Chapter 5: Invisible Chains 2111Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiVHpVe1SjK
111Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSku4XPNAtF
That Night in Baishan
Roman had returned to the city.
He walked the familiar streets in silence, brushing against the walls and lampposts as if touching the remnants of a forgotten home. He returned to the alleys where he had slept, stolen, fought, and fled. There, in that concrete scar he once called refuge, he left his art.
He painted a self-portrait. Then crossed it out.
He painted wings. Then chained them.
And screamed.
It was how he breathed. It wasn't enough, but it held him together—a brief release of his identity.
When he finished, he thought of Xiao Lian. Maybe he overreacted. Maybe she hadn't rejected him. Maybe... he should go back and apologize. Leaving without a word had been wrong. He'd bring a gift for everyone—something to say I didn't know how to stay.
Lost in thought, he took a shortcut through the side streets. As he walked, he searched his backpack for the pigments he would use for his apology. But when he looked up—it was too late: three silhouettes blocked the alley. Familiar faces. Sharp smiles. The shadow of a gang sealing the exit.
The Northern gangs.
They recognized him instantly. They had been tracking him since he entered the city. His name had a price now—seen as a deserter in the streets. As a follower of Lin Yuan.
—"Well, look who's back. The pathetic elf. What happened to your little mountain paradise, huh? Couldn't handle sleeping in hay?"
Roman, ever skilled at avoiding danger, acted fast. Without a word, he leapt toward a nearby wall. He pulled out the climbing spikes from his backpack—tools of every street artist—and began to climb. If there was one thing he knew, it was how to escape.
—"Leaving already? Shocker," one mocked. "Maybe that cowardice is why your little girlfriend's going to pay. What if one of us finds her first?"
Another followed up cruelly:
—"Chen Li, now that you mention it, I'd gladly take that cursed blood. After kicking her around, maybe I'll let her warm my bed. I'll make her think I care. Ha ha ha..."
Roman stopped. Not because he had romantic feelings for Xiao Lian. But he would never let them talk about his people that way. His blood boiled. He shouted from the top of the wall:
—"You filthy trash. You're lower than scum. If there's justice in this world, you'll all die like dogs."
The gang members only laughed. Roman, who had reached the top of the wall, threw a paint-stained stone at them. Then another. And another. Jars of pigment, sticks, rocks—everything he had became a weapon.
The gang, bruised and furious, shouted back.
—"Come down here if you dare, you worthless elf!"
But Roman didn't know: they already knew his tricks. They were just buying time by letting him throw things.
—"Idiot," one of them muttered.
Suddenly, from the other side of the wall, a gang member had climbed up unnoticed. With one swift strike, he threw Roman down.
Roman landed straight on a flowerpot. He felt a dry crack in his right arm. He tried to get up—but couldn't. Broken. His vision blurred and his head buzzed. Footsteps approached slowly, confident of their prey.
—"Damn, John. Perfect shot. Almost poetic."
John scoffed and walked off.
Chen Li, the gang leader, crouched and grabbed Roman's head, forcing him to look at him.
Chen Li spat near his face.
—"Think you can paint over what you are? Your mother died screaming your name, and you… you pretend to be free. We don't forgive deserters."
Another thug joined in.
—"Thought you were better than us? Mountains, kids, dreams? Just because your mom wanted you to be a painter you think you stopped belonging to these streets? Wake up, idiot! You're just like us."
He let go of him with disgust.
Roman, bleeding, in pain, barely able to move, could only reach one bitter conclusion: I shouldn't have left.
No, he thought painfully. The mistake wasn't leaving. It was not being strong enough to teach them a lesson.
They brought bats. Sticks. Chen Li gave the order:
—"Start."
And they beat him.
They beat him with all the hatred they had. As if the color he carried in his hands reminded them of everything they couldn't be.
When they finally stopped, Chen Li approached what was left of Roman—a trembling body, between blood and unconsciousness.
—"Tell Lin Yuan this is just the beginning. He thought he was a hero for standing up to the gangs. Thought he was free on his hill. But Falcon has returned. And now, we're hunting him."
Roman, adrenaline fading, body broken, his mind faltered. He saw, through drops of blood, his broken mural of wings.
Ironic, he thought. The chains always win... right?
Until, finally, he lost consciousness.
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