Volume One, Chapter Two: Black Fire

The afternoon breeze carried a crispness unique to autumn. Sunlight filtered through golden leaves, casting dappled patterns on the bluestone path. Heavy military boots ascended the winding trail and came to a halt before a bamboo house.

With a push of the door, the boots’ owner stepped inside, waving off the approaching maid with a swift gesture. Treading quietly, she made her way up the bamboo staircase. On the second floor, a large white bed came into view—along with a bundle of white bandages lying atop it.

“What are you here for? Eager to see your sister make a fool of herself?” A lazy female voice drifted from the sickbed. The mass of white bandages lifted her head, shooting a sideways glare toward the newcomer, irritation in her tone. “Go on, get out! First the old man, now you, little brat—so much for peace and quiet. How am I supposed to recuperate with all this commotion? Or do you think my injuries aren’t bad enough already?”

The visitor tucked his cap under his arm, one hand covering his face as he tried to stifle a laugh. With the other, he slyly pulled out his phone to snap a photo. Teasing, he said, “Sis, your look today is truly something else—a single stroke of ink amid endless white. It’s certainly avant-garde, the pinnacle of surrealist fashion, a masterpiece ahead of its time.”

“Spare me the nonsense and get lost if you have nothing useful to say,” she retorted, nudging the oversized tea-colored sunglasses perched atop her bandaged nose with a finger equally swaddled in gauze. Turning away, she seemed to survey the clouds through the layers of wrappings and tinted lenses.

“Alright, down to business,” her brother replied, his expression turning serious. “Dad’s worried about you. He sent me to check if the Tranquility Sutra has been effective.” The white bandages wrapped around her body were inscribed with the Taoist scripture, intended to suppress the strange black flames within her, easing the torment of burning from within.

“It’s useless,” she replied, tapping the old-fashioned, masculine sunglasses resting on her nose. “If it worked, those black flames wouldn’t have flared up. Still, make sure to thank Master Sun for me. If he hadn’t been there that day, you lot would have driven me to my grave.”

“Sis, that day in town—what exactly did you see? What could have done this to your eyes?” The young man looked at his bedridden sister, heart aching at her miserable state.

“Don't ask again.” Her tone lost its mocking edge, becoming subdued and solemn, as if stating a fact set in stone. “There are things humans are not meant to know. To glimpse them is to suffer—no exceptions.” She gazed out the window, lost in thought.

Her injuries had been the price of trying to gaze upon the divine with mortal eyes.

Fleeing from danger is human instinct, yet so is curiosity for the unknown. If not for another’s intervention, she would have been drawn in like a moth to flame—dazzled, terrified, and awestruck, burning brilliantly as she stared into divinity even as she died. That beauty was suffocating and fatal, yet irresistibly alluring, impossible to escape.

“Enough of that. How’s our eldest brother? Still grounded?” She propped herself up on an elbow, changing the subject.

“Big brother’s grounding ended ages ago, but he’s still wallowing in guilt. He barely leaves his room, just brooding day and night,” her brother replied helplessly, scratching his cheek.

“He could use the lesson,” she snorted. Their second brother was always quick to act before thinking. That day, in his panic to bring her home, he’d hastily removed the sunglasses suppressing the black flames in her eyes—almost causing catastrophe. Once the glasses were off, the flames erupted, sweeping outwards like a tidal wave, threatening to consume everything. If not for the presence of a master Taoist, her fate would have been far worse than mere injuries—she might as well have had the abbot of the Supreme Clarity Monastery perform her last rites.

“Alright, alright. At least no one else was hurt. Tell our blockhead to get out of his room and stop drowning his sorrows in drink. Next time he’s grounded, no more alcohol,” she instructed.

“Understood! To be honest, big brother’s been living too well in confinement—good food, good drink, nothing to do. He’s overdue for a dry spell!” The younger brother’s eyes lit up with mischief. “Sis, maybe we should take away his cigarettes too?”

“Good idea,” she replied, glancing at her over-enthusiastic sibling. “Once I’m up and about, I’ll tell him myself—make sure he knows it was your bright idea.” In their family, there were three loveable fools: the second brother, the little brother, and as for the biggest fool of all—their father, who had cut up five hundred sacred Taoist scriptures, personally inscribed by the abbot and woven from celestial silkworm silk, into bandages to wrap his daughter like a national treasure unearthed from a tomb.

“No, no, please have mercy, Qing!” he pleaded, grinning sheepishly, not daring to push his luck.

“Anything else?” she asked, tilting her head. Mu Bai, feeling the sharp gaze beneath her sunglasses and bandages, shivered involuntarily—he’d feared his second sister since childhood. He quickly reported, “Nothing unusual in town or near the port since that day. But three days ago, there was a large-scale spontaneous combustion at the docks. No casualties, but the boss was called in by the Security Bureau, so the port’s been shut down for a few days.”

“Spontaneous combustion of goods?”

“They were still investigating, but with all the commotion, the scene’s been destroyed. The boss is devastated. In the end, after a fine, the matter was dropped.”

“How was the incident explained publicly?”

“Officially, they called it a gas explosion. Unofficially, spontaneous combustion of condensed fire crystals. Overseas, rumors are flying: some say it was a successful East-66 experiment, doomsday cults claim the Sphere God brought destruction, conspiracy theorists talk about a secret military factory targeted by terrorists, and the Celestial Way issued a statement claiming responsibility.”

“What a mess...” She rubbed her forehead. “Anything else?”

“Pretty sure that’s all.”

“Then get out!”

“Yes, ma’am, your loyal brother takes his leave!”

“And if a single photo leaks out, once I’m up, you’ll be bedridden for a month.”

“...Sis, I’ll delete my Moments right now...”

“Get out!”

---

On Wenchang Road, Qinghe District, Qin City, in a nearby apartment, a young man sat curled up before his computer, chin resting on his knees as he stared blankly at the glowing white screen. The door was locked, curtains drawn—the room dim even in daylight. On the screen, his document contained only a few sparse lines. He was trying to piece together the events of the recent mission, but his mind was a tangled mess.

The task had come suddenly, preparations were rushed. It felt as if he’d been dragged along at a breakneck pace by a man, only to have the man let go at the end, laughing as he gave him a swift kick. Looking back, there’d been too many coincidences, as if everything had been arranged. Only when he finally reached the man, saw that blood-stained, exhausted smile, did he realize it had all been orchestrated. It was as though everything—even his chance to say goodbye—had been written into a script. When the curtain fell, the lead actor exited with a smile, leaving the supporting cast bewildered on stage.

“If you can’t make sense of something, stop trying. You won’t figure it out no matter how hard you think.” He muttered to himself—some meandering life lesson the man had taught him. Since meeting him at seven, he’d followed the man everywhere, stumbling and struggling until he joined “The Tide” and managed to survive to this day. Through words and actions, the boy had adopted the man’s “energy-saving” approach to life—so much so that he hadn’t noticed the man’s odd behavior during their last mission.

He couldn’t help it; the man had raised him, shaped his habits. Even compiling the action report at his computer was something the man had taught him.

“Overdependence and blind trust...” He recalled the man’s final lesson—perhaps the many flaws in their last action were meant as a teaching point.

That day, when his vision slowly returned after being blinded by the pillar of white-hot flame, it felt as if something vital had been ripped from his heart. A wave of suffocating helplessness washed over him.

All around lay a field of ashes. Charred rocks burned with black fire, molten metal flowed in torrents, yet beyond the ashen boundary, the world remained unchanged.

Taking a deep breath, he unfolded his numb legs. He forced himself to recall everything from the moment he received the man’s message—“Take a few days off, I’m heading out on a mission”—and recorded every detail, emotionless and thorough. The shifting characters on the white screen flickered in his dark eyes, relentless and sharp.

With a final keystroke, he saved the document, shut down the computer, and leaned back in his chair. As the last light in the room went out, darkness settled and silence deepened.

A faint whimper rose, like an abandoned cub mourning a lost home, quietly licking its wounds.

He could never be as carefree as the man. He was still just a child.

Though, for as long as he could remember, he’d never truly had a childhood.