Chapter 7: The Colonel’s Secret

I skipped the evening drills.

Not because I was tired.

Because I needed time—to think, to plan, to move.

I sat in the academy library’s far corner, surrounded by dusty journals no one bothered to read. I kept my back to the wall, laptop open, face calm.

Colonel Yan.

The name sat like a loaded round in my chest. I typed it into the military database using a proxy account I borrowed from a third-year cadet who owed me a favor.

There were dozens of Yans. Only one matched what I remembered:

Colonel Yan Shiming. Retired. Internal Intelligence Division. Last assignment: National Defense Psychological Operations.

Last seen five years ago.

Disappeared six months after my mother’s death.

Coincidence? No.

Someone erased him.

Or he erased himself.

Backdoor Deals and Quiet Moves

I sent a message to a contact in the academy’s tech department. He didn’t know who I really was—but he liked the mystery. Some people are easy to buy. Some just want to feel useful.

All I said was: Find me a forwarding trace on Yan Shiming. Discreetly.

Then I did something no one expected.

I went to the gym.

Not the academy training field. The underground gym cadets used off-record. The one with cracked mats, metal weights, and no instructors.

The one where no one cared who your father was.

I stepped into the ring in a plain tank top and sneakers. No ribbons. No polish. Just me.

The guy in the ring turned—tall, thick arms, full of confidence.

“You sure?” he asked.

“I won’t break,” I said.

He laughed. “Your bones will.”

He was wrong.

Fighting the Body

The first hit rattled my teeth. I staggered, wiped blood from my lip, and straightened.

I wasn’t trying to win.

I was trying to learn.

How this body moved. Where it bent. How it fell. How it came back up.

I didn’t want to be strong for show.

I wanted to own every step, every strike, every bruise.

By the third round, I was still standing. Not fast. Not flashy. But standing.

When I walked out, someone stopped me by the lockers.

Lu Zeyuan.

“You’re bleeding,” he said calmly.

“I’m training.”

He folded his arms. “You’re not required to.”

“Nothing about this life is required. I’m choosing now.”

A pause.

Then he stepped closer, voice low. “I warned you that once you start opening doors, you don’t get to close them again.”

“I don’t want them closed,” I said. “I want what’s behind them.”

The Visit

A day later, I received an unsigned message on my comm:

Dockyard 12. Third warehouse. 01:00. Come alone.

I didn’t ask permission.

I slipped out wearing black cargo pants and a gray jacket. No ring. No name tag.

Just silence.

The warehouse was abandoned, lit by one overhead bulb and the weak glow of a portable heater. I waited ten minutes.

Then he stepped out.

Thin. Gray hair. Civilian clothes. Tired eyes.

Colonel Yan.

“I didn’t expect you to come,” he said.

“I didn’t expect you to vanish.”

“I had to. I promised your mother I’d stay alive long enough to tell you.”

He handed me a folder—no label, just yellowed edges and hand-scrawled notes.

Inside: medical reports. Surveillance photos. Letters.

My mother had been followed.

By her own people.

“She found out something,” Yan said. “Something about the academy. The research they were running. She tried to pull you out.”

“What research?”

“They were testing influence methods. Emotional engineering. Trying to create soldiers who could follow orders under any condition. Even children. Especially children.”

“Psych ops?” I asked.

He nodded. “You were part of a monitored control group. You didn’t know. She found out.”

My head buzzed.

“What about the fall?” I asked.

He didn’t blink.

“Pushed. Your mother’s death wasn’t natural either.”

I exhaled slowly.

“Who gave the order?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “But the initials on her threat file were JS.”

Jiang Shuren.

My father.

Back at the Academy

I didn’t cry.

I didn’t sleep.

I burned the copies. Hid the originals.

And then I smiled.

Because now I had something no one else had.

The truth.

I didn’t need their permission to live this life anymore.

I was going to take it. Build it. Twist it into something they couldn’t control.

Money, Allies, and Leverage

The next week, I launched a ghost profile through a private online military forum. Code-named LanZero. Offered logistics consulting and strategic simulations in exchange for information. Small work. Invisible. Under the radar.

By week’s end, I had twelve clients.

One of them sent me a payment routed through a black-market server.

It wasn’t much.

But it was mine.

My first clean money in this life.

And I wasn’t done.

Small Moment, Big Meaning

On a quiet morning, I found Lu Zeyuan waiting for me in the courtyard behind the academy’s library. No guards. No titles.

“You’re not asking me for help,” he said.

“No,” I replied.

“Why?”

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