The lecture hall quieted as the professor walked in.
He was middle-aged, thin, with wire-rimmed glasses and an expression that suggested he had already lost patience with most of us. His gaze swept across the room once before he placed his briefcase on the podium.
"Welcome to the law faculty," he said flatly. "If you're here because you think law is glamorous, leave now."
No one moved.
"Good. Then you're at least capable of learning."
A few students chuckled nervously.
I leaned back in my seat, listening.
This class—Foundations of Civil Law—had once bored me to tears. Back then, I memorized articles without understanding their true purpose.
Law wasn't about justice.
It was about boundaries.
"And control," the professor continued. "Law exists to restrain human desire. When it fails, violence takes its place."
His words landed heavier than most students realized.
I glanced sideways.
Su Qingxue sat two rows ahead, posture straight, pen moving steadily. Her notes were concise, efficient,written by someone who already understood the subject beyond textbooks.
Interesting.
The professor suddenly pointed toward the seating area. "You. Third row. Answer this."
A ripple of tension passed through the class.
"You're drafting a contract between two parties of unequal power. What's the most important element?"
A male student stammered. "Fairness?"
The professor sighed. "Sit down."
His gaze shifted again.
"You. In the back."
I didn't flinch.
"Enforceability," I replied calmly. "A contract that can't be enforced is just paper."
The room fell quiet.
The professor studied me. "Name?"
"Chen Mo."
"And how do you enforce fairness when one party holds absolute power?" he pressed.
I met his gaze. "You don't. You document the imbalance, limit liability, and ensure violations trigger consequences the powerful party cannot ignore."
Silence stretched.
Then, slowly, the professor smiled.
"Good," he said. "Remember that. Idealism kills careers."
Several students turned to look at me,some curious, some displeased.
I felt a familiar gaze burn into my back.
Liang Hao.
He hadn't spoken since orientation, but I could already sense the pressure building. People like him didn't tolerate public embarrassment well.
Class ended soon after.
As students packed up, someone deliberately brushed past my shoulder.
Hard.
I didn't react.
"Watch where you're going," a voice sneered.
I turned.
Two tall students stood behind me—both unfamiliar, both poorly disguised. Their breathing patterns were uneven, cultivation unrefined but present.
Liang Hao didn't move directly.
Smart.
"Accidents happen," I replied lightly. "Especially when people are paid to cause them."
Their expressions tightened.
One of them scoffed. "You talk too much."
I stepped past them and left the hall.
—
Night fell quietly.
At home, my parents slept early, exhausted from work. I waited until the apartment was silent before locking my door and sitting cross-legged on the floor.
I closed my eyes.
In my previous life, my cultivation method had been stable, conservative—designed for long-term survival, not explosive growth.
Perfect for now.
I slowed my breathing.
Inhale.
Hold.
Exhale.
The world faded.
Gradually, I sensed it—the faint warmth deep within my abdomen. Weak. Fragile. Almost nonexistent.
But it was there.
Inner breath had not yet formed, but the foundation was awakening.
Pain crept through my muscles as I guided circulation carefully, reinforcing tendons, strengthening bone density microscopically. Sweat beaded along my forehead.
This body resisted.
It had never been pushed before.
I endured.
An hour later, I exhaled slowly and opened my eyes.
Body Tempering—early stage.
Enough.
I stood and rolled my shoulders, feeling subtle changes already taking place. Not power—but stability.
That was when my phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
I answered this time.
"Chen Mo," Liang Hao's voice came through, amused and cold. "Let's talk."
"About what?"
"About you learning your place."
I smiled faintly. "Then speak."
A pause.
"You walked home alone tonight," he said. "That won't always be the case."
"Is that a threat?" I asked.
He laughed. "Just advice."
The line went dead.
I stared at the screen for a moment before placing the phone down.
So he had chosen escalation.
Good.
—
Across the city, Su Qingxue closed her textbook and paused.
Her thoughts drifted unexpectedly to the boy from the back row.
Chen Mo.
Calm eyes. Precise answers. No unnecessary movements.
Not arrogance.
Control.
She frowned slightly.
People like him were dangerous,not because of strength, but because they understood rules too well.
And in a world like this…
Such people either rose quickly,
Or died early.