Riverstone Regional Academy was never truly quiet.
Even in the early hours of dawn, before the bells rang and instructors appeared, the place pulsed with restrained ambition. Courtyards echoed with low conversations, stone paths bore the marks of hurried footsteps, and cultivation rooms hummed faintly with circulating qi. Beneath the orderly surface, competition brewed relentlessly.
Lin Wei moved through it all like a shadow.
He walked alone toward the outer training grounds, his expression calm, his posture relaxed. Since the ranked trials, the atmosphere around him had shifted. Eyes followed him more openly now. Some carried curiosity. Others held envy. A few burned with poorly concealed hostility.
He noticed all of it—and reacted to none.
Attention was a double-edged blade. He had learned that lesson early.
The outer training grounds were vast, lined with worn stone platforms and scattered wooden posts meant for body conditioning. Lin Wei chose a quiet corner far from the main crowd. He placed his palms against a stone pillar and began moving through a sequence of basic stances, slow and deliberate.
To any observer, it looked mundane.
But each movement was exact. Each breath measured. His body responded instantly, effortlessly, as if every muscle already knew what to do before his mind finished the command. The refinement brought by purification had long surpassed what his cultivation realm suggested.
He stopped after several rounds, exhaling slowly.
Something was wrong.
Not with his body—but with the flow around him.
The air felt heavier today. Not oppressive, but subtly restrictive, as though the environment itself was pressing inward. Lin Wei's eyes narrowed slightly. This wasn't natural.
He scanned the grounds discreetly.
That was when he noticed them.
Three students stood near the edge of the training area, pretending to spar casually. Their movements were sloppy, their conversation forced. But their gazes flicked toward him again and again, too quick to be accidental.
Lin Wei did not react.
He finished another set of movements, deliberately slower this time, giving them exactly what they wanted to see: nothing special.
So it begins, he thought calmly.
Lin Hao's shadow stretched longer than expected.
The academy encouraged rivalry, but sabotage was another matter entirely. Lin Wei had already sensed interference during the previous trials. Today confirmed it—someone was testing him, probing for weaknesses.
He turned and left the training grounds without confrontation.
Let them wonder.
Later that morning, students gathered in the central lecture hall for their first formal instruction since the trials. The hall was massive, its ceiling supported by towering pillars etched with ancient symbols. Rows of stone seats descended toward a raised platform where instructors would speak.
Lin Wei took a seat near the back.
As conversations buzzed around him, a familiar presence settled nearby.
Su Yueran.
She sat two rows ahead, posture straight, gaze fixed forward. She did not look at him, but Lin Wei sensed her awareness as clearly as a blade resting against his skin.
She was watching him.
Not obsessively. Not suspiciously.
Precisely.
The instructor arrived—a stern middle-aged cultivator with sharp eyes and a voice that carried effortlessly across the hall. He spoke of academy rules, of discipline, of the coming months of training and evaluation. Then his tone shifted.
"Understand this," he said. "Talent will draw attention. Strength will draw enemies. Only those who can endure both deserve to remain."
Several students stiffened.
Lin Wei remained still.
After the lecture ended, groups formed quickly. Some students gathered by clan. Others clustered by newfound alliances. Lin Wei stood and left quietly, weaving through the hall without a word.
He did not miss the way conversations paused briefly as he passed.
Outside, the crimson-haired girl was waiting.
Mu Xueyi stood near the herb pavilion, sleeves rolled up slightly as she organized materials on a stone table. When she noticed Lin Wei, her movements slowed. Her amber eyes studied him openly this time, without pretense.
"You move like someone who doesn't waste effort," she said suddenly.
Lin Wei paused.
Her voice held no challenge, no suspicion—only curiosity.
"I prefer efficiency," he replied simply.
She smiled faintly. "Most people say that. Few understand it."
Her gaze lingered on his hands, then his posture, then his eyes. "If you ever need herbs," she added casually, "I have excess. Trading is acceptable."
Lin Wei inclined his head. "I'll remember."
They parted without further words.
But as Lin Wei walked away, he felt it again—that subtle pull. Not danger. Not threat.
Opportunity.
That night, the academy grounds grew quiet under a pale moon.
Lin Wei returned to his assigned quarters, a simple stone room with a narrow window and a meditation mat. He sat cross-legged, closed his eyes, and let his breathing steady.
The day replayed itself in fragments.
The watchers.
The instructor's warning.
Lin Hao's silent hostility.
Pressure was building.
He welcomed it.
Within him, purification continued its silent work. His blood flowed cleaner. His muscles responded sharper. Even his thoughts felt clearer, less burdened by hesitation.
He reached into his sleeve and withdrew a small herb.
To anyone else, it was mediocre at best.
In his palm, it became something more.
The impurities were stripped away invisibly, leaving behind a refined essence that shimmered faintly before vanishing from sight as he closed his fingers.
The herb was gone.
Not destroyed.
Hidden.
Lin Wei opened his eyes slightly, expression unchanged.
So it still worked.
He did not dwell on it. He didn't test limits or experiment recklessly. That would come later—when he was strong enough to handle the consequences.
For now, discretion mattered more than curiosity.
He resumed meditation.
Elsewhere in the academy, anger brewed.
Lin Hao stood in a private courtyard, fists clenched, face dark.
"He's hiding something," he muttered. "No one advances that smoothly without backing."
A figure beside him chuckled softly. "Then force him into a corner. People reveal everything when pressed."
Lin Hao's eyes gleamed. "The forest training is coming. Accidents happen there."
The wind stirred that night.
Lin Wei felt it against his face as he stood near the window, looking out at the academy grounds. Lanterns flickered in the distance like watchful eyes.
He did not feel fear.
But he felt anticipation.
The path ahead was no longer quiet. Shadows were gathering. And somewhere, just beyond his current limits, something waited—dormant, patient, ready to awaken when the time was right.
He closed the window and returned to meditation.
Tomorrow would not be peaceful.
And that was fine.