The ache in her bruised knees mattered little compared to the empty cribs where the twins should have slept. Her thoughts repeated their names without pause. She pushed herself up, hands scraping against the floorboards, her eyes fixated on Granny Yao’s still form. “Granny Yao!” she choked out, crawling towards the elder, fear twisting her gut. The older woman lay unnaturally still, a dark patch blossoming on her simple cotton shirt. Zhitong reached her, fumbling hands searching for a pulse, a breath. Then, a shuddering gasp. Granny Yao’s eyes fluttered open, wide and unfocused, before fixing on Zhitong’s face. “Zhitong… my child…” Granny Yao whispered, her voice reedy, thick with what sounded like pain. A tear traced a path through the dust on her cheek. “They… they took them. The Fangs… Madam Fang…” Zhitong froze, her blood turning to ice. The Fangs. Madam Fang. The names echoed, each syllable a hammer blow to her resolve. Granny Yao’s words, though weak, ignited a firestorm within her. The quiet shyness, the tendency to avoid direct confrontation – it all burned away, consumed by a scorching, primal rage. Her children were gone. Taken by *them*. “The Fangs?” Zhitong’s voice was a low growl, unrecognizable even to herself. She knelt, supporting Granny Yao gently. “Are you certain? You saw them?” Granny Yao nodded, her head lolling weakly. “Yes… burst in like bandits… rough hands… they struck me when I tried to stop them…” Another tear fell, this one seemingly of shame. “They said… collateral. For your business. For your… insolence.” Her voice tapered into a pained whimper. Collateral. Insolence. The words resonated with Madam Fang’s earlier threats, with Jiali’s venomous gaze at the auction. Zhitong’s hands curled into tight fists, nails digging into her palms. Wealth. Security. These had been her goals. Now, they were trivial. Her new goal, searing and absolute, was annihilation. Utter, complete destruction of the Fang clan. She gently laid Granny Yao back down. “I need to go. I need to get them back.” “No, Zhitong, don’t! You’ll get hurt!” Granny Yao pleaded, a hand weakly reaching out. “They’re many… and cruel.” Zhitong met her gaze, her eyes cold, devoid of her usual timidity. “They will regret this day.” She rose, her movements stiff with controlled fury. There was no time for doctors, no time for police. Only vengeance. Only her children. She retreated into the hidden courtyard of her mind. The lush greenery, usually a balm to her frayed nerves, now seemed to mock her with its tranquility. She stood before the shimmering 'Threshold of Eras', her mind racing. What could she use? Something effective. Something immediate. Something to level the playing field against thugs and a conniving, powerful clan. A taser. She typed rapidly into the glowing interface, her fingers flying. A modern stun gun, high voltage. The portal hummed, a small, sleek device materializing on the ancient stone altar. She grabbed it, the smooth plastic cool in her hand, a shocking contrast to the rough reality of 1982 Qingshui Port. She slipped it into her pocket, the dense plastic solid against her hip. She left Granny Yao, muttering a promise to send help as soon as she retrieved the pair. Then, she darted past the threshold, driven by cold purpose. The distance to the Fang compound, usually a pleasant stroll, was now a race against time and a boiling cauldron of rage. Each step hammered against the gravel. When she reached the imposing gates of the Fang residence, a high-walled compound overshadowing neighboring cottages, two hired sentries leaned against the brick, smoking. They barely glanced up as Zhitong approached, their faces etched with boredom. “Get lost, woman,” one grunted, waving a dismissive hand. “This ain’t no place for beggars.” Zhitong didn’t respond. She simply walked closer, her hand sliding into her pocket, fingers closing around the taser. Neither man shifted, though an edge of irritation crossed their faces. As the first man moved to block her path, a sneer forming on his lips, Zhitong moved faster. She pulled the taser, pressed it to his side, and triggered the shock. An electric discharge flared blue, and the man stiffened before collapsing in a heap, smoke rising faintly from his jacket. The second sentry, startled, roared and lunged. Zhitong dodged, her movements surprisingly fluid, fueled by adrenaline and a mother’s desperation. She spun, bringing the taser up, connecting it with his neck. Another arc snapped into skin, drawing a choked rasp as he too crumpled, twitching on the ground. She didn’t hesitate, didn’t look back. The gates were secured with a heavy chain, but she spotted a loose stone in the wall nearby. With a fierce yank, she dislodged it, creating a small, awkward gap. She squeezed through, her clothes tearing slightly, but she felt nothing. She was a phantom, a force of nature. The compound was sprawling, a maze of interconnected courtyards and ornate buildings. Zhitong moved like a shadow, her senses heightened. She heard shouts, the clatter of movement. She rounded a corner, coming face to face with three hired thugs armed with thick wooden cudgels. They paused, momentarily stunned by her sudden appearance. “Intruder!” one yelled, raising his cudgel. Zhitong met his gaze, her expression glacial. The taser hummed in her hand. One, two, three. Each burst dropped an attacker straight to the stone flags, their muscles seizing under the voltage. She stepped over them, her breath coming in ragged gasps, but her resolve unbroken. She followed the sounds, a rising crescendo of panic, until she found herself in the central hall, a grand space adorned with heavy, dark wood furniture. Madam Fang stood there, flanked by Fang Jiali, both women looking pale and disheveled. They were arguing with a pair of surviving retainers, their voices high-pitched and frantic. “The twins, Madam Fang!” Zhitong shouted, stepping into the hall. “Where are they?” Madam Fang whirled, clutching her collar as she took in Zhitong standing tall with the humming weapon. Jiali let out a small shriek. “You… you demon!” Madam Fang shrieked, pointing a trembling finger. “Get out! Throw her out!” The remaining retainers, rattled by the fate of the men outside, backed toward the walls. Zhitong took a step forward, the taser sparking menacingly. One man dropped his cudgel and fled toward the side corridor. Another followed. “Where are Xiaobo and Xiaoxue?” Zhitong demanded, her voice rising to a roar. She advanced, pushing Madam Fang back until the older woman stumbled against a heavy carved screen. “Tell me, or I swear, you will regret the day you were born!” Madam Fang’s bravado crumbled. Her face was ashen, fear contorting her features. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about!” she stammered, shaking her head violently. “Those brats? We never touched them! Why would we? We were just… we were just trying to… to discuss your debt!” Her voice was a desperate squeak. Zhitong faltered. The raw, unadulterated terror in Madam Fang’s eyes was genuine. The fear wasn’t for herself, but a bewildered terror, as if she truly had no idea. It was a stark contrast to the calculating villainy Zhitong had expected. A hollow knot seized Zhitong's stomach. If not them… then who? Just then, the compound gates burst open with a crash, and He Tingye strode in, followed by several stern escorts. His gaze swept the courtyard, noting the prostrate sentries, the cornered Fangs, and Zhitong standing rigid with her weapon. His eyes softened when they met hers, a deep concern etched on his handsome face. “Zhitong,” he said, his voice a low, calming rumble. He walked towards her, his bodyguards fanning out to secure the perimeter. “We found something. At your home. After your neighbor was taken to the clinic.” He pulled a small, dark object from his pocket. It was a bead, intricately carved from what looked like ancient, polished wood. It glowed faintly, a rich, dark amber. “This was dropped near your door. It’s an ancient Buddhist prayer bead. Very unique. Very old.” Zhitong’s breath caught. She knew that bead. She had seen it before, countless times. Dangling from a worn leather cord around Granny Yao’s neck. Her mind reeled. Granny Yao. The subtle suggestions, the way she had always been *there*. The talisman. The saboteur. The *lies*. [Core Extraction Imminent - Collapse in 24 Hours]

Blood and Jade