The smell of burnt food filled the kitchen as I came down for breakfast.
"Lin! You're doing it wrong again!" I called, laughing and choking on the smoke.
Zhao Lin flashed me a grin from the stove, flipping what was supposed to be a pancake—at least, that's what he called it. It landed with a soft plop, half-raw and charred.
"Perfectly golden-brown, wouldn't you agree, Feng?" he said, holding it up like a trophy.
I burst out laughing, almost spilling my orange juice. "That looks like it came out of an ashtray!"
"Well, looks aren't everything," he replied, shoving the "pancake" onto a plate. "You never told me how you wanted it to look."
It was a disaster. But I ate it anyway. That was my brother—ever since our parents died, he'd become someone else. Stronger. Louder. Always smiling. Every morning, without fail, he made breakfast. Sometimes it was edible. Sometimes not. But always with that grin, like nothing 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 moments when I didn't see him smile were when he watched TV after breakfast. He would sit there, staring at the screen with a serious expression, and I'd feel this distance between us.
Today was one of those days. On the screen, a man, thin and ragged, was being led into a police car. The headline read:
Local Man Sentenced to Life for Robbery and Murder.
Lin's face turned unreadable.
I tilted my head, chewing my burnt pancake. "Why are you watching the news again? It's always sad stuff."
He didn't answer at first, just stared at the TV.
"Did he really kill someone?" I asked.
"He did," Lin murmured, his voice distant. "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."
Lin's voice dropped lower. "He had two daughters. He might've done it for them."
I stared at my brother, not understanding. "That's still stupid. If he needed help, he could've just asked."
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, his tone quieter, "people don't steal because they want to. They do it because the world leaves them with nothing else."
I didn't respond. His words sat heavy in the air, and for a moment, the world seemed to fall silent.
"But we're okay, right?" I asked, trying to ease the tension. "Even after Mom and Dad, you said we'd be fine because we have each other."
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 shoved the last charred pancake onto a plate, sliding it to me.
"Now eat up. I worked very hard to make that."
I laughed again, but it felt hollow. I didn't know what to say. Why had he changed so much? Why did he hide so much of himself? It felt like something was missing. Like the whole world he'd built around me was just a front.
"You better get going, don't you have friends waiting?" he said, sipping his coffee.
I glanced at the clock. "Oh, shoot! Bye, Lin!"
I didn't know it then, but that would be the last time I'd ever say those words to him.
That afternoon, I skipped home, looking forward to bugging my brother with more questions.
But when I opened the door, something was wrong.
No music. No sizzling from the kitchen. No Lin dancing or laughing.
"Zhao Lin?" I called, a knot forming in my stomach.
No answer.
I moved slowly, my breath shallow with each step. And then I saw him.
My brother.
He was lying motionless on the ground, a crimson stain spreading across his chest. The blood pooled into the carpet, staining it dark red. His eyes, once so full of mystery and life, stared up at the ceiling, vacant, as if searching for something he couldn't reach.
"Lin Ge?" I whispered, as though my voice could wake him.
But he didn't stir. He didn't blink. He didn't breathe.
He was gone.
My world shattered. The one person who always stood between me and the darkness had vanished. My brother was dead.
The police called it a tragic accident. A robbery gone wrong.
But I knew better.
The wound on his chest was clean—precise. No signs of a struggle. My brother had accepted whatever fate had come for him.
I held his cold body in my arms, tears soaking into the carpet.
"Why didn't you tell me?" I whispered, sobbing. "Why didn't you let me help?"
All the confusion, anger, and grief I'd buried deep exploded in a single moment. I wept for my brother, for the future we'd never have, and for the painful truth that no matter how much I regretted, no matter how much I prayed to understand him, nothing would bring him back.
Years passed. But time didn't heal—it hardened.
Seven years ago, I was a kid, believing I could be anything—a hero, someone who could fix the world. But I couldn't save anyone. I was no different from anyone else.
After Lin died, that version of me died, too. And in its place, something else was born. Relentless. Driven. Hungry for the truth.
I dug into every secret, every lie. I hacked databases, forced answers from people who wanted to keep them hidden. And bit by bit, I uncovered the truth.
It wasn't just him. Our parents didn't die in a car crash. That was a lie.
They were eliminated.
But why? Why had they been silenced? Why had Lin died?
The rain fell that night as I stood outside the prosecutor's office, fists clenched. They'd kicked me out the back door after I begged them to reopen the case.
"Was this how you felt, brother?" I whispered to the empty street. "How powerless we are."
My voice cracked. "We're just nameless souls, lost in a system we can't change."
The rain mixed with my tears as I sank to my knees.
"If anyone's listening," I whispered, "give me strength. I'll burn this system to the ground."
Thunder cracked across the sky. And as my vision blurred, I collapsed into darkness.
When I woke up, I wasn't in my world anymore. I was somewhere else. A strange realm, full of ancient power. I wasn't Zhao Feng anymore. I wasn't weak.
The fire inside me—grief, rage, injustice—had transformed into something else.
Power.
"Someone gave me a second chance," I whispered. "I won't waste it."
I rose from the ground, my eyes sharp with purpose.
"I'm not here to be a hero. I'm here to burn this system to the ground."
The past was ash.
But the fire was only just beginning.