CHAPTER 141: WOW, GENERAL LAN IS HERE!

Of course, Sian never believed that Kira’s resignation could be resolved so easily—certainly not with a fleeting act of willpower or through a cold, impersonal email addressed to her employer. To think of it in such terms was laughable, naïve even. The state was not a game to be toyed with, nor was it some trivial stage where one could step down by merely uttering the word quit.

The weight of authority, governance, and nations was not a matter to be dismissed with the click of a button.

But so what? Sian had never been a man afraid of complications. He had never once hesitated to wade into storms that others would flee. Trouble was not something he avoided—it seemed to follow him, cling to him, and ignite a reckless defiance within him.

It wasn’t that Sian was wholly evil, nor was he the embodiment of arrogance. No. Rather, there was within him a peculiar nature—an innate stubbornness that hardened the more pressure was applied. The greater the weight others placed upon his shoulders, the stronger his resistance became. The more they tried to corner him, the more violently he broke through their constraints.

That was the part they could not understand. That was the riddle that eluded the people staring at him now—the couple, the deputy, the minister, all of them.

To them, Sian was nothing more than a gifted man, a vessel of extraordinary power. In their eyes, he was a potential savior misaligned, a tool that could be wielded for humanity and peace if only he submitted. Instead, he seemed to them a source of disruption, a man who—by refusing to bend—caused storms where calm should reign.

They often repeated the phrase: With great power comes great responsibility. And within that belief, those who possessed power had always been divided into two neat categories.

The wicked—who wielded strength for selfish gain, cruelty, and corruption. The righteous—who turned their abilities toward peace, protection, and sacrifice.

But Sian?

Oh, Sian fit into neither box.

He had always been free. Freedom was the marrow of his bones, the very air he breathed. His life, his choices, his very soul—none of these had ever been shackled to society’s expectations. He lived by his own rules, followed his own code.

It wasn’t that he failed to recognize good and evil. He simply defined those terms differently. To him, they were not the absolutes society claimed, but shades of gray bent by circumstance.

He was not evil—he did not revel in malice or cruelty. Yet neither was he good. He did not possess the saintly resolve of those who would sacrifice everything for the distant, abstract dream of world peace.

World peace? To Sian, such a concept was smoke, an illusion that had no bearing on his existence. "As long as the people I love remain safe, then I too am safe." That was his creed.

He never sought to provoke. But should anyone provoke him—should anyone dare to step on his tail—they would not find a man merely defending himself. They would find themselves crushed beneath his killing intent, a storm of violence unleashed not for justice, not for duty, but for the simple fact that he would not allow himself to be trampled.

And now, in this very hall, things were spiraling beyond control.

Sian was angry. Again.

His fury had been simmering for days, weeks even. With each new event that piled upon the last, his nerves had been strung tighter, thinner. It took so very little to ignite him now. A word—sometimes even a glance—was enough to split the fragile dam inside him, unleashing the molten fire of the volcano buried deep within his chest.

The others across from him were no better. Their tempers, too, were frayed. Their patience is exhausted. Their fear mingled with stubborn pride.

And so they glared at each other, the silence between them sharp as blades, the air so taut it seemed to tremble. The spark of war hovered, waiting—ready to erupt at the release of a single careless word.

It was then that a sharp knock broke through the tension.

The heavy doors creaked open, and a servant entered, bowing with rigid formality. "Sir," he said with measured respect, "General Lan has arrived."

"My grandfather?" Lan Qisheng’s voice rose, laced with disbelief. He had not expected this. The sudden mention of the name rattled him, as if the ground had shifted beneath his feet.

Did his grandfather know this minister? Or had he come because of him—because of Sian?

Minister Liang Wei’s eyes flicked toward the servant. His expression softened only slightly. With a sigh that spoke of weariness far deeper than the moment itself, he gestured. "Escort the general here. Treat him with the utmost respect. Lead him directly into this hall."

There was no surprise in his voice. No flicker of uncertainty.

Lan Qisheng’s breath caught. That subtle composure told him all he needed to know. His grandfather’s arrival had been orchestrated. Liang Wei had been waiting for this moment.

His hands tightened into fists at his sides. But after a moment, he exhaled, letting the tension bleed away. There was no use resisting. Instead, he turned his gaze toward Sian.

For Lan Qisheng, duty was not a word—it was a vow written into his very blood. As a soldier, his life was not his own. It belonged to every citizen under the flag. To protect them, to shield them, that was his purpose. It had always been his purpose.

He remembered the forest. The chaos of the terrorist attack. The screams. The smell of burning earth and blood. He remembered the way civilians had stumbled in terror, their lives moments from being extinguished. He had not hesitated. He had thrown himself forward, because that was who he was. He could not stand idle, not while lives—any lives, good or wicked, guilty or innocent—hung in the balance.

Protection was not about morality. He did not separate people into categories of deserving and undeserving. His task was simple: protect. Protect them all. That principle had carved itself into his marrow.

And it was because of this that he wanted Sian’s help. Because when the world trembled on the edge of collapse, it was not enough for one soldier to fight. He needed power like Sian’s. He needed him to stand beside him. To defend the nation. To defend the world.

It wasn’t that he disregarded Sian’s life. No. In fact, the thought weighed heavily on him. But if the entire world fell into chaos, if darkness consumed all—how could Sian remain untouched? He would be dragged into the heart of the storm regardless, whether he wished it or not.

Lan Qisheng would rather they stand together than alone. That they fight back-to-back, instead of colliding as enemies.

To ask otherwise... would be selfish. Shamefully selfish.

Yet deep down, he knew the truth.

He did not fully know Sian’s past. But he had heard enough whispers, caught enough fragments, to piece together the outline. Once, Sian had trusted. Once, he had given. And once, he had been betrayed, abandoned by the very world he had stood within. That was why trust no longer came easily. That was why he stood apart, why the lives of others meant so little to him now.

And worse still—the scientists, the institutes. The laboratories that had sought to bind him. There was a darkness in Sian’s eyes whenever those names were spoken. Lan Qisheng had seen it before—had felt the weight of that hatred. He remembered Sian’s cold hostility toward the institute, the way he had taken in the zombie child, shielding him from their grasp. The tension between him and the laboratories had been so palpable it had nearly split the air itself.

Lan Qisheng’s heart tightened as he thought of her—his beloved. He understood too well why Sian’s scars ran so deep. Betrayal at the hands of the very people meant to guide and protect... what else could that leave behind but a wound that never healed?

Perhaps Sian had lost hope in humanity altogether. The times he had saved others—were they acts of compassion, or simply fleeting whims, sparks of mercy burning out as quickly as they appeared?

When Sian looked upon death, his eyes were calm. Too calm.

Yes, perhaps the Xia family and a few close friends were exceptions. Perhaps there were still embers of warmth left for them. But that only confirmed Sian’s own words: Outside of my loved ones and friends, I care for no one.

"Do you want to dig a hole in my face?"

The sudden sharp voice startled Lan Qisheng, tearing him from his thoughts. "If you’ve got something to say," Sian continued, his tone cool and edged, "then say it."

Lan Qisheng blinked, realizing with a flush of heat that he had been staring at Sian all this time, lost in his own mind. His ears turned red, embarrassment burning across his skin.

The tension shattered again as the doors swung open.

Grandfather Lan entered.

He was dressed in pristine white, the robes flowing with the quiet dignity of an elder statesman. In one hand he leaned upon what at first seemed to be a cane—but no. The gleam of lacquered wood and metal betrayed its truth. It was a sheathed sword, its scabbard carved into the shape of a staff, intricate patterns etched like veins across its surface. Graceful. Deadly.

The moment he stepped inside, his eyes went not to his grandson, but directly to Sian. His stride carried him with certainty, as if he had already chosen where he belonged in this room. And as he approached, Sian rose to greet him.

There was no hostility between them. On the contrary, Sian’s impression of the old general was oddly favorable. After all, this was the same man who had once nearly cleaved his own grandson in two without hesitation. There was honesty in that. There was strength.

Sian smiled faintly as he inclined his head. They exchanged greetings, the weight of respect passing quietly between them.

"Sian, you unfilial child," Grandfather Lan said with a booming laugh. "You haven’t once come to visit me in my home."

"Forgive me, Grandpa Lan," Sian replied lightly, his tone uncharacteristically soft. "Things have been hectic. I’ve barely stayed in my own home for days."

"Hahaha! Yes, yes, I’ve heard of your adventures." The old man’s eyes twinkled. "I must say, fortune seems to follow you... Though whether as a blessing or a curse, I cannot tell. Hahaha!"

This time, Sian’s smile was genuine. It held no mockery, no sharpness, no hidden fury. It was, for a brief instant, free of the shadows that so often clung to him.

Minister Liang Wei, watching from the side, felt a measure of relief wash over him. Perhaps the presence of the general could soften the storm. He stepped forward, bowing in greeting, his mind already whirring with possibilities.

Yes. If he could use General Lan to sway Sian’s decision, perhaps disaster could yet be avoided.

For the thought of war breaking out between Sian and the state was more than terrifying—it was unthinkable. Based on everything they knew, such a conflict would not simply shake the nation. It would shatter it.

And the catastrophe?

It would fall on them. On the ministers. On the state. On the people.

Never on Sian.

That much, they all knew too well.