“Oh!” Mrs. Chen’s face brightened further, hope blooming where suspicion should have dwelled. “How wonderful! Please, come in, come in. The children are finishing dinner. Would you like some tea?”

She stepped aside, ushering them toward warmth and innocence.

Behind her, a wall of children’s drawings decorated the entryway—stick figures holding hands under bright suns. Names and ages carefully noted in Mrs. Chen’s handwriting. Over forty years of love poured into these walls, into these forgotten children.

By morning, it would all be ash.

As Mrs. Chen led them toward the main hall, chattering about her “success stories” with grandmotherly pride, a small girl peeked around a corner. No more than five, with mismatched socks and curious eyes.

“Who are they, Nai Nai?” she asked, using the affectionate term for grandmother.

“Important visitors, little sparrow,” Mrs. Chen replied, gently smoothing the child’s unruly hair. “Run, tell Cook to prepare the good tea.”

The girl nodded solemnly, taking the responsibility with adorable seriousness as she scampered off.

Feng’s men exchanged glances.

Orders were orders.

Mrs. Chen turned back to her guests, completely unaware that she had just welcomed death into her home.

“Now then,” she beamed, “tell me more about this scholarship. I have so many bright children who could benefit.”

“We’re particularly interested in former residents who’ve distinguished themselves. It helps us identify potential in current children.”

“Oh!” Mrs. Chen’s face lit up. “So many success stories to share! There’s Jian who joined the city guard, and Lin-Wei who’s apprenticed to a blacksmith…”

As she spoke, Feng’s men dispersed casually through the room, memorizing exits, counting children, evaluating witnesses.

A teenage boy distributed teacups, his observant eyes lingering on the weapons poorly concealed beneath the visitors’ cloaks. He frowned slightly but said nothing.

“What about Ethan Brandon?” Feng asked, his voice carefully modulated for casual interest. “We’ve heard his name mentioned recently.”

Mrs. Chen’s smile faltered slightly. “Ethan? Yes, he was one of ours. Quiet boy. Very determined.”

“Were you close to him?” Feng probed. “Any special connection?”

The elderly caretaker’s eyes softened with memory. “I’ve raised hundreds of children, sir. They’re all special to me.”

“But some more than others, surely,” Feng pressed. “Special talents? Favorite teachers? Friends who still talk about him?”

An older girl by the kitchen door stiffened, almost imperceptibly. Her mind immediately linked those people to the soldiers who came asking for Ethan a day prior. Unfortunately, Mrs.Chen, due to her old age, wasn’t able to link the two due to the way they spoke.

One of Feng’s men noticed, shifting position to block the exit behind her.

“Well,” Mrs. Chen considered, “he was very close to Mrs. Liao, our former cook. And little Hong-Wei followed him everywhere—he’s sixteen now, helping in our garden.”

The teenage boy who’d served tea edged toward the hallway, something in the visitors’ questions triggering his street-honed instincts. One of Feng’s men casually intercepted him.

“S-Sure.”

“Would you mind showing me to the washroom?” the man asked with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Outside, darkness deepened as three more of Han Wei’s men quietly surrounded the building, oil canisters hidden beneath their cloaks.

…

“Here is the washroom, sir,” the boy said, pointing to a door at the end of the narrow hallway. His name was Liu, sixteen years old and already carrying the wariness of someone much older.

Something about these visitors made his skin crawl. The way their eyes cataloged everything. The bulges beneath their cloaks.

“Thank you.” The man smiled, the expression as empty as a doll’s. “I appreciate your help.”

Liu nodded and turned to leave, already formulating how to warn Mrs. Chen. These weren’t merchants. No merchant carried concealed weapons or asked such pointed questions.

A hand clamped onto his shoulder, fingers digging into muscle with inhuman strength.

“Actually,” the man whispered, “I could use a bit more help.”

Liu tried to call out, but a calloused palm slammed over his mouth as he was yanked backward into the washroom. The door closed with a soft click.

“MMF!” His scream died against the hand. His feet kicked out, connecting with nothing. The grip tightened.

“No heroes today, boy.” The man’s voice remained conversational as he applied precise pressure to Liu’s neck. “Nothing personal.”

Liu’s vision dimmed at the edges. He’d always been the protector, the one who looked after the younger children when the bullies came. The one who taught them to stand up for themselves.

Now he couldn’t even save himself.

His last thought before consciousness faded was of little Mei-Ling, who’d just learned to write her name. Who trusted him to keep the monsters away.

His body slumped, caught efficiently by the assassin who lowered him to the floor with practiced ease.

“First one, neutralised,” the man subvocalized to the communication crystal hidden in his collar. “Speed up the process. They will most likely start questioning his disappearance.”

In the main room, Feng continued his performance, listening attentively as Mrs. Chen shared stories of her children’s accomplishments. Each name was mentally cataloged. Each connection to Ethan noted.

“He was such a quiet boy,” she reminisced, “but so protective of the younger ones. When bullies came around, Ethan would stand between them and our little ones. Never backed down, even when outnumbered.”

“How fascinating,” Feng said, perfectly mimicking interest. “And you mentioned a Mrs. Liao? His favorite cook, you said?”

Mrs. Chen nodded, pouring more tea. “Retired now, but she still visits. Lives just three streets over. Treats Ethan like the son she never had.”

Another name. Another target.

“And this Hong-Wei, the one who followed him around?”

“Working in our garden now,” Mrs. Chen beamed. “Wants to be just like Ethan when he grows up. Join the scouts, protect the city. Such a good influence, our Ethan.”

In the kitchen, one of Feng’s men was already immobilising the cook and her assistant.

Room by room, the orphanage fell under their control.

Outside, the last of the day’s light faded completely.

Han Wei’s vengeance was about to begin.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep