The summons arrived before noon.
Not by phone.
Not by message.
A neatly printed notice delivered directly to the law faculty office, bearing the university's red administrative seal.
"Chen Mo. Report to the Disciplinary Committee. Immediately."
Whispers spread the moment I stood up.
Every student knew what this meant.
When the university moved this fast, someone powerful had already pushed.
I folded the notice calmly and slid it into my pocket.
Su Qingxue watched me from two rows ahead. Her pen paused mid-word. Just for a moment.
Then she continued writing.
Smart.
Getting involved now would only drag attention to herself.
—
The Disciplinary Committee office was quiet to the point of discomfort.
Three people sat behind the desk.
An administrator.
A legal consultant.
And a man in a tailored suit who did not belong on campus.
Liang family lawyer.
The moment I entered, pressure filled the room—not martial, but social. The kind that crushed ordinary people effortlessly.
"Chen Mo," the administrator began, fingers interlocked. "You've filed a serious complaint against a fellow student."
"Yes," I replied evenly.
The suited man smiled faintly. "Young man, misunderstandings happen. Campus conflicts shouldn't be escalated unnecessarily."
I met his eyes. "Then perhaps the assault shouldn't have happened."
Silence.
The legal consultant cleared his throat. "There is no direct evidence tying Liang Hao to the attack."
I nodded. "Correct. Which is why my complaint alleges intimidation and indirect coercion, not direct assault."
The consultant blinked.
I continued before anyone could interrupt.
"Article 42 of the university code defines intimidation as verbal or implied threats causing reasonable fear. Liang Hao's recorded phone call meets that standard."
I placed my phone on the desk.
Audio played.
'You walked home alone tonight. That won't always be the case.'
The suited man's smile vanished.
The administrator frowned. "This recording—"
"Is legally obtained," I said calmly. "Single-party consent applies."
The room shifted.
The Liang lawyer leaned forward. "Even if that's accepted, it proves nothing beyond immature words."
I smiled politely.
"That depends on context," I said. "Which is why I also submitted time-stamped medical reports, police statements, and witness recordings from nearby residents."
I slid a thin folder across the desk.
The legal consultant opened it—and stiffened.
The administrator's face darkened.
This wasn't a complaint.
It was a case.
After several tense minutes, the administrator spoke again.
"Liang Hao will be placed under temporary disciplinary review. Restricted campus movement. Mandatory counseling."
Not suspension.
But it was enough.
For now.
The suited man stood abruptly. "This isn't over."
I nodded. "Of course not."
—
By evening, the Liang family moved.
Not through the university.
Through reputation.
Anonymous posts appeared online.
Chen Mo staged assault for attention
Poor student extorting rich heir
Fake recordings?
Predictable.
I didn't respond.
Instead, I waited.
At nine p.m., I released my counter.
Not personally.
Through the law faculty forum.
A clean, neutral post.
"On the Legal Standards of Evidence in Campus Disputes."
No names.
No accusations.
Just facts.
Screenshots.
Time stamps.
Legal explanations.
Within an hour, comments exploded.
Law students tore the rumors apart piece by piece.
By midnight, the narrative flipped.
The Liang family deleted posts.
Too late.
—
That night, I cultivated longer than usual.
Pain tore through my muscles as inner breath circulated faintly for the first time—thin, unstable, but real.
Inner Breath: initial formation.
When I opened my eyes, sweat soaked the floor.
I smiled.
Progress.
A shadow shifted beyond the curtain.
"You chose the right path," a calm voice said.
The same man from before stepped into the moonlight.
Manifest Strength. No hostility.
"I don't recall inviting guests," I replied.
He chuckled softly. "The city did."
He studied me openly. "The Xu family is watching you."
So that was it.
One of the city's mid-tier martial clans.
"I'm a student," I said. "Not interested."
"Yet," he corrected. "When fists fail, law becomes valuable."
He turned to leave, then paused.
"Liang Hao won't stop. His family can't afford to lose face."
"I know," I replied.
The man smiled. "Good."
He vanished.
—
The next morning, the professor returned graded mock assignments.
When he reached my desk, he paused.
"Chen Mo," he said evenly. "Top score."
A ripple passed through the hall.
"This," he continued, holding up my paper, "is what law looks like when used properly."
Liang Hao's seat remained empty.
Su Qingxue looked back once more.
This time, her gaze held something new.
Interest.
Not in my strength.
But in my method.
And somewhere deep in the city, multiple forces reached the same conclusion:
This freshman wasn't a pawn.
He was becoming a variable.