Re-birth: The Beginning after the End - Chapter 50

Chapter 50: NIGHT OF THE FULL MOON

After their meal, her mother and father quickly rushed the siblings to bed, insisting tomorrow would be an extremely tiring day and that they must get as much sleep as possible. Her brothers believed them without question and quickly drifted off. Li Hua, however, lay awake, her instincts attuned to every sound.

Hushed footsteps and muffled voices drifted from next door as her parents moved about with careful deliberation, likely gathering items for their meeting. When the almost silent creak of their bedroom door reached her ears, Li Hua sprang into action.

She had spent the previous night considering her options. Following them with qigong was too risky—if caught, her parents would be upset. After dismissing several equally problematic plans, she’d settled on the most effective strategy available to her current form: catching them in the act and crying. It wasn’t the most graceful approach, but she knew her parents wouldn’t be able to refuse a tearful five-year-old.

The moment she flung open the door, tears began streaming down her cheeks. “Māmā? Bàba?”

Her father leaped back, startled. She noticed his fingers curl into a fist before he caught himself—clearly fighting the instinct to drop into a defensive stance.

“Bàba… where are you going?” She asked, her voice trembling with perfectly calculated sweetness.

Her father’s expression softened as he crossed the short distance between them in two quick strides. Gathering her into his arms with practiced ease, he tried to soothe her, his large hands gentle as they pinched her cheeks affectionately. “Be good, my little poppy. Bàba needs to go out for a moment, I’ll be right back.”

She shook her head vigorously, letting the tears flow freely down her face. “I’m scared, Bàba. Take me too.”

Her father exchanged a look with her mother, who had appeared silently beside them. Li Hua could see the silent communication passing between them—concern, hesitation, and finally, resignation.

“Wife…” her father began, but her mother was already nodding, a knowing smile playing at her lips.

“She’s already awake,” her mother said softly. “And you know she won’t sleep until we return. Besides…” She reached out to smooth Li Hua’s tear-streaked cheeks. “Perhaps it’s time.”

Her father sighed, but Li Hua could see the fondness in his eyes as he adjusted his grip on her. “Very well, my clever little warrior. But you must promise to stay quiet and do exactly as we say. Can you do that?”

Li Hua nodded eagerly; her tears mysteriously vanishing as she wrapped her arms around her father’s neck. In her mind, she couldn’t help but feel a touch of professional pride—sometimes the simplest tactics were indeed the most effective.

As an assassin, she’d played countless roles—some more successfully than others. Her most notorious failure had been attempting to play a flirtatious socialite, a role that had made her skin crawl with every batting eyelash and hollow giggle.

The mission had predictably ended in violence—she’d broken three people’s arms that night, and only one of them belonged to her actual target. It was a natural conclusion when forcing someone of her cold, calculating nature to act like a seductress. But years of practice had honed her other personas to lethal perfection, even if she’d never imagined her masterpiece would be playing a convincing five-year-old. Still, she had to admit—watching her father’s stern resolve crumble in the face of a few well-timed tears was far more satisfying than any infiltration had ever been.

Her father carried her onto the roof in one fluid motion, the night air cool against her skin. He pulled up the black mask that had been hanging around his neck, and that’s when Li Hua truly noticed their attire.

Her farmer parents had transformed—though not into the form-fitting spandex of TV ninjas, nor the sleek tactical gear she’d worn as an assassin. Instead, they wore dark, practical garments that whispered of stealth and purpose. Her mother appeared beside them, her usual formal bun replaced by a sleek ponytail that caught the moonlight. As the wind stirred her mother’s smooth, silky hair, the faint scent of jasmine drifted through the air.

“You have to be quiet, little poppy. Don’t scream or shout, okay?” Her father’s eyes gazed down at her, kind and familiar despite their clandestine setting. Even in his mysterious attire, his handsome features—those dark eyes and heroic eyebrows—remained unmistakably those of her beloved Bàba, a face she could pick out of any crowd.

Li Hua quickly nodded, fighting back a smile at how her parents could manage to look both intimidating and endearing at the same time.

Her father passed her to her mother with practiced ease before crouching slightly. Her mother gently secured Li Hua onto her father’s back, making sure she had a firm grip. “If you need anything, tap Bàba’s shoulder,” he whispered, adjusting his hold on her legs.

Then they were off, their movements so swift that the night air whipped past Li Hua’s face, forcing her to squint against the wind. Though not as instantaneous as her celestial diamond earrings’ transportation, their speed was still remarkable.

They bounded from rooftop to rooftop with fluid grace, their footsteps so light they didn’t leave even the slightest impression on the villagers’ thatched roofs. Her mother matched her father’s pace perfectly, their movements synchronized as if dancing to an unheard rhythm. Li Hua watched in quiet appreciation as her parents navigated the village’s skyline—every leap precisely calculated; every landing silent as falling snow.

They passed the outer edges of the village, moving beyond the familiar streets where vendors would normally set up their morning markets. Her parents’ pace never faltered as they crossed over the last few households, their shadows barely visible against the star-filled sky.

Even carrying Li Hua, her father moved with incredible agility, his breathing steady and controlled. Her mother followed like a dark shadow, her ponytail streaming behind her like a ribbon of black silk in the night breeze.

She couldn’t help but gawk. Geez, her parents were really cool.

Their journey continued across the flat, open lands, the moonlight casting long shadows as they traveled swiftly through the darkness. Empty fields stretched endlessly around them, the terrain becoming increasingly desolate. After what felt like hours of traversing the barren landscape, they finally arrived in front of an old, abandoned inn. The building stood like a ghost against the night sky, its weathered walls and sagging roof telling stories of better days.

Her parents slowed their steps and approached with careful deliberation. As they drew closer, Li Hua suddenly felt an invisible force tug at her, trying to pull her from her father’s back. She instinctively tightened her grip, her small fingers clutching his clothes, but as quickly as the force had appeared, it vanished—like a curious spirit testing her presence.

“It’s ok, little poppy,” her father whispered, gently squeezing her leg reassuringly. “That’s just the boundary array recognizing you.”

She nodded against her father’s back, then caught herself—he couldn’t see the gesture in the darkness. So, instead she whispered, “Ok, Bàba.”

They entered the abandoned inn, their footsteps eerily silent against the worn floorboards. The darkness inside was absolute, seeming to swallow even the faint moonlight that had guided their journey.

Li Hua’s instincts flared to life as she strained her senses, searching for any trace of movement or breath in the shadows. Nothing. The silence was unnaturally complete, as if the very air had been frozen in time.