The streetlights flickered as I stepped out of the convenience store.
Plastic bag in hand. Bottled water. Bandages.
Nothing that screamed danger.
Yet the moment my foot touched the sidewalk, I knew.
I wasn't alone.
Three breaths behind me.
One ahead.
Poor positioning. Amateur.
I kept walking.
The residential street was narrow, flanked by old apartment buildings and parked cars. No cameras at this hour. No pedestrians. A perfect place for an "accident."
My pace remained steady.
The one ahead moved first.
A shoulder slammed into my chest.
I staggered back deliberately, letting my bag fall. Bottles rolled across the ground.
"Watch where you're going!" the man barked.
Behind me, footsteps accelerated.
I turned—
And a fist flew toward my face.
I ducked half a beat late on purpose.
The punch grazed my cheek, skin splitting slightly. Warm blood trickled down.
Good.
Evidence.
I stumbled back, crashing against a parked car. The three of them closed in, forming a loose triangle.
"Liang Hao didn't want it ugly," one of them muttered. "Just teach you a lesson."
I breathed heavily, eyes unfocused, posture unsteady.
Perfect victim.
The one on my left reached for my collar.
That was his mistake.
I stepped inside his reach and drove my elbow into his ribs—not hard, not clean, just enough to knock the air out of him. Pain exploded across my arm as well.
This body was still weak.
I twisted, using his collapsing weight to shield myself as the second man swung wildly. The punch landed on his companion's shoulder instead.
Chaos erupted.
I fell.
Hard.
My back hit the pavement, vision blurring as a boot connected with my side. Pain flared white-hot, sharp and real.
I didn't resist further.
I curled up, protected my head, and screamed.
Loudly.
Windows lit up.
"Hey!"
"Call the police!"
"Someone's filming!"
The attackers froze.
"Shit—move!"
Footsteps scattered. A car door slammed. An engine roared to life.
Silence followed.
I lay still for several seconds longer than necessary before slowly pushing myself up. My hands trembled—not from fear, but from adrenaline and strain.
Blood dripped from my cheek onto the pavement.
Perfect.
—
The police station smelled of disinfectant and stale coffee.
I sat quietly, wrapped in a thin blanket, answering questions with deliberate slowness. Shocked. Confused. Cooperative.
"I didn't recognize them," I said. "They just attacked me."
The officer frowned. "You sure you didn't provoke them?"
I met his eyes. "Officer, I'm a first-year law student. If I provoked people on my first day, I'd deserve worse grades than injuries."
He snorted despite himself.
Medical photos were taken. Statements recorded. Surveillance footage requested from nearby shops.
I made sure to mention one name—casually.
"Someone warned me earlier," I added. "A classmate. Liang Hao."
The officer's pen paused.
"Liang Hao?" He raised an eyebrow. "The Liang family?"
"I don't know," I said softly. "I just know he didn't like me."
That was enough.
—
By morning, the rumor had spread.
Law faculty group chats buzzed.
Freshman beaten on first day
Rich heir involved?
Police investigating
Liang Hao skipped class.
Smart—but too late.
I sat in the lecture hall, bandage visible on my cheek, posture relaxed.
The professor noticed immediately.
"Mr. Chen," he said evenly. "What happened?"
"An accident," I replied. "I tripped into three people."
A few students laughed nervously.
Su Qingxue glanced back once.
Our eyes met.
Her gaze lingered on the bandage—not sympathy, but calculation.
He didn't fight back, her expression said.
Why?
—
At noon, I walked into the administrative office.
"I'd like to file a formal complaint," I said politely.
The staff member blinked. "Against who?"
"A fellow student," I replied, sliding my statement forward. "For intimidation, threats, and suspected involvement in assault."
Clear language. No exaggeration.
University administration hated scandals.
By evening, Liang Hao had been summoned.
By night, his family lawyers were involved.
And by dawn—
Someone else noticed.
—
I felt it during cultivation.
The air shifted.
Subtle pressure pressed against my senses, heavy and refined. I opened my eyes slowly.
A man stood by my window across the street, leaning casually against a railing.
Middle-aged. Ordinary clothes. Calm breathing.
Manifest Strength.
He looked directly at me.
No killing intent.
Only curiosity.
"So this is him," the man murmured. "The boy who chose law over fists."
He smiled faintly.
"Interesting."
Then he turned and vanished into the darkness.
I exhaled slowly.
A martial clan scout.
So the ripples had reached the deeper waters.
Good.
This was how it should begin.
—
Across campus, Su Qingxue closed her phone.
The message she'd just read was brief:
"Observe Chen Mo. Do not interfere."
She stared at the screen for a long moment before deleting it.
Her gaze drifted toward the law faculty building.
Someone who turned weakness into a weapon…
That was far more dangerous than a brute.