The underground ring smelled of sweat, blood, and desperation.
Yan Xiuran adjusted the bandages around her hands, her sharp gaze fixed on the opponent before her. The announcer's voice barely registered in her ears as he hyped up the fight, declaring her alias—
"The Ghost."
A name whispered in fear among the underground fighters.
Two years had passed since she was discarded by the Yan family. Two years since she had vanished from the world as Yan Xiuran.
Now, she was no one.
No past. No name.
Just a ghost in the shadows, surviving through fists and pain.
The bell rang.
Her opponent lunged, but Xiuran was faster.
A sidestep, a feint, a brutal strike to the ribs.
He staggered, coughing, but she didn't stop.
She couldn't afford to.
Another hit—this time to his jaw—sent him crashing to the ground.
A knockout.
The crowd roared. Money exchanged hands.
Xiuran barely glanced at the pile of bills thrown at her feet.
She didn't fight for wealth—she fought to stay sharp, to keep the pain of betrayal from dulling her.
As she walked away, a voice stopped her. Low and knowing, threaded with something almost familiar.
"You fight like someone with something to prove."
She froze.
For the first time in a long while, a flicker of unease stirred in her chest.
She wiped the blood from her lip before slowly turning, gaze landing on the man standing at the edge of the ring.
Her breath hitched.
Doctor Wei.
Zhang Wei was their family's doctor, who had been more of a guardian than anyone in that suffocating house.
The only one who had ever truly looked at her—not as an heir, not as a pawn, but as a person.
He still carried himself with that quiet dignity, but there was something else in his eyes.
Something softer. Something that made her feel exposed.
"Doctor Wei," she murmured, her voice rough.
A faint smile ghosted his lips. "So, you do still remember me."
She swallowed hard, her fingers clenching as she stepped down from the ring and closed the distance between them. "What are you doing here?"
Instead of answering, he reached into his coat and pulled out an envelope, holding it out to her.
"I came to give you this."
She eyed it warily. "If it's money, I don't want it."
"It's not money."
She didn't move.
"Then what?"
His gaze darkened. "Proof."
The weight in his voice sent a chill down her spine.
She grabbed the envelope and tore it open, her eyes scanning the contents—documents and printouts.
Her pulse pounded in her ears.
Then, she laughed.
A short, sharp sound, bitter and hollow.
"Proof?" she scoffed, shaking her head as she flipped through the papers. "This isn't proof. This is paper. Words. And against real power, words mean nothing."
She tossed the documents onto the nearby bench like they were worthless. "Even if I had a thousand of these, they could still twist the truth. Deny, rewrite, bury it under something bigger. You think a few sheets of paper are enough to change anything?"
Her laughter faded into something quieter, more resigned. "You should know better."
Zhang Wei didn't flinch. He bent down, picking up the discarded papers with careful hands.
"This isn't proof of what they did to you before," he said, his voice steady. "This is proof of what they've done after."
Yan Xiuran's smirk wavered.
Zhang Wei's gaze held hers. "They didn't just cast you aside, Xiuran. They erased you when it suited them and revived you when it was convenient."
He pointed to a contract. "Here—your name listed as a 'former member of the Yan Corporation,' your success used to bolster their image, claiming you as 'one of their own.'"
His finger slid to another document. "An article mentioning the Yan family's legacy, with your name still attached, like a ghost they refuse to let go of."
He turned another page. "Sponsorships under your name, deals made leveraging the reputation you built, as if you were still their puppet. They've twisted your past, reshaped your story—turned you into a tool even after they discarded you."
His voice lowered. "Even when you were nothing to them, they still took from you."
Silence.
Yan Xiuran's fingers twitched.
Her gaze flickered over the papers again, a slow, creeping heat rising in her chest.
Even after everything.
Even after she had been stripped of everything, after they had thrown her away, they still hadn't let her go.
They had buried her when it was convenient and resurrected her when it benefited them.
Her jaw clenched.
No matter how far she ran, they still had their hands wrapped around her name.
Her chest tightened, anger and something dangerously close to grief clawing at her throat.
"I don't care anymore," she said flatly, shoving the papers back at him.
Zhang Wei exhaled, as if he had expected that answer. "That's a lie, and we both know it."
Her jaw clenched. "What do you want from me?"