A History Written In Scars

The Promise of Blood

Rain always had a way of dragging old memories back from the dead.

Si Rang stood at the gates of Qinghe Academy, the drizzle sliding down his collar like cold fingers tracing a warning across his neck. He hated rain. Hated how it sounded like whispers. Hated how it carried the past in every drop.

He wasn’t supposed to be here.

His life in the city had been loud, messy, fast enough to drown anything soft. Anything weak. Anything that looked too much like that night. For years, he’d convinced himself he had moved on, that revenge didn’t matter anymore, that some wounds sealed if you ignored them long enough.

But standing here now… he realized nothing had healed. It had only been waiting.

The gates creaked open as if recognizing him. As if welcoming back a ghost.

His footsteps were slow, deliberate. Every corner of Qinghe was painfully familiar—the cracked pavement near the training yard, the old cherry tree that had seen too many confessions and too many heartbreaks, the dark hallway near the dorms where someone had once shoved him so hard he saw stars.

Si Rang tightened his jaw.

He wasn’t weak anymore.

He wasn’t that trembling boy who had believed everything he was told—about himself, about others, about him.

As if summoned by the bitterness rising in his chest, a voice cut through the silence.

“You’re early.”

Si Rang froze.

That voice hadn’t changed. Not even a little.

He turned, slowly, as if afraid the universe was playing tricks on him. But it wasn’t. There, standing under the overhang with an umbrella tilted lazily over one shoulder, was Lu Shen.

Calm expression. Quiet eyes. Posture like he owned the rain itself.

Si Rang’s heart dropped—annoyingly loud, annoyingly real.

The years had been unfair to him.

Lu Shen had only grown taller, more composed, more… irritatingly beautiful in a way Si Rang refused to acknowledge. His hair was darker now, his eyes softer, but his presence hadn’t changed at all.

Still unreadable.

Still too gentle.

Still the same person Si Rang had sworn to hate.

“You’re staring,” Lu Shen said, his voice warm enough to irritate.

“You’re in my way,” Si Rang shot back, brushing past him. His shoulder barely grazed Lu Shen’s, but it sent a current through him he didn’t want to acknowledge.

Lu Shen didn’t move. Didn’t snap back. Didn’t even seem bothered.

He just followed him with those infuriatingly calm eyes.

“You came back without telling anyone.” Lu Shen’s voice was low. “Not even me.”

Si Rang stopped. The words hit him wrong—too familiar, too assumptive, too close.

“You?” Si Rang let out a humorless laugh. “Why the hell would I tell you anything?”

A pause. Heavy. Complicated.

“Because of… everything,” Lu Shen murmured.

The rain seemed to pause between them.

Si Rang clenched his fists. “Don’t pretend we’re connected. We’re not. We never were.”

“That’s not true.”

Lu Shen’s reply was so soft Si Rang wished he hadn’t heard it.

He didn’t turn around.