CHAPTER THIRTEEN
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The storm began quietly — a steady drizzle against the windows of Red Lotus Mansion. By the time night fell, the city was drowning in thunder and light.
Jiang Ren sat alone in the mansion's art room, paintbrush limp in his hand. The canvas before him — once vivid — was smeared with gray and red, the colors bleeding like memories he couldn't control.
He could still hear her voice — calm, unflinching, slicing through him like a blade.
General Li: You're weak, Jiang. The world doesn't slow down for people who can't keep up.
He had laughed then — bitterly, quietly. But now, in the silence, the words echoed.
And then came the flashback — the bang that never left his head.
Smoke. Fire. Screams.
His parents' office engulfed in flame — the bomb that erased everything he loved when he was barely fourteen.
He remembered standing outside the ruins, covered in ash, clutching a sketchbook that didn't survive.
His hands trembled. His chest tightened.
The air wouldn't come.
Jiang Ren: Stop it (he gasped to himself, gripping the edge of the table). 停止—
TRANSLATION: Stop—
Stronger and stronger, the trauma built.
Jiang Ren: (Tight breath) Agh, get out of my head! Agh—
But the panic clawed deeper, dragging him into that same suffocating terror. He stumbled out of the room, down the corridor, past her men
Head Maid: Young Master, please you must not step out of the mansion!
Jiang Ren: (Hurt and muttered) I can't—
Head Butler: The Madame specifically ordered—!
Jiang Ren: (Enraged) I said get the heck out of my way!!
His shocking temper left them flabbergasted – no one dared stop him.
By the time they realized, he was gone.
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The rain swallowed the city whole.
Jiang stumbled through narrow streets, hair soaked, shirt plastered to his skin. Neon lights flickered above him — red, blue, green — colors that blurred into one another as if mocking the order his world once had.
He sat openly at a small, noisy bar — the kind that smelled of smoke and good liquor.
Jiang Ren: Ten bottles, Boast (he muttered to the bartender).
The man blinked.
Bartender: Ten? You sure—
Jiang Ren: (Emotionless) I said ten.
He sat at a random table, the sound of bottles clinking numbly in his ears. Around him, laughter and chatter felt like another world. He drank — fast, reckless, like he could drown the memories before they drowned him.
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At the mansion, Li Xuefang stood before the security feed, her jaw tightening.
General Li: He left on foot?
Commander Shen: Yes, General. We traced him up to the old district, then lost the signal.
Rain hammered against the windows, lightning flashing behind her.
General Li: Mobilize a search team. No sirens. He's already unstable — if he sees us, he'll run.
Colonel Mei: Yes, General.
But she didn't wait. She grabbed her coat, ignoring the aide's protest, and stepped into the storm herself.
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The rain hit like shards of glass as she moved through the crowded streets — soaked civilians huddling under umbrellas, neon signs glowing through sheets of water.
Her boots splashed through puddles as she scanned every corner, every face. Her voice stayed low but sharp through her comm link.
Xynra: Sector four clear. Moving to five.
Thunder rolled. The search dragged on.
Then — she turned a corner, her breath catching for the first time all night.
Through the curtain of rain, she saw a familiar silhouette leaning against a flickering streetlight — head bowed, soaked to the bone.
A sigh of relief escaped her lips, quiet, almost invisible beneath the rain.
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