The afternoon haze filtered softly through the stained-glass windows of the east hall, casting slanted lines of color across the marbled floor. The final bell had rung, and the murmurs of departing students echoed faintly in the corridors like the tail end of a fading symphony.
Sheng JunLun walked in measured steps, hands tucked behind his back, as was his habit when lost in thought. His academy robes rustled with each movement, His expression was unreadable, but his eyes — sharp, dark, always calculating — betrayed a flicker of distraction.
Beside him, as always, was Xiang ZhiHun lean and annoyingly observant.
"You've been quiet since Gen Theory class," ZhiHun said with a grin that curled at the edges like burnt parchment. "Don't tell me you're still stuck thinking about Yue LunMu?"
JunLun's jaw tensed, but he said nothing.
ZhiHun didn't need words. He was far too good at reading silence.
"She did sit directly in front of you," ZhiHun continued, his voice laced with amusement. "And you went still — like your threads got tangled."
JunLun clicked his tongue. "I was analyzing her gen aura. It's… unique."
"Oh? Is that what you were doing while staring holes into the back of her head?"
JunLun shot him a glare. ZhiHun just laughed.
"Come on, you can't deny it. The Silver Marionette Gen is rare. A string-based mutative gen that actually controls puppets like if its so simple? I get the curiosity. But I think you're more interested in her than the gen."
JunLun looked away, his gaze shifting to the hallway windows, where the sun glinted off polished marble tiles. For a moment, he imagined threads — fine, silvery ones — stretching invisibly between him and Yue LunMu. Not control. Not domination. Just… connection.
"She's from the Yue family," ZhiHun said more softly now, voice still teasing but laced with something else — caution, perhaps. "Old money. Old prestige. They own more land than the crown provinces, and her father's a high elder in the Eastern Gen Consortium."
JunLun nodded. He already knew. Of course he knew.
"She doesn't act like one of them," he said quietly.
ZhiHun raised an eyebrow. "So you have been watching her."
JunLun didn't reply.
"She's graceful, yeah," ZhiHun added. "But cold. Controlled. Like someone trained to smile without meaning it. You're not afraid of that?"
JunLun gave a faint smirk. "No. I understand it."
They walked a few more paces in silence, passing a few younger students who bowed respectfully as they passed. JunLun hardly noticed them.
ZhiHun, of course, did.
"Maybe you two would fit," he said suddenly. "You've got that Silk String Control Gen of yours — all silent manipulation and elegant control. She's got the Silver Marionette. You'd be a real pair of string-pullers."
JunLun rolled his eyes. "I'm not interested in some noble match-making fantasy."
ZhiHun leaned in with a sly smile. "No, I think you're not interested in her name, her power, or her status… just in her. That's what makes it interesting."
JunLun opened his mouth to object, but stopped.
Because he wasn't sure he could argue.
There was something about Yue LunMu. The way her silver eyes didn't flinch when others looked at her. The precision of her movements. The faint sadness that lingered in her aura, like a harp string perpetually in mourning.
She wasn't like the other nobles.
She wasn't like anyone.
And that unsettled him more than he cared to admit.
ZhiHun grinned. "Careful, JunLun. Threads between hearts are the hardest to cut."
JunLun didn't reply. He simply walked on, mind quiet, but his chest—
—his chest felt like it was being pulled.
By a thread he hadn't tied.
ZhiHun's footsteps faded down the corridor, his teasing laughter lingering like an echo that refused to die. JunLun stood still for a moment, fingers brushing the edge of his glasses. The thin frames had slipped slightly down his nose during the conversation, and with a practiced flick, he pushed them back into place.
He exhaled quietly, the strands of thought about Yue LunMu retreating to the back of his mind, replaced by a familiar sense of focus that always settled over him like armor.
No distractions.
Ahead, the great doors to the Weapon Hall loomed — tall, reinforced with dark iron bands and engraved with ancient symbols of strength and precision. Master Ironwood's domain.
Lu Gang.
JunLun's mentor.
The one who forged warriors as much with relentless discipline as with steel.
The hall was already alive with the clang of blades and the low hum of concentrated energy. JunLun stepped inside, the sounds immediately sharpening his senses.
Rows of students were sparring under the watchful eyes of instructors, each strike measured and purposeful. The scent of sweat, polished wood, and oiled metal filled the air.
At the center stood Master Ironwood — a mountain of a man, his broad shoulders draped in a sleeveless robe, arms like iron pillars crossed over a chest that bore the scars of countless battles. His face was stern, eyes like shards of flint.
JunLun bowed low.
Master Ironwood nodded curtly.
"No time for distractions here," Lu Gang's voice was a low rumble. "Your mind must be sharper than your weapon."
JunLun's fingers twitched as he reached in his storage ring a sleek, ancient halberd carved from tempered magma steel and engraved with magical runes of the flame wolf emperor: The Cinderbrand halberd. Its balance was perfect in his hands.
"Focus on the fundamentals," Master Ironwood said, motioning toward the training dummies lined up like silent sentinels. "Control your breathing, your stance, your intent. Without these, your gen is useless."
JunLun nodded, centering himself as he took his stance. Every muscle tightened with practiced precision.
As his halberd sliced through the air, carving arcs that caught the light, JunLun's mind cleared further — the strings of distraction unwinding until only the rhythm of steel and breath remained.
But even as he trained, a faint pulse lingered beneath his calm: the memory of Yue LunMu's silver eyes, and the strange thread pulling at something deep inside him.