When Chen Jin was young, his father spent several years working in a southern city, leaving only his mother and the nanny at home. A Zui was still swaddled then—frail from birth, constantly feverish, sent to the hospital every few days. Fortunately, his maternal uncles frequently helped out, or his mother would never have managed.
When A Jin was seven, during the winter holiday, his mother sent A Zui to their uncle's house and took A Jin with her to visit his father in the south. At the time, Chen Shenxing had just concluded a major corruption case. The ringleader had been sentenced to death and his property confiscated. The official's pampered son had fallen from heaven into hell overnight. His hatred for Chen Shenxing ran bone-deep, and he vowed revenge. Unable to find an opportunity, he set his sights on the man's child.
That afternoon, A Jin was tagging along behind his mother at the market. She was fully absorbed in choosing fresh fish from a large glass tank; he poked her and prodded there, curious as usual. Suddenly, a large hand appeared beside him, a strange smell hit his nose—then everything went black.
When he came to, he found himself clamped under a young man's arm, being hauled down a rugged dirt path. Not far ahead shimmered the white surface of a reservoir.
He immediately screamed and thrashed, earning a vicious slap that sent stars exploding across his vision. His mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood. Then he was hurled onto the ground, pain jolting through every bone like he'd been shattered.
The man's face twisted with malice. He kicked and stomped, cursing all the while.
Chen Jin rolled and dodged, shouting back, "Bastard! You hit me again, and I'll have my grandpa shoot you dead!"
"Well, well. The little brat's got backbone. Truly your father's son. Let's see how long you can stay tough."
It didn't take long before A Jin's nose was bleeding, the corner of his eye swollen, his small face ballooned out of shape. When he opened his mouth, a mouthful of blood spilled out.
Still unsatisfied, the deranged man suddenly grabbed him again and dragged him toward the dam. Standing at the edge, he didn't hesitate—he flung A Jin straight into the water.
Chen Jin had been warned never to play near this reservoir—several people had drowned here. Mischievous as he was, even he wouldn't risk his life.
Yet now he was plunging into the freezing water, his bruised and battered body flailing helplessly as the man stood above, admiring the sight for a moment before turning away.
Chen Jin could dog-paddle, but he'd been drugged, beaten, drained of all strength. After a few panicked strokes, he began gulping water, choking as it rushed into his ears, nose, mouth—anywhere it could enter. He was like a sponge, soaking and sinking.
He screamed for help until his throat tore, but not a single person came.
Water kept pouring in, swelling his stomach to bursting, the pain stabbing beneath his ribs unbearable.
He called for his mother, but she was still choosing fish—too far, too slow. She couldn't even catch him when he ran; how could she find him now? By the time she realized he was missing, he would already be at the bottom.
It was the dead of winter. The water was ice-cold. His teeth clattered uncontrollably, his limbs stiffening, joints seizing. He was turning into a popsicle—he'd freeze before he even drowned.
He hated—hated the man who'd done this to him. Bullying a child—what kind of skill was that?
He hated himself, too—for being weak.
In the military compound, he was the king of children; everyone followed him. Anyone who refused, he beat into obedience. Even adults treated him with caution, offering him treats. He'd thought the only difference between them and him was height.
Grandpa had promised him a real gun once he grew up. He had dreamed of commanding thousands, defeating every enemy, driving out invaders, planting the red flag across the world.
Yet here he was—helpless.
A skinny grown man had reduced him to this.
And now a puddle of winter water was going to take his life.
Fear finally struck. Tears leaked out on their own.
Dad always said real men didn't cry.
But what does it matter now? He was about to die.
Man or boy—none of it mattered.
He regretted it all.
Why hadn't he begged?
If he'd pleaded, maybe the man would've pitied a child and let him go.
"Heroes don't suffer needless losses," his uncle said.
He'd been wrong.
Somewhere in the distance, he thought he heard someone calling his name.
But he couldn't see anything anymore—his head had sunk beneath the water, only his arms clawing weakly above the surface.
He missed his mother—nagging but gentle. No matter how much trouble he caused, she never laid a finger on him, only cried. Her tears always made him promise never to upset her again.
He missed his baby brother—only two years old, so cute.
He'd wanted to show him the world when he grew older.
He missed his father—even though he was hardly home and always hit him when he was. A Jin often cursed him under his breath… but now he wished his father were here.
He wanted to say: I'll stop being naughty. I'll be a good son. I'll take care of you when I grow up.
He missed Grandfather, who dreamed of seeing him grow up and inherit his legacy.
He missed his uncles—Second Uncle even said if he never had a son, Chen Jin would be the one to care for him.
He couldn't die.
He had missions to complete.
Heroes in books never died young—they lived at least into their twenties.
How could he die so early?
He hadn't played enough.
Fang Zheng still owed him a Transformer—what now, would they burn it for him during tomb-sweeping?
He thought of his friends—Fang Zheng, Xiang Yang, Li Wei, and so many others…
But his brain felt like mush now, their names slipping away one by one…
Chen Jin was eventually rescued—by the very person who "couldn't run fast," his mother said.
After selecting her fish, she turned around to find her son gone. A quick glance around showed no trace of him. Panic surged. After asking around, she learned that a man had just walked out carrying a little boy. She immediately ran after them, asking questions all the way, and learned the man had headed toward the reservoir.
She was truly foolish—she didn't think to call the police or ask for help. She simply ran by herself toward the reservoir, still clutching the fish in her hand. When she was almost there, a tall, thin man came rushing toward her. The moment he saw her, he spun around and fled. A chill stabbed her heart. She looked toward the pale, vast surface of the water—and spotted a tiny, struggling speck.
Chen Jin remained unconscious in the hospital for a full week. One rib was fractured, his body covered in contusions, and he'd lost a baby tooth that was already loose. A CT scan showed no brain damage. After repeated evaluations, the doctors concluded this was a temporary loss of self-awareness caused by extreme fear and despair.
The attacker was arrested, but during the prosecution phase it was discovered that he suffered from intermittent psychosis and had been in a state of active episode during the assault. By law, he bore no criminal responsibility and was placed under compulsory medical treatment. One month later, he hanged himself in the psychiatric ward using strips torn from a curtain.
Local newspapers reported the child abuse case, sparking a wave of public debate over whether mentally ill offenders should bear criminal liability. Considering Chen Jin's potential psychological trauma, the Chen and Yuan families intervened to suppress further coverage. Naturally, rumors surfaced—some believed the attacker had been "taken care of" by them. But there was no evidence, and a depraved madman was hardly worth anyone's time to investigate.
Though the case seemed closed, it left behind a host of aftershocks—altering the trajectory of several lives.
Half a year later, Chen Shenxing's term ended. He was transferred back to Dragon City and reassigned to an economic bureau. From then on, even his governing style changed noticeably. Chen Jin's mother, who had plunged into icy water that winter's day, developed chronic rheumatism. Every damp, overcast day left her in tears from the pain.
Yet the one most deeply affected was Chen Jin.
After he woke up, he refused to speak for an entire month, staring blankly at the ceiling from dawn till dusk. The whole family was terrified—they summoned doctor after doctor, ran countless tests, and were one step away from hiring a sorcerer to perform a ritual.
His mother, frightened half to death, clung to his hand daily and cried over him. A mother's tears can wrench open even the toughest child's heart. And at last, Chen Jin spoke.
His first words were:
"Mom, I want to grow up faster."
The truth was, he had been fully conscious all those days. His mind spun around one single question—day and night, until his head hurt:
How does one become strong?
For a seven-year-old, what he'd suffered wasn't merely a beating—it was a cataclysm.
Even though he'd blacked out, even though he'd slept a week afterward, the memory of the water burned bright and merciless in his mind:
that engulfing cold,
That bone-deep helplessness,
That suffocating despair,
That monstrous terror gnawing at every corner of his being.
He learned a lesson carved into bone:
When you are truly in danger, no one can save you.
Not his grandfather's gun.
Not his uncles' influence.
Not human decency, compassion, or morality.
All of it—worthless.
Only strength mattered. His own strength. His own mind.
He swore—solemnly, fiercely—that he would become powerful.
Powerful enough that the humiliation of being trampled…
The terror of being discarded like trash…
The threat of dying powerless in the dark…
Would never happen again.
Not in this life.
Not in the next.