Lu Heng's gaze remained as steady and impassive as ever as he spoke:
"What would you like to choose, Lin Shu?"
Without hesitation, Lin Shu replied,
"The Pale-Lotus Flow technique, sir."
The vice dean gave the faintest nod, then reached into his spatial ring. With a ripple of Qi, a scroll materialized in his hand. He held it, but did not hand it over immediately.
"Well, you know the drill."
Lin Shu stepped forward and began reciting the words of the binding oath—a strict contract etched by the institute and organization alike to protect their techniques and secrets. Qi hovered around him and the air got warmer as the vow took shape:
"I, Lin Shu, swear on my cultivation and life that I shall not copy, share, teach, or transcribe this technique in any form. Violation shall result in the destruction of my meridians, the shattering of my dantian, and the collapse of my path."
As the last word was spoken, the golden rune sank into his chest. Lin Shu exhaled slowly. The oath was complete. Lu Heng handed him the scroll.
"Here you go. Also—your name won't vanish from the merit board even after spending your merit points. That wall tracks achievement, not resources. The actual merit count, however, will be adjusted in our records."
He studied Lin Shu for a moment longer, then added,
"Now go and rest. I can still see the weight of your wounds."
Lin Shu bowed respectfully.
"Thank you for your concern, Vice Dean."
With that, he turned and exited the room, leaving Lu Heng seated in quiet stillness.
Moments later, Han Yi remained standing beside the desk. Lu Heng didn't look up at her, but his words came low and even:
"What do you think of him?"
She blinked once, then answered plainly,
"He improved."
Though her voice carried little inflection, her mind was still turning. She had heard the rumors—Lin Shu rising to seventh place, surpassing Yun Qiu and Wu Jian. And it wasn't a small leap. It was a gap of hundreds of merit points.
What she didn't know was that the reason for his meteoric rise wasn't raw power—it was the nature of his assignments. Unlike Yun Qiu and Wu Jian, who were protected by their clans and given moderate-risk missions—often with an instructor quietly shadowing them—Lin Shu was thrown into the fire. Level 2 and Level 3 missions. Dangerous and even Sometimes fatal.
She had scanned the mission logs on the board. He'd completed more assignments than them—and more brutal ones at that.
Still, she thought, that doesn't mean he's stronger.
She didn't underestimate him. But she didn't fear him either. Her confidence wasn't born of arrogance—it was forged from experience and precision. If it ever came to a fight, she would end it quickly and cleanly.
Lu Heng's voice broke the silence again.
"True. He's grown a great deal. More than expected."
He paused, then leaned slightly forward.
"And from everything we know, none of the techniques he's acquired from the institute account for this growth. But he does possess an… unusual art. One we have no records of."
Han Yi's gaze sharpened. Lu Heng continued:
"Its power and utility put it around the level of a high-tier Rank 1 technique. But it's elusive—nothing we've seen fits its profile exactly. Still, that's not our concern for now."
With a motion of his hand, he dismissed the matter entirely.
"Enough about him. Let's talk about why I called you here."
From his ring, he produced a simple black envelope, sealed with a silver wax mark—Lu Zhenhai's personal sigil.
"Your master—the dean—sent you this letter. I don't know what it says, and frankly, I don't care. Take it and go."
Han Yi stepped forward, accepted the envelope, and bowed lightly.
"Thank you, Vice Dean."
As she turned to leave, her thoughts wandered for a moment. Why does he treat me like this? She didn't show it on her face, but the question lingered in her heart.
After all, she had known Lu Heng for over a decade. He was her master's younger brother—though this fact wasn't widely known. Even her master rarely spoke of it. The two men shared no warmth. No fondness. Not even professional respect. Just silence.
She had never asked why. If her master, Lu Zhenhai, had chosen to keep it hidden, then she would honor that silence. He had been more of a father to her than anyone since her real one passed away. He never gave her anything without reason—and never withheld anything without purpose. So she let the question die, as she left the room.
The envelope pulsed faintly in her hand. "I wonder what he wants to tell me."
Lin Shu moved steadily through the mine, heading toward his tent. His presence was a quiet storm—unspoken yet undeniable. As he passed, students stepped aside, their conversations breaking into hushed murmurs. Some faces held awe, others suspicion, and a few… jealousy thinly veiled by poorly masked hatred. But none dared step in his way. No one spat insults or mocked his injuries. Not openly.
And Lin Shu didn't care what they whispered. Whether admiration or malice, they kept their distance. That was enough.as long as they didn't openly talk down to him he wouldn't waste his time on them
"Let one insect crawl over your head," he thought, "and you'll have to crush the next dozen."but of course this was only the case with the weak and equal infront of the strong if he doesn't kneel then he'll be forced to.
Then came a voice. Confident. Smooth. Heavy with self-importance.
"Lin Shu, mind if I have a word?"
He turned his gaze. A boy stood there with shoulder-length hair that shimmered like flame—red and orange twined together. His irises were the same color, flickering faintly in the light like embers under glass. Four others flanked him—loyal dogs in proud silk.
Yun Qiu.
Lin Shu's eyes cooled as he responded flatly,
"And how can I help you, Yun Qiu?"
He was already guessing the answer, and it irritated him.
Yun Qiu smirked, walking forward with the casual arrogance of someone who'd never once been denied what he wanted.
"I couldn't help but notice your little climb on the merit board. Impressive. Jumping through all those ranks must have been tough. It got me curious—so I thought we should have a little spar. See if the hype lives up to the truth."
Lin Shu didn't blink. Inside, annoyance simmered.
"So that's it. His ego can't stand someone outranking him. What is this? Some childish game of who's the better trained dog?"
He gave no reaction beyond a faint narrowing of the eyes, then replied coolly,
"As you can see, I'm still injured from my last mission. Maybe another time."
With that, he turned and walked off.
"I don't have time to entertain spoiled brats whose self-worth depends on being the institute's favorite toy," he thought. "Let him swing his pride around somewhere else."
His pace didn't quicken, but his thoughts grew sharper.
"I already know what happens when you offend one of them. I've heard the stories—Ren Hao's life here is a mess because of Zeng Shiyang. I'm not about to add Yun Qiu to the list. I don't need another rich clan hounding me while I still have to survive assassination missions from the Jiang."
As Lin Shu stepped out, the air shifted. He noticed it immediately—not through sound, but through the widening eyes of the students facing him.
He dropped low in an instant.
A crescent-shaped arc of flame hissed through the space where his head had been, its heat licking the back of his neck as it sailed overhead and cracked against the stone behind him in a burst of light and ash.
"Damned bastard," he thought, teeth grinding. His body screamed with pain, still not fully healed, but his rage was louder.
He didn't want this. He avoided it. He gave warning. Yet here he was—attacked in broad daylight, in the middle of the mine. And worse, like a plaything, a target of someone else's mood.
It burned more than the flames.
But Lin Shu didn't let it show. He couldn't.
He forced himself to turn, expression calm despite the fury storming inside. His voice was smooth, even pleasant:
"Brother Yun, you should understand—I'm still injured. But I assure you, I meant no offense in my proposal to postpone our spar. I simply need to recover to give you the fight you deserve."
He smiled.
A slow, perfectly practiced smile.
Inside, he was biting his tongue, almost hard enough to draw blood. The words tasted like ash, like rot—servant words. But he said them.
Because ambition means nothing if you die too soon to realize it.
Dignity? Pride? They came after survival.
Yun Qiu smirked, clearly pleased with himself. The flames that had cloaked his arm coiled down and vanished like smoke in the wind.
"That's better," he said, turning around with a dismissive flick of his wrist. "We'll finish this later. I have more important things to do right now."
The four boys with him chuckled and followed, basking in the moment like dogs given permission to strut.
Around Lin Shu, the gathered crowd wore a mix of expressions.
Some smirked. Others pitied him. A few nodded with understanding—faces that said, you did the right thing. Better to take the slap of the hand than the slash of the blade.
Lin Shu stood still, watching Yun Qiu walk away.
His shoulders were relaxed. His breathing steady.
But in his mind, a vow etched itself like steel on stone:
"I'll one day reach a level of power where the word strong defines no one but me. A height so vast that everyone else will fall beneath the definition of weak—and when that day comes…"
His gaze lingered on Yun Qiu's back as the young master laughed with his underlings, basking in the crowd's silence.
"…I'll get you back for this humiliation, Yun Qiu. Not with words. With power. The moment I have enough to do it, you'll learn what it means to make prey of something that never intended to stay weak."
And then Lin Shu turned, expression composed, spine straight—his steps slow and quiet as he walked back through the crowd.
No one dared meet his eyes.