Origin Chapter Four: Minister Los and the Mysterious Youth

A fit of violent coughing echoed through the room.

“Boss, he’s awake,” the attendant who had been keeping watch hurriedly informed Zaku.

The boy struggled to open his eyes, hazily surveying his surroundings. At first glance, an expression of utter disbelief flickered across his face.

He lay in a corner beside the cold storage, on a makeshift bed where he had slept for more than a dozen hours. Nearby stood a spotless worktable, with an array of knives and butchering tools meticulously arranged, every blade gleaming coldly under the light. Everything suggested this was an ordinary butcher’s shop, but the fastidious order hinted that its owner was a man of rare discipline and cleanliness.

To most, the shop was unremarkable, equipped with the usual implements and furnishings. Yet to the boy, it felt like a temple of artistry, its proprietor a peculiar sort of artist.

Gradually, his vision cleared. As he took in the scene, his expression grew stranger—almost contorted. A sudden, splitting pain seized his head, a suffering so profound it was etched onto his face. He clutched his head with both hands, kneading it fiercely.

Zaku entered then, accompanied by an elderly man whose hair and beard were as white as snow. The old man bore an air of solemn authority, commanding respect without a word—a figure clearly of some stature.

Zaku approached and sat at the boy’s side, asking gently, “Are you feeling any better?” He called to the attendant over his shoulder, “Zi Fei, bring a glass of nutrient water.”

Just as Zaku was about to ask another question, the boy lowered his hands and raised his head, glancing first at Zaku, then at the old man who had entered with him.

“Minister Los, what are you doing here?” the boy asked suddenly.

The old man and Zaku broke out in a cold sweat at the question, their faces shifting in shock. For a moment, neither could find words.

Noticing their reaction, the boy pressed on, “Why am I here? Where is this place?”

He looked down at his own body, disbelief written across his face. Hastily, he addressed the attendant who had just brought in the nutrient water, “Sir, could you please fetch me a mirror?”

The attendant, unsure of the reason, simply turned to the storage cabinet, retrieved a small hand mirror, and handed it over.

The boy seized the mirror, holding it before his face. At the very first glance, the mirror slipped from his fingers, crashing to the floor and chipping at the corner, then rolling away.

He gazed up at the ceiling, exhaling long and deep, then turned to Zaku and Los, his expression grave. “Who are you?”

By now, Zaku and Los had regained their composure. Both took seats, and Zaku signaled the attendant—with a subtle gesture—to arrange for heightened security outside. The attendant, evidently a trained warrior, understood the gravity of the situation, nodded, and went to make the necessary preparations.

Zaku turned to the boy. “My name is Zaku, and I own this butcher’s shop. This elder here—you’ve already named his title. You owe us an explanation.”

The boy shifted, sitting upright against the bed, still weak but with newfound clarity. After clearing his throat, he began, “Minister Los, may I first ask why you are hiding out in Zaku’s shop? You have nothing to fear. I have already assessed the situation—if I posed any real danger, I would not have left this room. Speak plainly; if you do, I will hold nothing back in return.”

Los glanced at Zaku, who nodded in reassurance, then Los faced the boy.

“Very well, today has indeed proven interesting,” Los said, a slight smile crossing his lips. “Young man—”

“Please, don’t call me ‘young man’,” the boy interrupted with a gentle wave of his hand.

“Very well,” Los paused, but continued. “You are able to call me by name and title, and that astonishes me. My identity is the Empire’s most closely guarded secret. I oversee the most clandestine arm of the Imperial Scientific Expedition. There is no public record of me—indeed, most of the Empire’s own leadership has never heard my name. And yet, upon waking, you recognized me at once. Not only does this surprise us, but it puts your own life in grave danger. Do you understand this?”

The boy merely gestured for him to go on.

“The man beside me is Zaku, grandson of the slain Prime Minister Zack, and also grandson of Chief Justice Runyway. I was a classmate and friend to both Zack and Runyway, sharing political ideals and striving for them together. Who could have foreseen such calamity befalling a statesman of three reigns—his entire family destroyed?” At this, Los’s eyes filled with tears. “I wish desperately to avenge them, but I lack the power to act openly. Since contacting Zaku, I have been quietly gathering allies and had even begun to coordinate with the General to rid the Empire of traitors. But just yesterday, the General was wrongfully killed. The poor General…”

Los could not go on, grief overwhelming him. His reverence for the General was clear—no ordinary loyalty.

“I respected the General deeply, though he was my junior. His spirit, resolve, and indomitable soul were the Empire’s banners. Now that banner has been torn down and cast aside. Another old friend lost today—my heart can hardly bear it. I had come here to discuss our next steps with Zaku, and quite by chance, you awoke. It was carelessness on our part; we never imagined you would recognize me. Who are you, and how do you know me?”

Zaku nodded grimly, running a hand through his hair. “You’re no ordinary person. How did you escape such peril? If you can’t explain yourself…”

A dangerous glint flashed in Zaku’s eyes. “Then you leave us no choice…”

Indeed, beside Zaku and Minister Los were not only other important figures, but also a host of warriors united by a common cause. Should anything go amiss, the Empire would be plunged into chaos and bloodshed.

The boy listened without much change of expression. Clearing his throat, he spoke: “Is there a telephone? Let me make a call. Then everything will be clear.”

Zaku shook his head, unwilling to grant the request.

The boy showed no anger; he understood the gravity of their position. Yet he pressed again to be allowed a call.

“If you don’t let me make this call, not only will you never get to the bottom of my story, but many more people may be put in jeopardy. Trust me. Minister Los, do you remember the family on Konai?”

The boy turned to Los as he spoke.

Los paled, but quickly regained his composure. Rising to his feet, he drew a private communicator from his pocket, his face grave as he handed it to the boy.

Zaku watched, uncomprehending but sensing the seriousness of the moment, and dared not intervene.

The boy took the communicator and dialed.

After a brief tone, someone answered.

Softly, the boy spoke: “Lieutenant Qin…”