The Phoenix of the Slums

The fire that had torn through the abandoned textile factory still smoldered in Tianming’s mind as vividly as the actual flames had raged last night. Ashes danced in the breeze like spirits whispering secrets. The air smelled of charred wood, burnt rubber, and death.
Yet amidst the ruin, there was something far more important than smoke or scorched concrete: a message hidden beneath it all.
Tianming stepped through the twisted wreckage, his boots crunching over glass and splinters.
The once-secret base of the Lotus Clan branch in southern Denghai had been reduced to rubble, thanks to his sabotage. Song Rui’s men hadn’t expected the trap. Tianming’s diversion had worked perfectly—lure them in with fake intel, then set the place alight with remote-triggered explosives.
But the plan hadn’t come without risk. And it hadn’t come without questions.
He knelt by a scorched pillar, brushing aside ash until his fingers touched something cold—steel. A scorched emblem. The Lotus insignia. But not just any variant. This one was trimmed with silver.
Lu Qingshan appeared beside him, grim as ever, arms folded beneath his robe. “That insignia... only the regional elders wear it.”
“So the elder came,” Tianming muttered. “And he died here?”
Lu Qingshan shook his head. “No. His body wasn’t found. Which means...”
“He escaped.”
They both stood in silence. The implications were clear. This battle was far from over.
Behind them, Xiaoxue’s voice cut through the haze. “I found something in the eastern wing.”
Tianming followed her across the debris. Xiaoxue pointed to a safe, half-melted but not completely destroyed. He kicked it twice—nothing. Lu Qingshan handed him a crowbar. It took three hard swings before the lock gave way. Inside, charred papers and one half-burned hard drive remained.
“Think it’ll work?” Tianming asked.
Xiaoxue took it carefully. “Maybe. If it wasn’t completely fried. I’ll take it back to the lab.”
Tianming nodded. “Do it. That drive could tell us where the Lotus Clan is hiding next.”
He glanced at the sky. Dawn was breaking over Denghai, casting a dull orange light over the ruins. And still, his mind was elsewhere. He thought of the message left behind on the pillar in burnt ink, barely visible: “The Flower Blooms Again.”
It was a warning. And a challenge.
Back at the safe house in the industrial district, Tianming sat alone in the quiet hall, sipping bitter tea. Lu Qingshan entered without a word and placed an old box on the table. It was lacquered black, carved with the crest of the Orchid Society.
“This was delivered today,” he said. “No courier. Just appeared on the doorstep.”
Tianming opened it slowly. Inside, a red envelope, a jade talisman, and a single hairpin.
His heart skipped.
“This talisman…” he said, voice low, “It belonged to my mother.”
Lu Qingshan watched him carefully. “Then the Orchid Society has finally acknowledged your bloodline.”
Tianming’s hands trembled slightly. For twenty years, his past had been a mystery. Now, piece by piece, it was returning—like a blade being reforged.
“What about the hairpin?”
Lu Qingshan frowned. “It’s not from the Orchid Society.”
Tianming looked closer. The design—silver with twin dragons—matched the Lotus Clan’s elite female warriors. A calling card. A taunt.
“She’s alive,” he said softly.
“Who?”
“My sister.”
He closed the box.
That night, Tianming trained in the empty courtyard. Sweat poured down his back as he moved through the precise forms of Northern Tiger Fist. Punch. Elbow. Palm strike. His body cut the air like a blade, the sound of each strike sharp and clean.
Then he switched to a more fluid style—Floating Cloud Steps, passed down by Lu Qingshan himself. A step, a pivot, a sweep. It made his body move like mist, impossible to predict. He visualized an enemy before him—Song Rui. He lunged forward, right fist to the temple, left palm to the chest, twist, elbow behind to break the ribs. Each movement had intent. Each one told a story of vengeance.
“You’ve improved,” Lu Qingshan said, watching from the shadows.
Tianming exhaled slowly. “Still not enough. I need more speed. More power.”
“You’re not far,” Qingshan said. “But you’ll need to awaken your internal energy soon. Without it, you’ll hit a ceiling.”
Tianming looked down at his palms. “Dantian…”
“Not yet,” the old man said. “But soon.”
Suddenly, Xiaoxue burst in. “The drive. I cracked part of it.”
Tianming grabbed a towel, wiping sweat from his brow. “What did you find?”
Xiaoxue flicked on the projector. A crude floor plan appeared. “This is not a building. It’s a compound. Hidden beneath the mountains east of New Luoyan.”
“Another base?”
“More than that. This could be their central command for this region.”
Tianming stared at the screen. “Then we hit it. But not like last time. This time, we go in, and no one gets out alive.”
Lu Qingshan stepped forward. “You’ll need backup. That place is a fortress.”
Tianming smiled. “Then let’s wake the wolves.”
It was time to summon those allies in hiding. Friends from the underworld. Contacts from prison. Debtors with old oaths. He would call on every shadow he had ever touched.
Because the next strike wouldn’t just be another blow to the Lotus Clan.
It would be the start of their unraveling.