The night was dark and terrifying. Outside, heavy rain poured down, its sound echoing off the walls, creating a chilling resonance. The sky was covered with dense, black clouds, and every now and then, a flash of lightning would tear through the darkness for a fleeting moment.
Eleven-year-old Zhao Jiarui trembled in a dark room with his fourteen-year-old elder sister, Zhao Lan. Their mother, Zhao Qi, had hidden them to keep them safe. Fear had settled in their breaths, in their eyes.
Suddenly, the creaking sound of the door opening echoed through the room. Two shadows entered. One was a tall, strong man of about twenty, his face covered with cloth, and in his hand, he held a frighteningly sharp knife. The other boy, eighteen, looked terrified, holding a gun in his hand.
Zhao Qi pleaded for her children and her life:
"Please! Whoever you are, have mercy on me! I have two children! I promise, I won't tell anyone… please… let us go!"
The twenty-year-old spoke coldly and mercilessly,
"We've received orders. Your life ends now. Stop thinking about your children."
The eighteen-year-old, with a weak and trembling voice, stepped back,
"No, brother! Please! We can't do this…"
The twenty-year-old whispered angrily,
"If you can't do it, then I will. But don't step back now! Otherwise, our family will die. Think about your little sister, Lu!"
The eighteen-year-old boy thought of his six-year-old younger sister, who was also threatened — both his mother and sister were in danger.
Inside, Zhao Jiarui clung tightly to his older sister. Zhao Lan trembled with fear herself, yet she showed courage for her little brother, gently stroking his head.
Outside, the twenty-year-old's calm yet harsh voice rang:
"Killing someone isn't good… but we have orders. Both of you will die."
Then the eighteen-year-old searched the house. He had actually found them but deliberately pretended not to. He shouted,
"I didn't find the children!"
The other man replied in a dull tone,
"First we finish her, then we'll kill both kids."
Inside the dark room, tears streamed down Zhao Jiarui and Zhao Lan's faces.
Suddenly, a loud "BANG!" — the sound of a gunshot.
Zhao Jiarui screamed in terror,
"Mama!" His small body shook violently.
The door burst open. Both men entered the room.
Taking advantage of the moment, Zhao Lan pushed the old door with all her strength. It opened with a loud 'THUD'.
Zhao Lan quickly grabbed Jiarui's hand.
"Come on, hurry!"
As soon as they stepped outside, the twenty-year-old turned back swiftly.
"There! They're running! The other door!" he shouted.
They reached a narrow, filthy alley that opened directly into the pouring rain and mud.
Zhao Lan ran, pulling him tightly along.
Zhao Jiarui ran with all the strength in his small legs, slipping, but fear would not let him stop.
Behind them, the twenty-year-old chased with steady, fast steps. The eighteen-year-old lagged behind, his fear slowing him down.
"Let them… let them go! Please!" the eighteen-year-old panted as he ran.
"Shut up!" the twenty-year-old shouted, snatching the gun and firing blindly in Zhao Jiarui's direction.
They cried desperately,
"Help! Someone help us!"
But their screams were drowned in the roar of the storm.
Another gunshot rang sharply.
Zhao Lan leapt forward, throwing herself in front of her brother.
"THUD!"
The bullet struck her chest directly. Her body jolted backward and collapsed.
As Zhao Lan fell to the ground, Zhao Jiarui sank to his knees beside her. Rain quickly washed the blood from her body, but his shock was deep and overwhelming.
Behind them, the twenty-year-old gunman advanced swiftly, but the eighteen-year-old froze in terror, his body trembling with fear and regret.
As Zhao Lan took her last breath, she placed a locket and a letter in Zhao Jiarui's hands. Zhao Jiarui listened to his sister's final words, crying.
At that very moment, as Zhao Jiarui lifted his head with a faint glimmer of hope, a flash of lightning struck.
In that brief light, he saw the boys who had killed his sister.
The twenty-year-old's face remained covered as he moved forward.
But the eighteen-year-old boy's face — pale with shock — became visible for a brief moment.
"Oh God… what have I done…" the eighteen-year-old muttered, trembling in fear.
Zhao Jiarui saw the fear and disgust on the eighteen-year-old's face. He saw the gun in his hand — the same gun the twenty-year-old had snatched earlier and then handed back.
In Zhao Jiarui's innocent mind, that fleeting flash of lightning and the terrified face holding the gun became the image of the killer.
He decided that this was the face that had killed his mother and shot his sister.
That tiny heart filled with immense pain and burning hatred.
He cried — but now his tears held less fear and more blazing revenge.
Clutching the locket and letter tightly to his chest, he ran into the darkness.
As he fled, the pale, frightened face of the eighteen-year-old kept flashing before his eyes — a face now carved into his memory forever.
He kept running, carrying this deep wound and the mistaken belief that the eighteen-year-old was the murderer of his mother and sister.