The Phoenix of the Slums

The hideout Zhao Chenhai led him to was deep within the Old City—a forgotten martial arts dojo hidden behind layers of rusted metal doors and dusty curtains. The air smelled of incense and ancient wood. Time itself seemed to move slower here.

“This was your grandfather’s private training ground,” Zhao said, pulling back a dusty sheet revealing a family crest—the golden phoenix on red silk. “Only his most trusted guards and family members knew of it.”

Tianming ran his fingers across the symbol. It matched the silk cloth he’d grown up with.

“So… this is where I become strong?” he asked quietly.

Zhao nodded. “Yes. But strength alone won’t save you. We’ll train your body, your mind, and your instincts. You’ll learn business, warfare, strategy, and survival. One day, you will return to them not as a boy, but as a storm."

Just as Zhao began preparing the dojo for training, his phone vibrated.

He glanced at the screen—and cursed under his breath.

“They’ve found us.”

A chill ran through Tianming. “How?”

Zhao didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed a steel staff from the wall and tossed Tianming a short blade.

“Stay behind me. If they want the phoenix, they’ll have to get through the tiger.”

The front gate burst open with a metallic clang.

Three men entered—suited, clean-shaven, all wearing dark sunglasses despite the dim light.

The lead one stepped forward. “Li Tianming, you’ve been ordered to return to the family. Alive or dead—your choice.”

Tianming’s heart pounded. It was the first time someone outside the slums had addressed him by his true name.

But Zhao moved first.

With terrifying speed, he struck, sweeping the staff low. The nearest attacker collapsed with a crunch. The other two moved in, guns drawn—but Zhao had already vanished into the shadows of the room.

Gunfire shattered silence. Dust flew. Sparks erupted from old steel beams.

Tianming ducked, heart racing, but eyes sharp. He watched every movement, calculated every step.

He was scared.

But more than that—he was angry.

His life. His identity. His future.

They tried to take it from him again.

He wouldn’t let them.

In a blur, Zhao disarmed one of the men and sent him crashing into a support beam. The last agent, realizing he was outmatched, fled back through the gate.

Zhao didn’t chase.

Instead, he turned to Tianming.

“They know you're alive now. There’s no going back.”

Tianming picked up the fallen agent’s gun and stared at it.

“Good,” he said coldly. “Let them come.”