The Rise of a Special Forces Soldier Abandoned by a Wealthy Family

Beijing.

Eastern suburbs.

That forbidden place, which is extremely difficult for outsiders to explore.

A three-courtyard siheyuan (traditional courtyard house) lies lurking in the deepest shadows, every outline exuding a cold and menacing aura that keeps strangers at bay.

Minggang, fully armed, with eyes as sharp as a hawk, scanned every suspicious dark corner.

The sentry, his breathing almost ceased, completely blended into the bricks, stones, grass, and trees.

Inside the main house, the atmosphere was quite different from the solemn atmosphere outside; it was warm yet somber.

On the sandalwood tea table, the tea in the white porcelain cup is just the right temperature.

The old man at the head of the table wore an old military uniform, his shoulder insignia removed, exuding an iron-blooded and dignified air.

He gazed at the swaddled baby in his old friend's arms, his eyes filled with a complex mix of emotions, as deep as the snow on the Kunlun Mountains.

Across from me, a gaunt old man in a Chinese-style jacket chuckled and adjusted his arm to make the baby's face more comfortable.

"Old Zeng, still thinking about it? Your eyes are practically popping out of your head."

"You bastard, you've spent your whole life holding a gun, and now you see me holding your grandson, your hands are shaking like you're having a seizure. What are you worried about?"

Zeng Rong snorted, like a tank starting up: "Bullshit! I'm just afraid your hands are rough and you'll hurt this little thing." He was tough on the outside, but his hands trembled slightly.

My gaze was fixed on the baby, who was fast asleep, his little fists clenched, exuding peace.

"What a promising talent..." he said with pride.

Yan Fushan, the thin old man opposite him, smiled even more deeply upon hearing this.

He gently swayed his arm:

"Yes, how wonderful. The boy born to your troublemaker has his father's features, but his bone structure is like yours, very strong."

He looked at the baby girl beside him:

"And look at my precious granddaughter, oh my, look at those long eyelashes, just like her grandma. I wonder which little bastard will end up with her..."

Before he could finish speaking, Zeng Rong suddenly interrupted, his voice deepening and carrying an unyielding, iron-like tone:

"Old Yan, stop with the small talk. Let's stick to what we agreed on before."

"This marriage must take place."

The air suddenly tightened. There seemed to be very faint footsteps passing by the window, then quickly fading away—a signal for the guards to change positions.

Yan Fushan's smile faded slightly. He sighed and looked at the two innocent little lives nestled together in his arms, clinging to each other out of pure instinct.

"Old buddy, aren't you in a bit of a rush? The kids' barely been born. What era are we living in? Still doing this? What if they don't like it later..."

"I have no objections!" Zeng Rong said firmly, causing ripples to spread across the tea in his cup as his tone suddenly became more forceful.

He paused, then continued:

"We've just retired, but the glory of this country still needs us two old bones to contribute."

"The next generation is doing alright, but what about the generations after that?"

"This world may seem peaceful on the surface, but you know the undercurrents better than I do."

"How many eyes are watching?"

"The Yan family is a prominent family, attracting attention both in and out of power!"

"My family holds the gun barrel; it is both a shield and a target."

Zeng Rong's voice carried a hint of worry, as he was well aware of the pressure and challenges facing both families.

"Our two families' mission is to serve the country and its people, but what about others?"

"What were they thinking and doing?"

"Only when these two seedlings are completely intertwined and connected by blood can they truly grow together."

"Only a truly unified force can protect both sides, and also... protect the stability of this land beneath our feet!"

His gaze was firm and profound, as if he could see all the possibilities of the future.

He knew that only by uniting as one could the two countries jointly resist external threats and safeguard the peace of the nation.

He took a breath, his hawk-like eyes fixed intently on Yan Fushan:

"This isn't something to discuss; it's the last line of defense we two old folks must provide for this country and future generations! We have no other choice!"

Yan Fushan remained silent for a moment, and only the soft, even breathing of the two children remained in the room.

He looked into Zeng Rong's eyes and saw the unwavering determination, as well as a hint of barely perceptible anxiety about the future hidden beneath them.

Finally, he slowly nodded, his smile tinged with heaviness and solemnity.

"Forget it, forget it... why bother arguing with you, you stubborn old mule."

"Let's get married then, it's a good thing. We should keep the good stuff in the family... hahaha..."

Before the laughter subsided, Zeng Rong had already extended his large, trembling hand, which remained as steady as a rock.

Rough fingers touched the baby boy's delicate cheeks with extreme gentleness, then touched the edge of the baby girl's swaddling clothes, as if performing an extremely solemn ritual.

"It's settled then." The five words landed on the ground with a resounding clang, as if stamped with a blood-red seal.

Outside the window, a withered leaf was swept up by the wind, swirling and sticking to the cold glass, shivering.

In the maternity ward of Peking Union Medical College Hospital, the lighting is as soft as a mother's whisper.

The air was filled with a peculiar smell, a mixture of disinfectant and a faint milky aroma.

Compared to the strict security outside the compound, the security here is equally tight, but it's wrapped in a seemingly warm and welcoming facade.

Outside the VIP ward at the end of the corridor.

Two burly men in black suits, each wearing a communicator, stood like gatekeepers.

With alert eyes, she scanned every passerby, not even sparing the nurses pushing the medicine carts, insisting on checking their name tags and lists.

In the ward, He Jing leaned weakly against the pillow, her face flushed with a mixture of exhaustion and immense happiness from becoming a new mother.

She looked at the baby boy beside her, who had just been brought back from Grandpa Zeng's place—wearing a light blue outfit.

The baby girl in the transparent incubator had eyes so tender they could melt.

These are her twin children—her son is named Zeng Linglong, and her daughter is named Zeng Lingyu.

The second son of the Zeng family, and her husband Zeng Sheng.

A young soldier, also dressed in military uniform, with shoulder insignia indicating a high rank.

She was clumsily trying to moisten her son's little lips with a cotton swab dipped in water.

His cautious demeanor was completely different from that of a decisive and efficient commander on the battlefield.

"Be gentle..." He Jing whispered reproachfully.

"Yes, yes, I know..." Zeng Sheng responded repeatedly, sweat beading on his forehead.

Nobody noticed.

outside the ward.

The corridor lights seemed to flicker very slightly, as if the voltage was unstable.

A repairman wearing a mask and pushing an instrument cart hurried past with his head down and his hat brim pulled very low.

They didn't even notice that in the downstairs electrical room, a hand wearing an insulated glove precisely and quickly closed a small, illegally connected device switch.

On the display screen, a slight lag of less than one second appeared in the corner of the monitoring image.

Almost simultaneously, from the direction of the milk preparation room in the production area, came a muffled sound that was not loud but enough to attract attention, as if something had been overturned.

The two guards at the door exchanged glances instantly, and one of them immediately pressed his earpiece and asked in a low voice:

"What's going on in the milk preparation room in Zone B? Answer me!" He gestured to his companion to stay behind, while he quickly walked towards the source of the noise to investigate.

In this brief, almost negligible gap.

The ward door was gently pushed open.

It was the same "nurse" wearing a mask, pushing a treatment cart, her expression calm and natural.

Ms. He, please take your temperature. Your baby needs a simple hearing screening.

The voice came through the mask and was somewhat muffled, but the tone was professional and gentle.

He Jing had no doubts and nodded with a smile.

Zeng Sheng's attention was still on his daughter; he only glanced at her briefly before looking down again.

The nurse skillfully took He Jing's temperature and recorded it.

Then she went to the incubator, picked up the baby girl, and gently examined her. After that, she put the baby girl back in her original place.

Her hand reached out to the baby boy.

Everything was done silently, the movements so fluid and without the slightest hesitation.

Pick me up, check me, put me down... it seems like nothing has changed.

But when she turned her body slightly to the side, she blocked most of the view.

The moment the baby boy was being moved into the special compartment on the lower level of the treatment cart, which appeared to be used to store discarded medical supplies.

He Jing, lying in bed, felt her heart skip a beat without warning.

A maternal instinct, an extremely ominous premonition, pierced her like an icicle.

She suddenly propped herself up, her body weak.

At almost the same time, in the night sky outside the window.

A commercial airliner that was flying smoothly flew by, and its huge roar came from afar, suddenly swallowing up all the subtle sounds in the ward!

"You..." He Jing opened her mouth, but her voice was completely drowned out by the loud noise.

The "nurse's" movements were not affected in the slightest, and the partition closed silently.

She pushed the cart, even nodding politely to He Jing, turned around, went out, and disappeared into the now quiet corridor.

The door closed gently.

He Jing's heart pounded like a drum, and a huge, inexplicable panic gripped her, almost suffocating her.

"Ah Sheng!" she cried out, her voice sharp and distorted.

Zeng Sheng was startled by his wife's sudden display of fear and quickly went to the bedside:

"What's wrong, Jingjing? Are you feeling unwell?"

"The child! Look at the child!" He Jing pointed tremblingly at the incubator.

Zeng Sheng turned around in confusion and looked at his two children.

The baby girl seemed startled by her mother's voice and pouted as if about to cry.

Under the dim light, the baby boy... remained asleep peacefully, and a fleeting sense of unease crossed Zeng Sheng's mind.

Everything seemed normal.

He Jing was breathing heavily, weakly and struggling to stare at her twin children, then at the closed partition door.

The sense of unease that had just occurred became blurred amidst the loud airplane noise and the seemingly normal situation, as if it were merely a hallucination caused by a postpartum mother's mental weakness.

She slumped back, powerless, her temples soaked with cold sweat.

"It's alright, it's alright, you're just too tired." Zeng Sheng held her hand tenderly and comforted her softly.

Outside the window, the roar of the plane gradually faded into the distance, eventually disappearing completely. The night sky returned to deathly silence.

Outside the ward, the guard who had been checking on the situation returned and shook his head at his companion who remained behind: "It's nothing, a new nurse knocked over the incubator tray."

The two stood still again, like two silent statues.

Unbeknownst to them, beneath those few dozen seconds of noise, a meticulously planned, far-reaching scheme, one that would later unleash devastating chaos, had already been completed.

The treatment cart was slowly pushed through the corridor, into the staff elevator, down the stairs, and through the quiet logistics corridor in the dead of night, moving unimpeded.

The person pushing the cart had a calm, unwavering gaze above their mask, as cold as the Siberian permafrost.

In the back alley of the hospital, a gray van without any markings glided in like a ghost, its back door opening silently.

The lower partition of the treatment vehicle was opened, and the baby boy, who had been sedated and put into a deep sleep, was taken out and handed into the vehicle.

Inside the car, a hand wearing black leather gloves took the swaddled baby, casually weighed it in its hand as if inspecting the quality of a piece of goods, and then frowned in disgust.

The owner of the gloves whispered into the headset in English with a heavy Eastern European accent:

"Goods received, quality... ugh, just so-so. Get rid of it."

The command was concise, cold, and devoid of any human emotion.

The van sped away, disappearing into the vast, cold network of the capital city, winding and turning.

Finally, it stopped in an abandoned suburban area slated for demolition. A voice muttered to itself, "In order to escape the Dragon Kingdom as soon as possible, I'll do you some good deeds and let you fend for yourself."

The car window rolled down, and the tiny swaddled baby was thrown out without mercy, tracing a brief arc before crashing heavily into the mountain of construction debris and household waste, splashing up a few drops of sewage and dust.

The van window rolled up and sped away, as if it had simply discarded a real, rotten bag of garbage.

The stench was overwhelming. Flies buzzed around, curiously examining this abrupt "new garbage" that still carried a hint of milky smell.

Cold, hunger, pain... the shadow of death looms like an icy tide.

It instantly engulfed the tiny body that had just been born.

The faint cries were drowned out by the sound of the wind and the barking of stray dogs in the distance.

The light of life is rapidly dimming.

I don't know how much time passed, maybe a few minutes, maybe a century.

A pair of high-top military boots, covered in mud and with soles almost worn flat, stopped in front of a pile of garbage.

The owner of the boots was a tall figure, wearing a tattered trench coat stained with suspicious dark red stains.

His body reeked of a mixture of blood, gunpowder, and cheap vodka, a smell far stronger than that of a garbage dump.

With a nearly burned-out cigarette dangling from his mouth, he examined the "things" in the garbage heap.

He crouched down, stretched out his large hand—missing a finger, covered in scars and calluses—and roughly pulled back the swaddling clothes.

A small face, slightly purple from suffocation and cold, but still revealing its original delicate features, was revealed.

The baby seemed to sense something approaching, something more threatening, and with its last bit of strength, it let out a weak cry, as small as a cat's meow.

The one-eyed man was stunned for a moment, and then, an extremely complex light suddenly burst forth from his only remaining eye.

It wasn't pity, it wasn't sympathy, but a naked excitement and ecstasy!

"Fuck him!"

He suddenly exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, choking himself and coughing twice, but then grinned a hideous smile that could stop even the most heartbroken night owls.

"Did God throw this down? The quality... the resilience... I'd find such a fine living toy even while on a small mission in China... tsk tsk tsk!"

He grabbed the dirty, cold swaddling clothes as if he had found some priceless treasure, stuffed them into his foul-smelling trench coat, and roughly patted them.

"You little brat, you're lucky you ran into me, 'Blood Butcher' Baroque!"

He let out a strange, cacophony of laughter, his voice sounding like the howling of an owl.

"Come with me! I just need a wrestling mat, a guinea pig for testing poison, and a human shield to take bullets for me later! Hahaha!"

Amidst his maniacal laughter, he stood up, completely unconcerned that the baby's filth had soiled his already filthy clothes!

They strode away and disappeared into the even darker end of the wilderness.

In the swaddling clothes, the faint flame of life, in that embrace filled with the stench of blood and madness, stubbornly and extremely slowly began to flicker again.

Inside the courtyard, the tea was still warm.

Looking at the completely dark sky outside the window, Zeng Rong suddenly felt a strong pang of heart palpitation for no reason. The white porcelain cup in his hand fell onto the sandalwood tea tray with a "clatter" and shattered, splashing tea everywhere.

Yan Fushan was startled: "Old Zeng?"

Zeng Rong clutched his chest, his graying eyebrows furrowed tightly, and staring at the boundless darkness outside the window, he murmured:

"...What's wrong? Suddenly...I feel incredibly panicked..."