The air was warm and thick with sandalwood incense. His baby body was weak, soft, unable to move freely — but his mind, sharp and honed from a life of survival and slaughter, was clearer than ever.
He was reborn.
Again, in the cradle of betrayal.
He could see the worn lines on the Empress's face as she held his older twin — Li Ren — close to her chest, her eyes filled with tears. The midwives whispered among themselves, a mixture of fear and reverence.
A eunuch entered silently, his white robe bearing the emblem of the Inner Court. He glanced briefly at Li Ren, then turned his cold eyes on the other baby — the unwanted one. Him.
"The Empress has given birth to twins," the eunuch said gravely. "But only one child shall be presented to the court."
"No…" the Empress's voice trembled. "He is still my son—"
"He is not the Son of Heaven," the eunuch cut her off with quiet finality. "The stars did not bless the empire with two heirs."
She hesitated — then looked away.
The decision was made.
Again.
Hours passed.
Wrapped in black silk, the infant was carried through a secret tunnel beneath the palace walls, held tightly in the arms of a masked woman. Her steps were steady, but her breathing was uneven.
She was not a servant — no, this was someone trained. A shadow operative of the palace's most covert division.
The infant stared up at her with golden eyes that shimmered with awareness no baby should possess.
"Still so quiet," the woman murmured. "Not even a cry. Just like before."
She stopped in front of a worn, stone building deep within the outskirts of the capital — far beyond the noble districts. Inside, an old man waited, robed in white and gray, with an iron mask covering half his face.
"I've brought the boy," she said.
The masked man reached forward and took the child gently. "So it begins again."
The woman glanced at him. "Do you really believe he remembers?"
"Look into his eyes," the man replied.
The woman did. And froze.
There was no confusion. No fear. Just… understanding.
"Then it's true…" she whispered.
Years passed in moments.
By the time the child was four, he could speak fluently, recite ancient cultivation texts, and perform basic qi circulation under moonlight.
By six, he could defeat trained warriors twice his size in staff duels.
By ten, he had already walked into a forest of beast-kin and walked out alone — covered in blood, with a predator's calm.
He had no name. No birth scroll. No existence.
But the old man called him one word, always the same.
"Ying."It meant Shadow.
And so he lived — as a shadow of the empire.Watching. Learning. Waiting.
Until the day came when the man in the iron mask knelt before him and said,
"It's time to return to the palace.""You will go as a servant. Silent. Hidden. You will stand beside the boy who took everything from you… and take it all back."
The boy smiled for the first time in ten years.
And in the silence of night, he whispered,
"Not everything. Just what was mine."