers against her mouth. Tears spilled freely down her cheeks, carving glistening paths through the powder on her face. She stood on unsteady legs and stumbled toward Yifeng, who caught her in his arms.

"Is it true?" she wept against his shoulder, her thin body shaking with emotion. "My little bird is coming home?"

"Yes, Mother," Yifeng whispered, his own eyes burning. "He's coming home."

The rest of the family's reactions played across their faces like shadows. Lady Wu's lips pressed together so tightly they nearly disappeared, though she forced them into a smile that never touched her cold eyes. Jun sank deeper into his chair, shoulders hunched as if warding off a blow. Su-lin's perfect mask slipped for just a moment, revealing naked calculation before she composed herself again.

"How wonderful," Su-lin said, her voice honey-sweet but laced with something bitter. "How did he recover? Is his illness..." she paused delicately, "...contagious?"

The room grew still, the happiness of the moment punctured. Everyone turned to look at her, and Su-lin shifted uncomfortably under their gaze.

"I only ask out of concern for the family," she stammered, fingers nervously plucking at her embroidered sleeve. "For the children."

Yifeng felt anger rise in his chest, hot and suffocating. He fought to keep his voice level. "He has fully recovered. He is no longer sick nor contagious." His eyes bored into Su-lin's. "He can return to take his rightful place as a son of the Pei family."

The unspoken implication hung in the air: the boy would reclaim his position in the family hierarchy. No one dared argue, though the smiles that followed were as brittle as thin ice. Lady Chen didn't notice, too lost in her joy, wiping tears from her wrinkled cheeks.

The tension was broken when the door flew open. A servant burst in, face flushed and breathing hard. His eyes were wide with panic. In his hand was a crumpled letter.

"My lord," he gasped, bowing hastily. "Urgent news."

The room fell silent as Yifeng took the letter. The paper felt ominously heavy in his hands. He excused himself, Ming's worried eyes following him as he strode quickly to his study. With shaking fingers, he broke the seal.

The characters seemed to swim before his eyes as the meaning sank in. The servant he'd sent to fetch Zhen had been attacked. The boy had been taken.

A cold fist of dread squeezed Yifeng's heart. He had just announced the boy's return, his mother had just found hope again, and now this? For a moment, he couldn't breathe, couldn't think. Then rage surged through him, burning away the fear.

He slammed his fist against the wall, pain shooting up his arm. The physical shock cleared his mind. He had to act now. Rushing to the courtyard, he summoned three of his most trusted guards.

"Arm yourselves," he commanded, his voice tight with controlled fury. "We ride immediately."

Within moments, they were galloping through the city gates, the thunder of hooves matching the storm in Yifeng's heart. Wind whipped at his face, carrying the first hint of rain. He didn't care. All that mattered was finding the boy, the last connection to his dear friend, the rightful heir, the child who had already suffered too much.

They reached the outskirts of Yangzhou as the sky darkened, both with coming night and gathering storm clouds. Their horses were lathered with sweat, sides heaving from the punishing pace. Yifeng spotted his servant sitting by the roadside, head in his hands, the picture of defeat.

Yifeng leapt from his horse before it had fully stopped, nearly stumbling in his haste. "Are you hurt?" he demanded, scanning the man for injuries.

The servant looked up, his face a mask of misery. When he recognized Yifeng, he threw himself to the ground, forehead pressed to the dirt in desperate kowtow.

"Forgive me, my lord!" he wailed, voice cracking with shame and fear. "I failed to protect the young master! They came from nowhere, too many to fight!"

Yifeng grabbed the man's shoulders and pulled him upright, impatience and fear making his movements rough. "There's no time for this. Where did they take him? Where is the boy?"

The servant's face crumpled. "I don't know exactly," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "They said if I want the boy back, I must bring silver, more than I could ever afford." His eyes, red from crying, met Yifeng's. "But people around here might know of them. They seemed... familiar with the area."

Yifeng turned to his guards. "Ask everyone. Find out where these vermin hide."

The search was shockingly brief. The bandits were notorious in the region. The first person they questioned, an old farmer with skin like cracked leather and eyes that had seen too many seasons, knew exactly where to find them.

"Follow this road," the old man said, pointing with a gnarled finger that shook slightly. "When you reach the rice fields, turn right and keep going until you find an abandoned temple. That's where they nest like rats." He squinted up at Yifeng, taking in his fine clothes and the quality of his sword. "What business do you have with them, my lord? They're dangerous men—killers, some say."

Yifeng pressed several silver coins into the man's weathered palm. "Thank you for your help." He didn't answer the question. There wasn't time to explain, and the old man's eyes widened at the generous payment.

Mounting his horse, Yifeng signaled to his men, and they set off toward the temple. The first fat raindrops began to fall, cold against his skin, but Yifeng barely noticed. His mind was filled with images of what might be happening to the boy, the same boy who had already witnessed horrors no child should ever see.

Inside the crumbling temple, Zhen huddled against a cold stone wall. The ancient stone leached warmth from his body, but he welcomed the discomfort, it kept him alert, focused. The air smelled of mold, unwashed bodies, and fear. He wasn't alone, other captives were scattered around the temple's main hall, mostly children with a few older people. Their faces were dirty, clothes torn, eyes vacant or red from crying.

The sight stirred something in Zhen's memory, unwanted images that flashed behind his eyes like lightning. This wasn't his first captivity. He remembered another time, another place, but the same helplessness, the same fear that coated his tongue like bitter medicine.

A small boy nearby began to cry, the sound starting as a whimper and building to heart-wrenching sobs that echoed off the stone walls. The child couldn't be more than five or six, with skinny arms and a shaved head showing the blue-black shadow of hair just beginning to grow back.

Zhen stared at him, and suddenly his heart lurched painfully in his chest. The boy was the same age as Zhenyu had been. His brother. The thought hit Zhen like a physical blow, stealing his breath.

Where is Zhenyu?

The question emerged from some locked chamber of his mind. If he had survived that terrible night, could his brother have escaped too? A wild, desperate hope flared in Zhen's chest, burning so fiercely it hurt.

I need to find him. If he's out there, waiting, searching for me...

Zhen blinked back sudden tears and forced himself to focus. He studied his captors through narrowed eyes, assessing them as his father had taught him to assess opponents during sword practice, looking for weaknesses, opportunities.

Four men sat near the temple entrance, passing a clay jar of rice wine between them. Their laughter grew louder with each drink, their movements less coordinated. Three others lay sprawled on the floor nearby, already unconscious from drink. There must be more outside, standing guard.

The men paid little attention to their captives. They felt secure in their hideout, and what threat could children pose? Zhen had learned that adults often underestimated children, a mistake that might give him the chance he needed.

Working silently, he twisted his bound wrists, feeling the rope bite into his skin. The pain was nothing compared to the burning need to escape, to find his brother. Blood made his wrists slippery, which helped loosen the bonds slightly.

Another boy noticed his efforts and inched closer, careful not to draw attention. He was older than Zhen, maybe twelve or thirteen, with a split lip and a bruise darkening one eye.

"Turn around," the boy whispered, his breath warm against Zhen's ear. "I'll help untie you."

They worked together, fingers nimble despite their fear. When they were free, the older boy raised an eyebrow. "What now? You have a plan?"

"No," Zhen admitted, feeling the weight of the other boy's expectations.

The boy almost laughed, a small huff of air that might have been amusement in better circumstances. "So you're just waiting for them to pass out drunk?"

Zhen didn't answer. Words weren't important now. He scanned the temple, memorizing the layout, noting possible escape routes. His eyes lingered on a small window high up near the ceiling, too small for an adult, but perhaps just big enough for a child.

He knew he couldn't fight grown men, especially not so many. He had seen their cruelty firsthand since his capture, they kicked the children for sport, laughed when they cried, set their dogs on those who tried to run.

His stomach twisted as he remembered a small boy, younger even than the one crying now, who had been thrown to the dogs. The memory of those screams, the sight of small limbs thrashing as the animals tore at flesh, the smell of blood, Zhen forced the thoughts away. He couldn't afford to be sick now.

Even those horrors paled beside the memory of his parents' deaths. That night had taught Zhen to become invisible—to stay perfectly still when danger approached, to show nothing on his face, to become like a stone.

One of the bandits had kicked him, sending him tumbling across the dirty floor. The pain had been intense, but Zhen hadn't made a sound. His fall had landed him near a discarded knife, its blade dulled but still serviceable. His fingers had just closed around the handle when voices announced new arrivals.

Through the temple doorway stepped a man unlike the others. His clothes were fine silk, his bearing proud. Even covered in travel dust, he was clearly nobility. Zhen's heart leapt, was the man here to rescue one of the captives? A family member, perhaps?

"Where's the boy?" the nobleman demanded, his voice carrying the unmistakable tone of someone used to being obeyed.

One of the bandits stood, swaying slightly from drink. "Which boy? We've got several." He gestured carelessly toward the captives, laughing. "Take your pick, if you've got the silver."

The nobleman's eyes swept the room, a predator assessing its hunting ground. When his gaze locked with Zhen's, something passed between them, recognition, perhaps, though Zhen was certain he had never seen this man before.

"There's no noble's child here," another bandit said, stepping forward. "Just common brats."

The nobleman's expression hardened, lips pressing into a thin line. "You dare kidnap the young master of the Pei family and then lie to my face?" His voice was soft, but with an edge that made the hairs on Zhen's neck stand up.

Zhen's mind raced. Young master of the Pei family? Who was he talking about? How did this stranger know he came from a noble house?

In a movement so swift it was almost invisible, the nobleman drew his sword and pressed the tip to the bandit leader's throat. "Do you wish to die today?"

The leader went very still, but another bandit lunged for Zhen, dragging him up by his hair and pressing a knife to his throat. Zhen felt the cold metal against his skin, the man's arm like an iron bar across his chest.

"If I'd known the brat was so valuable," the bandit hissed, his breath hot and sour against Zhen's cheek, "I would have demanded a heap of gold for him."

Zhen felt the stolen knife in his hand, hidden behind his back. His heart pounded so hard he thought it might burst from his chest. The room seemed to slow down, sounds becoming distant. He looked at the nobleman, saw the fury and fear in the man's eyes, and made his decision.

With a twist of his body that sent fresh pain shooting through his scalp as hair tore from his head, Zhen plunged the knife into his captor's stomach.

The man's scream filled the temple as his grip loosened. Warm blood spilled over Zhen's hand, making the knife handle slippery. He wrenched it free and ran, his legs pumping wildly, focused only on the door and the freedom beyond.

Behind him, chaos erupted. The nobleman's men, hidden until now, attacked the bandits. Steel clashed against steel, men shouted and cursed. Zhen didn't look back. He burst through the door into the rain-soaked night, gulping in the clean air.

"Stop running, boy!" the nobleman called, footsteps splashing through puddles as he gave chase. "I won't hurt you!"

Zhen ran faster, rain plastering his hair to his forehead and blurring his vision. Mud sucked at his feet, nearly pulling off his worn shoes. His lungs burned, his side ached, but he pushed on. All he could think about was finding his brother.

The nobleman was faster, though, and soon caught up. His hand clamped around Zhen's arm like a vise.

"Zhen'er," the man panted, his voice gentler now. "I'm not going to harm you. I've come to take you home."

Home. The word pierced Zhen like an arrow. He had no home, not anymore. He kicked and struggled against the man's grip, feeling wild, feral. "Let me go!" he screamed, his voice raw. "I need to find him!"

The nobleman held firm, his face a mixture of concern and frustration in the dim light. "Where are you going? Your parents are gone." His voice hardened. "Do you want to get yourself killed and hurt everyone who still cares about you?"

Reality crashed down on Zhen with the force of a mountain. His parents were gone. Dead. Murdered before his eyes. The sobs came then, ripping from his chest, hot tears mixing with cold rain on his face.

"I need to go," he choked out between heaving breaths. "Zhenyu must be waiting for me. He needs me. He's all alone..." His voice broke on the last word.

Something like pity crossed the nobleman's face. Rain dripped from his hair, running in rivulets down his cheeks like tears. "Zhen'er... your brother is no longer—"

Zhen didn't let him finish. Blind rage flooded him at what he knew the man was about to say. With a swift movement born of desperation, he slashed the knife across the man's hand.

The nobleman let go with a hiss of pain. Blood mixed with rainwater, diluting to pink as it dripped from his fingers. Zhen broke free and ran again, splashing through puddles, slipping on mud.

"You're lying!" he screamed over his shoulder, voice cracking. "My brother is fine! He's waiting for me!"

The nobleman paused only briefly, pressing his wounded hand against his robes. Then he was in pursuit again, determination in every line of his body.

He hadn't expected such violence from a noble-born child. The brother he had met, Zhenyu had been polite and shy, a perfect miniature gentleman. This one was wild, dangerous even. He had to end this chase before someone saw them, before the boy hurt himself or disappeared into the night forever.

With a burst of speed, he closed the distance between them and caught Zhen again, this time wrapping both arms around the boy's thin body. Zhen fought like a cornered animal, kicking, biting, slashing with the knife. The nobleman grunted in pain but held on, finally managing to wrest the weapon from the child's small hands.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice cutting through Zhen's screams. He turned the boy to face him, holding him firmly by the shoulders. Rain poured down on them both, washing away dirt and blood. "The things you've seen are cruel beyond your years. It's hard to accept, I know. But you must face the truth."

Zhen trembled, whether from cold or emotion impossible to tell.

"Your brother wasn't as lucky as you." The nobleman's voice softened, eyes filling with genuine sorrow. "He's gone too. You are the last of your bloodline, the only one left to carry your father's name."

Each word fell like a hammer blow. Zhen's struggles weakened, his energy draining away as the truth he had been running from finally caught up to him.

"It's your duty now to live, to honor those who are gone. Your father didn't build his name and fortune for it to vanish from this world." The nobleman's grip gentled, but he didn't let go. "You shouldn't even be alive, but fate gave you another chance. Would you throw that away? Is that what your father and mother would want?"

Something broke inside Zhen. The wall he had built around his grief crumbled, and the pain rushed in like floodwater. Great, heaving sobs wracked his small body. His knees gave way, and he would have fallen if the nobleman hadn't been holding him.

"They're gone," he wailed, the words tearing from some deep, wounded place inside him. "Everyone's gone!"

The nobleman pulled him close, sheltering Zhen's head against his chest. He said nothing, just held the boy as he cried out years of bottled grief and terror. The rain continued to fall around them, as if the heavens themselves were weeping.

They stayed that way until Zhen had no tears left, until exhaustion pulled him toward unconsciousness. His sobs quieted to hiccups, then to the even breathing of sleep. The nobleman lifted him gently, cradling him like one would a much younger child.

"Rest now, Zhen'er," he murmured, though the boy couldn't hear him. "Tomorrow is time enough to begin again."

The ride back to Yangzhou was silent except for the steady rhythm of hooves and the occasional distant rumble of thunder. Zhen slumped against Yifeng's chest, lost in the deep sleep of complete emotional exhaustion. Yifeng held him securely with one arm, his wounded hand throbbing painfully with each heartbeat.

Instead of heading directly to the manor, Yifeng led his men to a respectable inn at the edge of the city. The child's condition, dirty, bloodied, dressed in rags, would raise too many questions, create too much gossip if they returned home now. Better to clean him up first, make him presentable for his formal return to family that didn't fully want him.

The innkeeper's eyes widened at the sight of a noble lord carrying a filthy, sleeping child, but silver quieted any questions. Soon they were settled in a private room, a fire crackling in the hearth, casting dancing shadows on the walls.

Yifeng sent a servant to purchase new clothes befitting a young noble, fine silk robes, proper shoes, even a jade pendant to mark his status. As the boy slept on, Yifeng gently cleaned the dirt and blood from his face and hands, wincing at the scrapes and bruises that marred the child's skin.

Zhen didn't stir, even when Yifeng bandaged his injuries. There was a cruel irony in it, the boy had survived the massacre of his family only to suffer more abuse at the hands of bandits. Yet somehow, his spirit remained unbroken. There was fire in him still, a willingness to fight that would serve him well in the political battlefield of noble houses.

The cut on Yifeng's own hand was deep, the boy had struck with surprising force and precision. He called for a doctor, who arrived quickly, summoned by more silver. The physician cleaned the wound, applied herbs and medicine, and wrapped it carefully in clean bandages.

"It will leave a scar, my lord," the doctor said apologetically.

Yifeng nodded, eyes on the sleeping child. "Some scars are worth carrying," he replied.

As night deepened, Yifeng sent a message to Ming, assuring her that he and the boy were safe and would return in the morning. He asked her to prepare the boy's chamber and to inform the family, there would be no delaying the inevitable now.

Sitting beside the sleeping child, Yifeng studied Zhen's face in the warm glow of the fire. In sleep, the fierce wildness had melted away, leaving only a vulnerable child whose eyelashes cast long shadows on his cheeks. So much pain for one so young. Yet there was strength there too, a resilience that had kept him alive when all odds were against him.

Yifeng wondered what kind of man this wild, fierce boy would grow into, and whether the Pei family was ready for the storm that was coming home to them. One thing was certain: life in their peaceful manor would never be the same again.

Outside, the rain had stopped. The clouds parted to reveal a sliver of moon, its cool light a stark contrast to the warm firelight within. A new day was coming, bringing with it both hope and challenge. Yifeng settled back in his chair to wait, guarding the sleeping boy who carried the future of a once-great family in his small, scarred hands.