The scene shifts to a somber residence nestled deep within the decaying ruins of modern-day China. Though the nation was crumbling like many others under the weight of corruption and decline, pockets of wealth still persisted. One such enclave was home to the Zhenyu family—a lineage once revered, now only a whisper of its former glory.
Inside the ancestral mansion, opulence clashed with fading grandeur. In the family leader's chamber, tension crackled like electricity in the air. Liang Zhenyu, a determined 25-year-old, stood firm before the towering figure of the current family patriarch, his voice laced with years of restrained desperation.
"Why have you never told me anything about our family's origins?" Liang asked, eyes burning with a mixture of frustration and longing. "I'm no longer a child. I'm twenty-five. I deserve to know the truth."
The family leader, seated regally in his ancient armchair beneath the looming portraits of Zhenyu ancestors, offered a cold chuckle. "Well, well… still so impatient, I see," he said, his voice heavy with condescension. "You're not yet worthy to know the secrets of the Zhenyu legacy."
"BUT WHY?!" Liang roared, fists clenched at his sides.
"Because you're nothing like your father," the old man said, his eyes narrowing. "The Zhenyu family once ruled this territory with pride, with strength. We had deep ties with the world's two greatest organizations, shaping global movements from the shadows. But this generation? Full of failures. You're all tarnishing our name."
Liang stepped forward, his voice cracking with emotion. "Please! I've spent my entire life trying to uncover the truth. You can't betray me now—not when I've come this far."
A slow, calculated smile crept across the family leader's face. Without warning, he reached beneath his robe and retrieved a sleek, black mask. As Liang's eyes widened in shock, the elder calmly placed the mask over his face.
A soft hiss echoed through the chamber. Gas began to seep from hidden vents along the walls.
"Wh—what are you doing?!" Liang managed to stammer, stumbling back.
But it was too late. The sedative gas filled the room rapidly, and Liang's vision blurred. His knees buckled. Within seconds, he collapsed onto the ornate rug, unconscious.
Moments later, a black van identical to the ones used across the globe pulled up silently to the mansion's rear entrance. Masked figures emerged, retrieving the unconscious Liang with clinical precision. He was bound, blindfolded, ears sealed with noise-cancelling covers, his mouth taped. A secondary gas was released inside the van—ensuring that no victim could retain awareness, no matter how strong-willed.
As the vehicle disappeared into the night, the family leader remained seated in his chamber. Removing his mask, he leaned back into his chair with a faint, sinister smile.
"The game of the masterminds is about to begin," he whispered to the empty room, eyes gleaming with anticipation.