Chapter Seven: The Shadow of Situ Qilian

Inside the archive room, the bookshelves lined up as neatly as gravestones in a cemetery.

In the cold, dim air, Chongzong lay there like a corpse among those standing “tombstones.”

The girl standing beside him, looking down—Ito Tomono—had such a tangle of emotions in her eyes that her pupils had gone dull, no longer the clear gaze she usually carried.

—Why did you have to show up at my school of all places?

—If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have started drifting away from that daily life that had already numbed me

—Now I don’t even know if I should thank you, or hate you

Ito Tomono put away the syringe, bent down, and picked up the drugged, unconscious Chongzong.

Despite her slender girlish frame, she didn’t seem to struggle at all with his weight. She even had a hand free to swipe a card and open the door.

—When I first got the message saying you might be Situ Qilian, I thought it was a joke

—A scrawny guy like you, one of the two awe‑inspiring Twin Kings of Mirror Blossom… if that’s true, then those over‑the‑top rumors probably aren’t worth much either

Ito Tomono moved forward without any obstacles.

This whole building had been constructed for certain shady purposes to begin with, so from the start, Uminari Manranyama had ordered the on‑site personnel kept to a minimum to prevent leaks.

Counting everyone, the number of people in this building usually stayed under thirty.

But having so few people also brought its own risks.

Ten‑odd minutes later, Ito Tomono carried Chongzong back to the room where he’d been imprisoned before.

—This door… how did it get wrecked?

She set Chongzong down on the floor and examined the damaged lock.

Now she regretted not prying more from him—like how he’d escaped from this room in the first place.

But back then, with her identity exposed and her heart shaken, she’d had no room left for that.

It was all just useless regret in hindsight.

—Doesn’t look like it was done with tools… if anything, it looks like it was twisted by some terrifying brute strength… there’s no way he did this himself…

Ito Tomono glanced at Chongzong on the floor.

—He couldn’t even clear the trial Senpai Yui set for him. Power that breaks common sense like this is even more impossible

—So that means someone else helped him? There’s another intruder here?

—I should report this to Miss Manranyama

Having decided, Ito Tomono picked Chongzong up again, walked to another empty room nearby, and locked the still‑sleeping Chongzong inside.

She locked the door, gathered her thoughts, set aside her personal feelings, and was just about to head for Souren Manranyama’s room when footsteps sounded behind her.

The sound tensed her for a moment, but the next second she recognized the owner and relaxed.

She turned. The man walking toward her carried almost the same steely aura she did.

“Father.”

“Oh, Tomono. I told you before, it’s just the two of us, you don’t have to be so formal.”

“This is a work site. It’s better to be cautious.”

Ito Shinran scratched the back of his head a little awkwardly, thinking yet again that he really wasn’t good at talking with his daughter. Even so, he still noticed the keycard in her hand and the freshly locked door. As far as he knew, this room should be empty.

“Did something happen, Tomono?”

“Yes. I think we may have an intruder here, Father.”

At the word “intruder,” a certain figure flashed through Ito Shinran’s mind. His expression turned serious.

“An intruder? What happened?”

“I was just about to report this to Miss Manranyama. Let’s talk on the way.”

Ito Shinran’s stride was long, but keeping pace with Tomono’s brisk walk still cost him some effort.

The thought that his daughter would surpass him one day had been popping up more and more often in his mind lately.

On the way, Ito Tomono gave her father a brief rundown of what had happened—how she’d gone to the archive room and unexpectedly found Chongzong, and how she’d locked him up again.

“So somebody smashed this lock with brute force? His build could never do that.”

“That’s what I think too. So there must be an intruder who helped him escape.”

“If there’s an intruder with that kind of raw strength around, I’d really like to meet them.”

The way she described the intruder overlapped more and more with the “certain someone” in Ito Shinran’s mind.

But that same intel also created a contradiction in his assumptions.

—If it was him, then why didn’t he just take Chongzong away after rescuing him?

—Still suspicious…

“All right, just to be safe, I’ll take a patrol first. After you report to Miss Souren Manranyama, contact me.”

“Understood.”

At the fork in the corridor, father and daughter split up.

As they parted, Ito Tomono called out to him.

“Father…”

“What is it?”

“Be careful.”

The unexpected words warmed Ito Shinran’s chest. For a second he had no idea how to respond, and in the end could only answer with a clumsy smile before turning away.

If Chongzong had seen this father‑daughter moment, he wouldn’t know whether to feel happy or sad.

After dinner in the cafeteria, Souren Manranyama returned to her room.

When she opened the door, Van was already inside, in position.

“Welcome back, milady.”

“Mm. Any news?”

“Yes. We just confirmed that Mr. Atlas engaged the intruder at the front gate and was defeated.”

“I see. That intruder—was it Mirror Blossom’s Unsurpassed Chamberlain?”

“Yes.”

Van confirmed it without a change in expression.

Souren Manranyama didn’t reply right away. Hearing Van’s report, she first felt a stab of guilt for sending Atlas out even though she knew he couldn’t win. Then she remembered something a certain boy had said to her.

—You really are scarily good at predicting things

She sat down in her personal chair and started thinking through her next move.

“Van, have you sent people to treat Mr. Atlas?”

“He’s already on the way to the hospital.”

“Then I’ll leave that to you. Tell Mr. Atlas this for me: his loss was due to my misjudgment. He shouldn’t blame himself.”

“Understood. I’ll go right away.”

“Mm. I’m counting on you, Van.”

Once Van left the room, Souren Manranyama was alone.

She felt a little excited, and a little anxious.

Ever since she’d met that boy, her life had changed drastically. From being purely passive, she’d slowly become someone who could act.

And now, finally…

“The long‑awaited storm is finally about to arrive.”

Souren Manranyama left the room.

On his way back to his office, Uminari Manranyama stopped when he heard a rush of footsteps. Bai Yaxin was running toward him, his expression faintly tense.

“Mr. Manranyama, I just received a report from security. We have an intruder.”

Bai Yaxin had skidded to a halt from a full sprint, yet his voice was unnaturally steady, as if he’d only walked over.

“Mirror Blossom’s Unsurpassed Chamberlain, right?”

“Yes. Please give the order, Mr. Manranyama.”

Uminari didn’t rush. He strolled over to the nearest window and looked out at the front gate. At this moment there was only Atlas “Brown Bear” collapsed on the ground and the medics working on him.

“He’s alone?”

He started walking again. Bai Yaxin followed right behind.

“Yes. For now, he appears to be acting alone.”

“In that case…”

After a brief pause in thought, Uminari gave his orders.

“Summon every member of the family guard except Atlas, as well as Ito Tomono and Souren, to my office. No objections allowed.”

“Understood.”

Bai Yaxin stopped in place and began making calls. Before he’d found Uminari just now, he’d already run through several possible responses to this situation in his head—but none of them matched Uminari’s decision.

—Still can’t catch up

Bai Yaxin silently clenched his fist.

Five minutes later, Uminari Manranyama’s office was more crowded than it had ever been.

The ten family guards other than Atlas, Ito Tomono, Souren Manranyama and her personal attendant Van, plus Bai Yaxin, whom Uminari had told to stay in the office as well.

“Since the last annual meeting, this is the first time we’ve all gathered like this.”

Uminari didn’t sit. He stood before them. He wasn’t the tallest in the room, but his imposing presence still made everyone bow their heads.

“First of all, I owe you an apology. It’s my fault that I never brought up countermeasures for the Twin Kings of Mirror Blossom.”

“When it comes to Mirror Blossom’s Twin Kings, don’t entertain any unrealistic ideas. Doing so will cause irreparable trouble.”

“But I also hope this incident makes you understand how important it is to think. I want you to realize that we’re one whole, not a bunch of individuals clawing our way up the conglomerate to feed our own ambition. So think before you act. ‘Without lips, the teeth grow cold; in the same boat, we row together’—that kind of thing really isn’t so hard to grasp.”

After his little speech, the air in the room turned strangely complex.

Souren Manranyama didn’t look at Uminari. She kept her head down, eyes on the wall, her father’s words reaching her ears while her mind was elsewhere.

Bai Yaxin listened while his gaze moved tirelessly across the room, weighing everyone’s reactions.

The ten family guards listened with full attention, except Ito Shinran, whose mind was partly on his daughter.

As for Ito Tomono, she knew her attempt to earn merit had instead stirred up a huge mess. The weight of responsibility made her lower her head so far she could barely breathe.

“Next, a few things… First, Atlas was injured while facing the enemy. I hope you all take this as a warning. Loyalty is good—but I’d rather you didn’t get yourselves hurt.”

“Second, Ito Tomono of the Ito family…”

“Yes!”

The moment Uminari said her name, the over‑tense Ito Tomono shouted without thinking. She realized she’d just embarrassed herself and her face flushed bright red.

“This isn’t a class. Relax a little, kiddo.”

Uminari burst out laughing and tossed out a casual tease, but no one else in the room was in any mood to laugh with him.

“I don’t know whether the boy you captured is truly this ‘Situ Qilian’ or one of Mirror Blossom’s Twin Kings, Wuquan Jimin. But I can tell you did want to contribute to the organization. However…”

His tone shifted, and Tomono’s heart jumped right up into her throat with it.

“However, like I just said—you need to learn to think. Don’t let desire blind you. This time, we’ll call it even: your merit cancels out your fault. Don’t repeat it.”

The long‑stagnant tension in the room finally dispersed at his words.

“Th‑thank you, Mr. Manran… ah, Mr. Manranyama!”

“Hahaha, keep working hard from now on, little girl.”

Uminari said this, then glanced at Ito Shinran. Shinran lowered his head in silent gratitude.

“Next up, our intruder… or rather, our honored guest, will be here soon. Bai Yaxin…”

“Here.”

“Bring the boy Ito Tomono captured to this room. Make sure he gets here before our guest does.”

“Understood.”

Groggily waking from yet another blackout, Chongzong could barely remember how many times he’d passed out today.

Everything that had happened today would almost make more sense if it had all been a dream.

But the cold, bare room he was in now forced him to admit it was all real.

—Locked up again…?

The room was almost empty. Four blank walls, one door. Nothing else.

A fluorescent tube hung from the bare concrete ceiling. There wasn’t even a vent on the walls. The sealed‑up box felt suffocating to Chongzong, and that tightly locked door was something he simply didn’t have the strength to break.

“…”

Helplessness came first. Then Ito Tomono’s face flashed through his mind, and that thought pushed him into despair.

A dead‑end situation. A friend’s betrayal. His own uselessness.

Chongzong stood in front of the door, hand clenched into a fist. He drew back and swung down with all his strength at the doorknob… but stopped in the split second before impact.

The last shred of rationality pulled him back.

He wouldn’t break the lock; he’d just shatter a few bones in his fingers.

At this point, why torture himself?

He let out a silent sigh and decided to give up.

Let fate decide. This chaotic mess, these inexplicable people—let them do whatever they want.

At the very moment he let go, he felt something inside his heart—or rather, his brain—crack.

What followed was a tearing pain.

—What’s with this splitting headache…?!

He’d felt needles in his hand and in his skin before. But needles stabbing outward from inside his brain… that kind of pain was enough to make living unbearable, enough to make him want to end his own life on the spot just to escape it.

As the pain ramped up, his body followed his scrambled brain into collapse. Staggering, he crashed into the wall, then lost his balance. His brain failed to hold on to consciousness; his awareness slipped from his body, and his body tipped toward the floor.

But it didn’t fall.

At the instant he should’ve hit the ground, Chongzong suddenly stepped forward into the fall and caught his balance.

“…”

His forehead was drenched with sweat, his breathing ragged.

He straightened his stance, wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve, and let out a long breath.

His eyes were different.

“Didn’t expect to wake up under these circumstances.”

He talked to himself, like he was deliberately speaking for his own benefit. Then he scratched his hair, rolled his neck, looking incredibly uncomfortable in his own skin… totally different from how Chongzong had been acting before, like he’d become a different person.

Which, in fact, he had. It really was someone else.

—But this long hair is such a pain. For a body that’s supposed to be my avatar, this is kind of disappointing.

He closed his eyes and sank into a meditative pose, digging through the memories stored in this body—the ones from while he’d been asleep, everything he didn’t know.

About half an hour earlier, he’d come to for a moment, groggy, then fallen back into sleep. Now he was truly awake.

Roughly a minute later, the meditation ended.

He’d pulled up all of “his” memories.

“So that’s how it is. I’ve really been living as a completely normal middle schooler.”

“But waking up now doesn’t match my plan. Might as well go back to sleep for a while, forget everything here, so I don’t wake up ahead of schedule again. As for this mess… that guy’ll show up, right? After all that commotion, he has to.”

“Right now, I need a mirror…”

He scanned the cramped room. No mirror, obviously.

“Where would there be one… the bathroom?”

He went to the only door and tried the knob. It didn’t budge. Locked.

“Mm…”

—An electronic lock, huh. Same kind as the last one?

He crouched by the door, studying the doorknob closely. Then he lifted the knob slightly with his left hand and drove his right elbow hard into the outer side of the handle. The entire lock assembly dropped to the floor, and the door swung open.

The noise of the broken lock brought three guards running. The moment they saw who’d escaped, they yanked out their sidearms and leveled them at Chongzong.

—Just aiming as a warning, huh… Being bound to someone else’s orders is really pathetic. If they could decide for themselves, they’d have fired already.

His gaze flicked rapidly between the three pistols and the three trigger fingers. He could tell they weren’t planning to kill him. But he also knew tranquilizer rounds existed in this world.

With a human’s current physical limits, dodging bullets was impossible. But by watching the muzzle, reading the moment the trigger would be pulled, and using a sudden evasive move to throw off their aim and slip past the trajectory—that was doable.

Amateurs had their patterns. Professionals had theirs.

And because there were patterns, because there was rhythm, judgment and prediction became possible.

That was exactly what Chongzong planned to do.

Ignoring the threat of the guns, he strode forward, fast. Every step added pressure on the guards—pressure on their aim, pressure on their timing, and the pressure of knowing that if they missed the first shot, they’d be in trouble.

In a narrow corridor, three armed men facing one unarmed target held an absolute advantage at standoff range. But once they lost that innate advantage in distance and let the unarmed one slip into their formation and turn it into close quarters, they’d hesitate to shoot for fear of friendly fire, and their edge would flip into a disadvantage.

When would a man with a gun pull the trigger? All Chongzong had to do was watch their eyes.

At this nearly point‑blank range, the first shot was everything. You could say the outcome was decided by that first trigger pull.

When the distance closed to fifteen meters, the guard in front fired first. The other two followed immediately. In that tiny sliver of time before they fired, Chongzong had already caught the shift in their eyes. He dropped low, like a leopard that had been lying in wait and finally pounced. In a low stance, he cut through the fifteen meters in an instant along a zigzag, and his driving straight punch slammed into the front guard’s gut. That one punch left the man unable to move, clutching his stomach. As his gun slipped from his hand, Chongzong snatched it out of the air, yanked the man in front of him as a shield, then extended his other hand past the human cover and fired two quick shots, dropping the remaining two guards before they could react.

“Haa…”

Before leaving, Chongzong put an extra round into the guard still writhing from that punch, then strode off.

Winding through the building, Chongzong—or rather, the unknown entity piloting his body—finally found the restroom. He stepped up to the mirror above the sink and studied his face.

—Haven’t seen myself in so long I almost don’t recognize me…

He lifted a hand to brush aside the overgrown hair but hadn’t expected his shoulder joint to crack audibly.

“Ah… that actually hurts. This body’s been way too out of shape. A bit of movement and it’s already at its limit.”

He muttered to himself, then fell silent.

The one controlling Chongzong’s body stared into the mirror, into his own eyes, focusing intently.

—It’s still not time to take this body back. The situation isn’t great, but the path’s been opened. From here on out, I’ll leave the rest… to Chongzong.

About five minutes later, he collapsed on the spot and drifted back into unconsciousness.

The number of guards in this building wasn’t as high as Tang Mingtuo had imagined.

In fact, after he slipped in through the main entrance, he’d only run into one five‑man security team—and then, no one.

—The real problem is… if Uminari Manranyama genuinely wants to hide Mingde, then no matter what I do, it’s pointless.

Tang Mingtuo stopped where he was, closed his eyes, and replayed his route through the building from the moment he entered, overlaying it with what he’d observed from outside. In his mind, he began sketching a rough floor plan of the structure.

—Maybe… he’s not on this floor… And the headcount’s weirdly low… Are they all gathered somewhere? In a meeting, maybe?

With that guess in mind, Tang Mingtuo started searching for stairs or an elevator to the second floor. He was sure that once he found Uminari Manranyama, he’d find Mushin Kyumin as well.

At the same time, under Uminari Manranyama’s orders, Bai Yaxin told the guards to bring the captive Chongzong over. Instead, he got unexpected news.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Bai, that boy… escaped from the room…”

“Don’t feed me excuses. I want him here in ten minutes.”

“Please don’t worry. We’ve already tracked him down on the security cameras. We’ll—”

“I don’t need the play‑by‑play. I just want to remind you: whatever it takes, no matter what methods you use, bring him to me.”

Bai Yaxin snapped out those words and slammed the call shut, almost smashing the phone.

—Can’t even watch one person properly… useless trash…

Angry as he was, as soon as he cooled half a notch he realized something was off.

He’d seen those empty rooms. In that kind of environment, without help from anyone, escaping should’ve been completely impossible for an ordinary person.

But the boy they’d arrested for being “Situ Qilian” had now escaped twice in a row.

Did that, to some extent, confirm that their judgment of this boy who called himself “Chongzong” was correct?

Then again, if he had that kind of ability, how had he gotten caught by a green little girl like Ito Tomono in the first place?

The whole line of reasoning knotted itself into a contradiction.

—Whatever. With things this tense, not digging a little into Uminari Manranyama’s background would be the real waste, fufufu.

A few minutes later, following the camera feed, the guards found Chongzong lying unconscious on the restroom floor.

“Found him, in here!”

“Call Mr. Bai, then get him over there, now!”

Hurried footsteps echoed in all directions. For their own missions, their duties, their ambitions, or their one‑sided wishes, everyone started to move.

Chongzong, whose body was mutating from within. The unfathomable Tang Mingtuo. Souren Manranyama, plotting a storm. The inscrutable Bai Yaxin. The unhurried Uminari Manranyama. The Ito family, living under another’s roof…

The mystery would eventually surface.

Inside Uminari Manranyama’s office, everyone waited together for Chongzong to arrive.

At the same time, they were all thinking the same thing: if the “honored guest” Uminari Manranyama had mentioned—this intruder—arrived first, what would they do?

After a wait that was neither too long nor too short, things finally moved forward. A knock sounded at the door, followed by Bai Yaxin’s voice.

“We’ve brought him, Mr. Manranyama.”

“Mm. Bring him in.”

Bai Yaxin stepped into the room first. The unconscious Chongzong was being half‑dragged, half‑supported in by two guards.

Everyone there had expected Chongzong to be brought in awake and aware. His current unconscious state caught them all off guard.

“What happened?”

Sensing the others’ confusion, Uminari Manranyama voiced the question for them.

“About ten minutes ago, this boy escaped from the room he was locked in. After he knocked out three guards, he collapsed in the restroom and was then recaptured.”

One of the guards reported.

“I see. Pretty capable, isn’t he… Once you’ve laid him on the couch, you can go. That’ll be all.”

After the guards left, Uminari Manranyama paced over to the couch. He squatted down and examined Chongzong closely.

“Situ Qilian… Chongzong… Mushin Kyumin…”

He murmured the three names under his breath, then straightened and looked around at the others.

“What do you think? Is this boy really one of Mirror Blossom’s Twin Kings?”

His gaze drifted from face to face. No one answered. In the end, his eyes landed on Ito Shinran, who had no choice but to clear his throat and respond.

“Whether he is or isn’t, it’s trouble either way. Once again, I apologize for the mistake my daughter made, Mr. Uminari Manranyama.”

“Fuhuhu—hahaha. Don’t be so tense, Mr. Ito. I was just asking casually.”

Laughing, Uminari Manranyama went back to his seat and spun his chair to face the group.

“Funny, isn’t it? A conglomerate as huge as ours, thrown into utter chaos by some tiny organization that popped up out of nowhere fifteen years ago. Should I say Mirror Blossom is impressive… or is it that its founder, old Mr. Yan, is the truly terrifying one?”

“But what’s the point of speculating? Take the problem that was bothering us just now, for example—whether this boy is Situ Qilian or not. We don’t need to rack our brains. Within five minutes, the intruder will break through the security outside the door and enter this room. If that intruder turns out to be Mirror Blossom’s peerless loyal retainer, then this boy lying here is without a doubt Situ Qilian—or rather, Mirror Blossom’s incurable, merciless monster.”

The string of names Uminari Manranyama mentioned made the atmosphere in the room tighten a little.

Yet among the family’s security detail, someone seemed to get fired up instead. Uminari noticed it, but compared to that, there was only one person he truly cared about: Souren Manranyama.

Uminari knew today’s situation was most likely his daughter’s masterpiece. The reason he’d gathered everyone here was to watch Souren’s reactions, her attitude.

Unfortunately for him, Souren had been spaced out from the very beginning. Her face stayed perfectly blank, without a flicker of change.

—What can I say, she really is my daughter, huh.

—Three floors in total… but judging by the layout, Uminari Manranyama’s room should be on the second floor. From outside, it didn’t look like the third floor covers the whole footprint…

Tang Mingtuo reached the second floor. Three corridors stretched out before him. After a brief moment of thought, he chose to go straight ahead. Just as he’d guessed, this corridor led directly to Uminari’s room, and the frequent guards along the way proved it.

—If they’re using tranquilizer rounds, why bother giving a warning first? I really don’t get it.

Tang Mingtuo gently set the unconscious guard from his arms down on the floor, then took the man’s gun and studied it for a moment.

—This gun feels a bit off, but I can’t figure out why. Stuff like this is more Ujimin’s specialty anyway.

He was already very close to Uminari Manranyama’s room. There were no signs or plaques to prove it, but that room sitting exactly at the end of this narrow passage—what else could it be but Uminari’s?

There weren’t many guards left, but in terms of terrain, Tang Mingtuo was at an absolute disadvantage.

The guards formed up, covering each other from front and back. They raised their guns, took aim at Tang Mingtuo, and shouted a warning. Tang Mingtuo ignored them and kept walking straight at them.

The shooting started without any warning. In this cramped corridor, there should’ve been nowhere to dodge. Yet Tang Mingtuo slipped through the hail of bullets and came out without a scratch.

The guards were so shocked they even forgot to change magazines. They just stared blankly as Tang Mingtuo walked up and took each of them down. One of them muttered helplessly, “This guy… there’s no way he’s human…”

—You people, who grew up as “humans,” treated as “humans” your whole lives… of course you wouldn’t understand.

—Humans are the ultimate template.

—I wasn’t born a monster, either.

—I was just… treated as a “monster,” raised as a “monster,” and in the end, shaped into a “monster.” A monster, nothing more.

Tang Mingtuo stopped in front of the door. Behind him, the floor was littered with fallen guards.

He knocked.