The Stolen Life

Li Mei felt like dying...

No, that was not right.

She was already dead.

She was certain she had died, lost in the depths of the ocean.

So why could she feel the pain? Why each and every part of her body felt like it was submerged in a lake of fire? Why did it feel like her muscles were shredded, her tendons torn, and her very essence being ripped apart?

A groan escaped her lips when she tried to move, the pain seeping through her bones. She forced her eyes to open. She could barely make out the shapes looming in the darkness, but one thing was clear: she was not where she remembered being.

She lay still, not because she did not want to move but because she could not. Her body felt heavy as if weighed down by invisible chains. The cold wind bit against her bare skin making her realize she was naked.

Slowly, her surroundings started to become clear and she realized she was in a dark alley. Trash littered the ground, broken bottles glinting in the dim light of a street light, and the stench of decay hung heavy in the air.

Her mind raced as she tried to piece together how she got here.

Something was not right here.

She was stabbed in her chest and logically speaking, she should have died because of it, and if by some miracle, she did survive that, she should have drowned in the ocean.

Yet somehow, she was still alive.

She could feel agonizing pain throughout her body yet none of them seemed familiar to her. It was different from the pain of the dagger piercing her heart or the poison coursing through her veins. It puzzled her, leaving her with more questions than answers.

Gathering all the energy she could gather, she tried to push herself up, but halfway through, her muscles gave up and she collapsed back onto the cold, damp ground. Pain shot through her body and she bit her lips to stifle the scream that was about to escape. Li Mei has gone through many life-and-death situations and knew her body was in its worst condition.

But being an assassin, she was trained to ignore the pain so she could survive. So, like always, she ignored that intense pain and once again pushed herself up and managed to prop herself up on unsteady arms. Her vision blurred, swimming with the dizzying haze of exhaustion. A painful cry escaped her lips as she dragged herself toward the rough brick wall, her movements slow and labored. Every movement sent waves of pain coursing through her, and she could feel the telltale signs of broken ribs protesting with each step.

Finally, she reached the wall and leaned against it, her back scraping against the coarse surface. She let out a ragged sigh and briefly closed her eyes. A moment later, she opened her eyes and looked around. The alley seemed devoid of life, except for the occasional scuttle of rats or the distant sound of a cat's plaintive meow.

Her gaze moved down towards her body, taking in the blood-smeared body, some of it dried and crusted, some still fresh and oozing from deep gashes. Bruises mottled her flesh in a sickening array of purples and blues. Her left leg was at an odd angle, clearly broken.

It was a miracle she was even conscious, let alone able to move.

A frown appeared on her face, not because of the blood and scars that covered the body but because the body she was staring at did not belong to her. It was small and delicate with barely any flesh on the bones, completely different from the athletic, toned figure she had trained to perfection over the years. Her fingers were thin, almost skeletal, and her arms looked frail, as if they could snap with the slightest pressure.

But the worst thing was, this body belonged to a child, a child who had barely reached puberty.

"What the..." she began, her voice catching in her throat as she realized that her voice, too, sounded different.

She looked around and her gaze landed on a broken mirror a few feet away from her where she caught a glimpse of black hair. Startled, she leaped forward and grabbed the mirror, ignoring the pain that shot through her body. With trembling hands, she raised the mirror. Suddenly, she froze as she stared at the reflection before her.

Because the face staring back at her was not hers.

She was a young girl, her face swollen and disfigured, marred by bruises and cuts that made it almost unrecognizable. Dark, tangled hair framed the face. One eye was swollen shut, while the other was a dark shade of gray, a stark contrast to the brown she was accustomed to.

Li Mei blinked, unable to understand what she was seeing. It was like staring at a stranger, except that stranger was supposed to be her.

"What the..." she muttered, her voice an uneasy croak.

This has to be a dream. She wanted it to be a dream but the pain in her body said otherwise.

So what in the world was going on?

She traced her face with her fingers, running them over her face, wincing slightly when her finger grazed the open cut. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of the impossible. And then, like a bolt of lightning, images burst in her mind.

Memories that did not belong to her, flashes of a life she couldn't recall living. Faces, unfamiliar yet hauntingly familiar, flashed before her. It was as if she was piecing together someone else's life, a life filled with pain, fear, and desperation, a life that she had no recollection of living.

The mirror slipped through her fingers, clattering to the ground and shattering into a tiny pieces. She gasped, clutching her head as pain seared through her skull. She saw herself—no, not herself, but the girl she saw in the mirror. She felt her pain, her fear, her longing for a life free from suffering. Her breathing became erratic as she pulled her hair as the pain became unbearable and breathing became difficult.

Li Mei was an assassin. She had gone through pain far worse than one could imagine, witnessed things that would haunt the darkest corners of anyone's mind, and felt emotions that most would never dare to confront.

But this... this was different.

Even getting betrayed and killed by the man she loved was nothing compared to this.

These memories were a nightmare, a nightmare she could not confront. She tried to push them away but they clawed at her consciousness, leaving behind wounds that refused to heal.

How could someone do this to a child?

Xiao Fei.

The name whispered in her mind.

A young girl who had seen nothing but pain and despair in her thirteen years of life. A girl who was called a disgrace by her own mother, a girl who was sold for a mere thousand grand, a girl who was tortured to the point she was no longer breathing.

Suddenly, Li Mei became limp against the wall, tears streaming down her face. It was ironic how the heartless woman who had tortured and killed people her whole life was now crying for a girl she had never known.