Chapter 2: The Weight of Truth

The smell of burnt food filled the kitchen as I came down for morning breakfast.

"Lin! You're doing it wrong again!" I called out, half-laughing, half-choking on the smoke.

Zhao Lin grinned from the stove, flipping what was supposed to be a pancake, at least according to him. It landed with a soft plop—half-raw and charred.

"Perfectly golden-brown wouldn't you agree, Feng?" he said proudly. 

I burst out laughing, almost spilling my orange juice in the process. "That thing looks like it came out of an ashtray!"

"Well, looks aren't everything," he replied, holding it up with a fork like it was a trophy. "Besides, you said you wanted breakfast. You never told me what you wanted it to look like."

It was a disaster. But I ate it anyway. That was my brother—ever since our parents died a year ago, he became something else entirely. Stronger. Louder. Always smiling. Every morning, without fail, he made breakfast. Sometimes edible. Sometimes not. But always with that grin on his face, as if nothing in the world could break him.

Sometimes I wondered—why didn't he cry like I did? Why did he play music while mopping the floors? Why did he dance while scrubbing dishes? It didn't make sense.

The rare occasions when I didn't see my brother smile were when he was perched in front of the TV after breakfast, with a serious-looking expression on his face. That added to another one of my endless lists of questions: how can someone who was just laughing and giggling a few minutes ago look so distant all of a sudden from watching TV?

On the screen, a tired-looking man was led into a police car. The headline read:

Local Man Sentenced to Life for Robbery and Murder.

Lin's face turned unreadable.

Tilting my head slightly, I sighed. "Why are you watching the news again? It's always sad stuff."

He didn't answer at first. Just stared.

"Did he really kill someone?" I asked, chewing my burnt pancake.

"He did," Zhao Lin murmured. "But I don't think he meant to."

I frowned. "Then why'd he steal? That's dumb."

"He probably didn't have a choice."

I blinked. "Everyone has a choice."

"He had two daughters," Lin added quietly. "He might've done it for them."

"That's still stupid," I shot back. "If he needed help, he could've just asked someone."

Lin finally looked at me. His eyes were darker than I'd ever seen, heavy in a way I didn't understand back then.

"Sometimes," he said, "people don't commit crimes because they want to. They do it because the world leaves them with no other choice."

His words felt heavier than usual.

"But we're okay, right?" I asked. "Even after Mom and Dad, you said we'd be fine because we have each other."

Zhao Lin smiled—his usual, lopsided grin—but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Always," he said. "We always have each other."

He turned off the TV and tossed the last charred pancake on a plate, sliding it to me. 

"Now eat up. I worked very hard to make that."

I laughed again because I didn't know what else to do. I didn't know how to feel. I had no idea why the news made him so serious, just like how I still don't know why he changed so much since losing our parents. But for some reason, his jokes felt sad that morning.

"You better get going, don't you have friends waiting?" he said, sipping his coffee.

"Oh shoot!" I bolted out the door. "Bye, Lin!"

I didn't know it then, but that was the last time I would ever say those words to him.

Zhao Lin stood silently by the window, watching me disappear down the street. His coffee sat untouched on the table.

"I'm sorry, Feng," he whispered. "I tried to protect you for as long as I could."

A knock came at the door.

He didn't need to check who it was. He had known they would come.

Three men entered, dressed in black, faces unreadable. One held a knife.

"You know why we're here," the tallest said.

Zhao Lin didn't flinch. "I did what any normal person would have done. And I'd do it again, knowing all I do know," as he exhaled slowly, shoulders relaxing.

The men advanced slowly towards him, their blades gleaming in the reflection of the fireplace.

"Feng'er… I'm sorry. You will one day understand."

A flash. A single swift motion—and the story of Zhao Lin collapsed into nothingness.

***

That afternoon, the sun dipped low as I skipped home, excited to bug my brother with more questions.

However, as I opened the door, I found the house too quiet.

No music. No sizzling from the kitchen. No humming, no couch potato Lin.

Something was wrong.

"Zhao Lin?" I called. No answer.

I moved slowly, my breath catching with each step. 

And then I saw him.

My brother.

Motionless, on the ground, a crimson stain spreading from his neck to his lower abdomen, seeping into the carpet of our living room. His eyes, once so full of mystery, were empty now, staring into the ceiling as though searching for truths that slipped his grasp. 

"Lin Ge?" I whispered, as if saying his name would wake him. But he didn't move. He didn't blink. He didn't breathe.

He was dead. 

And my world collapsed.

The life I had clung to, the walls that sheltered me crumpled, and the brother who had always stood between me and the darkness vanished, shattered beyond recognition.

***

The media called it a tragic accident. A robbery gone wrong.

But I knew better.

The wound on his chest was clean. Precise. No fight, no struggle. My brother accepted what was coming. 

I held his cold body, sobbing into the carpet.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I whispered. "Why didn't you let me help?"

Years of confusion, anger, and grief exploded all at once. I wept for my brother. For the memories we would never make. And for the unbearable truth that no matter how much I regret, how much I prayed to understand him back then, nothing would bring him back.

Minutes turned to hours, hours turned to days. I couldn't stop thinking. If everything I had believed to be true was nothing more than a shield my brother had built to protect me, then how much do I really know? About him, the world, about anything at all?

***

Seven Years Later

Time doesn't heal. It hardens. Seven years ago, I was just a kid, believing I could be anything in the world, believing I could save those who needed help, a hero figure. In the end, I couldn't save anything. I was no different than anyone else.

After Zhao Lin's death, that version of me died alongside him. In his place, something else began to manifest.

I became something else. Something relentless.

I hunted for the truth. I hacked into government databases, traced names, and forced answers out of people who didn't want to give them.

Bit by bit, I started to learn about the truth.

It wasn't just him. Our parents, too. They never died in a car crash. That was a lie, too.

Dad never drove. I remember that clearly. So why did they die in a "crash"? Because they knew something. Just like Lin.

They were eliminated.

But why?

***

It rained the night I confronted the prosecutors. I had forced a meeting, begged them to reopen the case.

They smiled. Listened. Nodded.

Then kicked me out the back door.

I stood there, soaked to the bone, fists clenched until my palms bled.

"So this is what you felt, brother?" I whispered into the silence.

"You wore a smile while the world tore into you... just so I wouldn't see how cruel it really was."

The rain mixed with my tears as I sank to my knees.

"If anyone's listening… give me strength. I'll burn this system to the ground. I'll break free from this injustice."

Thunder cracked across the sky as my vision blurred. The last thing I felt was the ground beneath me, as I sank deep within my own consciousness, filled with regrets and questions.

Then—darkness.

***

When I woke up, I was no longer in my world.

This place was something else. A foreign realm, ancient and alive with strange power. I wasn't Zhao Feng anymore.

I wasn't weak.

The fire inside me—grief, rage, injustice—had transformed into something new.

Power.

"Someone gave me a second chance," I whispered. "I won't waste it."

I rose from the ground, eyes sharp with purpose.

"I'm not here to be a hero. I'm here to destroy the system. To end the lies. To do what my brother died protecting me from."

The past had turned to ash.

But the fire had only just begun.