...Swallow...
...Child...
...Remember...Su Xiu...
"Ah—! Who the hell are you!?" Jonathan Black roared, jolting awake and looking around. He found himself lying on his favorite couch. "Who was that in my dream just now? Why do I feel this weird sense of dread?" Jonathan was completely rattled—more so than ever before in his life.
"The real question is, what does all this have to do with that girl?" Jonathan clutched his hair in agony. He felt like a broken tape recorder—every time Yang Qi touched him, he played a new snippet. Whenever Yang Qi said something relevant, he'd short-circuit and twitch again.
What the hell is going on?
"You're awake?" a voice interrupted Jonathan's spiral. He looked up—it was Jill Young, holding a next-gen game console. Only then did Jonathan notice Jill was having a blast gaming on his giant TV, and he hadn't even realized she was there. Clearly, he was really shaken. Jonathan knew he needed to get a grip.
"You brought me back here?" Jonathan took a deep breath, calming himself, then immediately noticed something new: Wait, where did she get that game console? I don't remember ever having one of those in my room!
"Bobby Brooks carried you back like a princess. I was just there for the show. Anyway, since you're up, I'm heading out. Make sure you return this to Glasses Girl for me." Jill tossed the console and walked away.
Jonathan glanced at the game console, chuckling and shaking his head. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose. He'd always been the one investigating others. But now, it looked like he really needed to investigate himself.
"Swallow... child..." He repeated the words out loud—in Chinese. He grabbed a Chinese dictionary and looked them up, finally understanding what they meant.
The meaning of 'swallow' was unclear, so he set it aside for now. But—"Child?" Jonathan was stunned. He remembered flashes from his dream—a woman. He couldn't see her clearly, but she seemed familiar, comforting, and made him want to get closer. "Could it be..." Jonathan reached an unbelievable conclusion: "The person in my dream was my mother? But... my mother passed away a long time ago, and I never met her. Could it really be her?!"
That can't be right. From last time's 'Su Xiu' to this time's 'swallow' and 'child,' all the words were in Chinese. That woman must've been Chinese, or at least of Chinese descent. But how could his mother be Chinese?
No, wait, think about it—why couldn't his mother be Chinese?
He'd grown up speaking English and never considered he might be mixed-race—just like most Chinese citizens never wonder if they're secretly part of some foreign ethnicity. But Jonathan looked up at the mirror. The reflection was a classic Caucasian face: high nose bridge, deep-set eyes, strong features. But when he looked closer at his eye color and facial structure, there was a hint of something Eastern.
Jonathan rubbed his temples. The more critical the moment, the calmer he got—that's how he'd managed to run a huge corporation at such a young age. He took out a blank sheet of paper and started jotting down scattered notes. It was a lifelong habit that helped him organize his thoughts and stay cool.
On the paper, he wrote 'Mother' and 'Father' first. He drew a big circle for his father and wrote 'Zade Family' inside, adding 'Patriarch' next to it. Jonathan gave a cold laugh—a gloomy, icy estate, a father who'd never cared about him, a pack of wolf-like brothers, and himself—a so-called 'foreign assignment' that was really just exile for the bastard son.
It was the kind of place that made you feel zero sense of belonging. The only thing Jonathan couldn't let go of was his mother's grave—a simple headstone, not even an inscription, no name at all.
But Jonathan wrote another word next to 'Mother'—Tiberia. That's right. Even though he was just a kid at the time, and after the funeral he was strictly forbidden from visiting the grave, nobody knew Jonathan had a freakishly good memory. Not photographic, but precocious—able to recall things from early childhood.
He remembered that at the burial, people kept repeating one word—Tiberia.
Jonathan put down his pen—he'd made up his mind. He grabbed a syringe from the first aid kit, jabbed it into his arm, and calmly drew a few milliliters of blood. Then he called his right-hand man: "Bobby, I've got a blood sample here. Take it to the hospital for an ancestry test. Let me know the results ASAP, no matter what time it is. Also, book me a flight—I need to go to the States."
I have to figure out my own origins. I need to know where I really come from.
Three days later, a third mysterious location.
"Your Majesty, relax, relax—everything's fine!" Tiny hands kneaded Jill Young's shoulders. This time it wasn't Bobby, but Glasses Girl. She used to tinker with the control console in the one-way mirror room, but after witnessing Jill's badass performance, she instantly became her number one fangirl.
Glasses Girl handed over an energy drink, her eyes sparkling with stars. "Only two matches and you're already in the Death Cage Match—Your Majesty, you're literally the first in history!"
"Hah, Death Cage Match—now that's what I call underground fighting!" Jill shuffled in place, throwing left and right hooks, itching for action!
"This is a rare big event—twenty-eight gold medalists from nine East Asian divisions, fighting all day long!" Bobby Brooks barged into the lounge with the match schedule. "We're up first—opening match, handpicked by the bosses. Your Majesty, looks like you're famous now!"
This chapter isn't over yet ^.^ Click next page to keep reading!
The lounge speakers chimed—a bell rang. Time's up!
Jill Young strode out, eager for the new Death Cage Match. She couldn't wait.
Behind her, Bobby Brooks suddenly called out, "Your Majesty, this ring is kill or be killed. If you gotta strike, strike hard!"
Strike hard? Do I look like someone who'd hesitate? Jill Young glanced back at Bobby. "Are there any innocents here?"
Bobby and Glasses Girl exchanged a confused look, then shook their heads in unison. "Nope." In a place like this, innocence didn't exist.
"Then that's settled. Why would I hesitate?" Jill waved them off without turning around. "Tell Charlie to bet big for me—go all in, win the grand slam!"
Outside, at the arena, the crowd wasn't smaller than at the regional matches—if anything, it was bigger. More frenzy, more menace, more violence. The atmosphere oozed from the standing and seated spectators, filling the whole venue.
The announcer's voice boomed from the massive speakers: "Ladies and gentlemen, the long-awaited tournament finally begins today! No more chit-chat—let's get right to it! First match is about to start! I'm sure nobody minds seeing a fresh face—there's always new faces here, not many survive long enough to become old ones. So, let's welcome our first fighters!"
Jill Young entered the arena and hopped onto the ring, drawing a wave of whistles. Her opponent was an Asian man—tough-looking, eyes blazing with madness. In this place, that expression was nothing special—hardly memorable.
"The guy's not worth introducing—let's see if he survives first. But the woman, now that's someone to talk about! This female fighter is the new star of the Hong Kong division, tearing through the ranks like a tornado! She's the only woman ever to earn the champion title in a men's match, known as 'Your Majesty.' Let's see what she can do—bring down the cage—Blade Mountain Formation!"
At the announcer's signal, the crowd erupted. A steel ceiling descended onto the ring, its petals closing in to form four iron cages, trapping the two fighters inside. But that wasn't the real kicker—the cages were covered in blades about a foot long, gleaming cold and sharp, stabbing at the eyes.
The man across from her suddenly sprang into action like a wind-up toy, eyeing the surroundings warily before advancing on Jill Young—a textbook fighter's reaction. But Jill's move surprised everyone. "Interesting," she muttered, casually touching the blades. They were sharp—definitely not toys. "Blade Mountain Formation? Never heard of this before. Must be random—or maybe someone's twisted idea of fun."
"Hey, announcer!" Jill suddenly called out loudly. "Got any other formations?"
The crowd was stunned, and so was the announcer—no fighter had ever had the nerve to chat with him mid-fight. But he quickly laughed, "Of course, Your Majesty! But win this match first, then we'll talk!"