Wrath of the Forsaken Son

Chapter 8

The yellowed pages of the file felt like ice in Jian’s hands. As he sat in a quiet, hidden room provided by Scarface Lu, the truth began to unfold. His father, Arthur Mercer, was not just a man who owned a few factories. He was a Guardian.

The file spoke of a legendary manuscript called The Emerald Codex. It was a book of ancient medical secrets that could cure any disease and martial techniques that could shatter mountains. His father had been the keeper of this book. The fire twenty years ago hadn't been an accident or a simple act of greed by the Mercer family. It had been a hunt.

"The Mercers were just the dogs on a leash," Jian whispered. The paper crinkled under his grip. "They were given the Callaghan Group and my father’s estate as a reward for staying silent. The real killers are in the Capital. The Crimson Sect."

Jian looked at the photo of his mother again. She was alive, held in a cage of silk and drugs. To get to her, he couldn't just run to the Capital with his needles. He needed power. He needed a way to pull the Crimson Sect out from the shadows and into his trap.

"I will rebuild the Callaghan Group," Jian told the empty room. "But it won't be a construction company anymore. It will be the greatest pharmaceutical empire the world has ever seen. If they want the secrets of the Emerald Codex, I will make them come to me to buy them."

The plan was set. But before he could build, he had to survive.

Later that evening, Jian sat alone in a small, traditional tea house on the edge of the city. The smell of jasmine filled the air, and the sound of a small bamboo fountain provided a peaceful rhythm. He was waiting for a contact from Lu, but he knew he was also being watched.

Across the city, in a dark office, Lord Halloway slammed his fist onto his desk. "I don't care about the cost! I want his head on a plate!"

Beside him stood a man dressed in a simple grey robe. He looked old, with a long white beard and eyes that seemed to see through walls. This was Master Kuan, a "Martial Arts Grandmaster" whose name made many strong men tremble. He carried a long, heavy sword wrapped in black cloth.

"The boy is skilled with needles, you say?" Master Kuan asked. His voice was like dry leaves brushing against stone.

"He’s a freak! He paralyzed my guards in seconds!" Halloway screamed. "Kill him, and I’ll give you five million dollars and a seat on my board of directors."

Master Kuan nodded slowly. "Money is of little use to me, but I do not like frauds who pretend to know the ancient arts. I will go."

Back at the tea house, Jian poured a fresh cup of tea. He didn't look up when the wooden door creaked open. He didn't look up when the heavy, rhythmic footsteps of a martial arts master echoed on the floorboards.

Master Kuan walked to the center of the room. He stood ten feet away from Jian. The air in the tea house suddenly felt heavy, as if the gravity had increased. The water in the bamboo fountain seemed to slow down.

"You are Jian Mercer," Master Kuan stated. It wasn't a question.

"I am," Jian replied, finally looking up. He didn't show fear. He looked at the old man with a calm, steady gaze. "And you are here to collect a bounty."

Master Kuan unwrapped his sword. The cold steel glinted in the dim light. "Lord Halloway wants you dead. I usually do not kill children, but you have disrupted the balance of this city. Prepare yourself."

Jian didn't reach for a weapon. He didn't even stand up. Instead, he reached into his sleeve and pulled out three silver needles. He placed them on the table in a very specific, triangular pattern. Then, he adjusted his seating position, crossing his legs and resting his hands on his knees in a way that looked relaxed, yet coiled like a spring.

Master Kuan took a step forward, his sword raised. But then, he stopped.

His eyes fell on the three needles. He saw the way they were angled. He saw the way Jian’s thumb was tucked under his index finger—the Asura Stance.

The old man’s face went from a mask of calm to a mask of pure, bone-chilling shock. The heavy sword in his hand began to shake. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead, disappearing into his white beard.

"Those needles..." Kuan whispered, his voice cracking. "That seating position..."

He took a trembling step backward, his sword lowering until the tip touched the floor with a soft clink. He looked at Jian as if he were looking at a ghost—or a god.

"The way you hold your breath... the 'Internal Pulse' of the mountain..." Kuan’s eyes were wide with terror. "I haven't seen that style in thirty years. Not since the day the gates were locked."

Jian looked at the old man. "You recognize the technique?"

Master Kuan didn't answer right away. He dropped his sword completely. It clattered loudly on the wooden floor, but he didn't care. He fell to his knees, pressing his forehead against the ground in a deep, shaking bow.

"Forgive me!" Kuan gasped, his voice filled with a fear so deep it sounded like he was sobbing. "I did not know! I was a fool! A blind, ignorant fool!"

Jian tilted his head. "What are you talking about, old man?"

Kuan looked up, his face pale as death. "The needles... the silver hum... there is only one place in the world where that art is taught. The place where the sun never shines and the strongest men are broken."

He swallowed hard, his voice barely a whisper.

"You... you are the successor of the Forbidden Prison? The one they call the Lord of the Abyss?"