Donghai Prison. The Iron Gates.
"Once you pass these gates, don't look back. Don't give them a reason to bring you back. Cherish whatever time you have left."
The prison guard's voice was uncharacteristically soft, his eyes heavy with a rare trace of pity. Li Changfeng didn't offer a grand speech. He simply nodded, a strange, calculating light flickering in the depths of his sunken eyes.
CLANG.
The heavy steel doors slammed shut, echoing like a gunshot in the morning air. Li Changfeng squinted, his pale skin stinging under the harsh, unyielding sun. He stood there for a long time, breathing in the scent of exhaust and freedom, before shaking his head with a hollow sigh.
He crossed the road to the bus stop, but his legs weakened by years of confinement and a growing rot within gave out. He sat on the dirt ground, leaning against the rusted pole. His gaze turned vacant as his mind drifted back six years.
Li Changfeng had been a miracle. An orphan who had transformed himself through sheer, stubborn will. He was the pride of Yanjing University, a man who had climbed the corporate ladder of a state-owned enterprise to become a department manager by twenty-four. With an annual income of 400,000 yuan, he was the embodiment of the "Chinese Dream." He should have had it all: a high-rise apartment, a virtuous wife, and a future as bright as the city lights.
Then came Heng Tai Real Estate Group.
During the height of the housing frenzy six years ago, Heng Tai's hunger was bottomless. They wanted the orphanage the dozens of acres where Li had grown up. They approached the Old Principal, a man who had spent his entire life fathering the fatherless. For the Principal, the land wasn't a commodity; it was a sanctuary. He refused to sell.
The "accident" that followed was as brutal as it was calculated. The Principal was killed, and the sanctuary was leveled.
Li Changfeng had fought back. He had used his connections, his brilliance, and every scrap of evidence he could find to sue the conglomerate. But against a titan like Heng Tai, his "connections" were threads of silk against a hurricane. They didn't just defeat him; they crushed him. Framed by the General Manager, Fang Yun, Li was cast into a cell for six years.
He should have been there longer, but three months ago, the pain in his abdomen revealed a truth the law couldn't: late-stage stomach cancer. He was a walking ghost, granted early release only because the state didn't want to pay for his funeral.
"Fang Yun..." Li's voice was a raspy growl.
The name tasted like ash. Time hadn't healed his wounds; it had only sharpened the blade of his resentment. He had less than a month to live. If he didn't take his revenge now, he would die a failure to the man who raised him.
"Take the 300,000 yuan and walk away, Li. I'll pretend this never happened," Fang Yun's arrogant sneer echoed in his memory. "Otherwise, I'll make you wish you were dead."
Li's fist clenched, his knuckles white and trembling. The bus finally pulled up, a screeching metal beast. He climbed aboard and slumped into the very back row, his forehead pressed against the cold glass.
An hour later. The Suburban Cemetery.
The cemetery was a quiet, overgrown patch of land on the edge of the city. When the Principal had passed, the orphans he raised had pooled their meager savings to buy this plot.
As Li approached the grave, his breath hitched. A primal, guttural roar of fury died in his throat, replaced by a cold, murderous chill.
The Principal's tombstone had been desecrated. It was snapped in half, the jagged upper portion tossed carelessly into the weeds. Every other grave in the row was pristine; only this one was shattered.
It was a final insult. A message from the grave robbers of progress.
Li fell to his knees, ignoring the sharp pain in his stomach. He tore away the weeds with his bare hands and pulled a tattered handkerchief from his bag, gently wiping the dust from the broken stone.
"Principal... you taught me everything," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I haven't forgotten. I won't let them win."
As he tried to stand, a wave of vertigo crashed over him. His vision blurred, and he collapsed back against the stone, gasping for air. He looked down at the disturbed earth where he had just cleared the weeds.
There, tucked partially under the base of the broken tombstone, lay a notebook.
Its cover was a pitch-black that seemed to swallow the sunlight. Gold, alien sigils danced across the front characters that belonged to no known human language, yet Li understood them instantly.
"The Death Note."
He reached out, his trembling fingers brushing the cold, leather-like surface. The moment he touched it, the world seemed to go silent. The revenge he sought was no longer a desperate hope; it was a dark, tangible weight in his hand.