The sun barely rose over Shang City when Zenin stood atop the academy roof, a scroll in his hand. He had written ten names on it.
Each name dripped with betrayal, hatred, or manipulation. His first targets.
The top name read: Fang Zhi.
The second: Zhen Yu.
The others were elders, disciples, and cowards who had pushed him down in both lives.
"I'll erase them one by one," Zenin muttered, folding the scroll and sealing it with a drop of his blood.
---
Later that day, Lin Yue watched Zenin train at the sparring arena. He no longer held back.
Each punch sent waves of spiritual force across the field, bending the air itself. Even elite disciples gave him space now.
"You've grown cold," Yue said, stepping beside him.
Zenin didn't stop striking. "The world only respects strength. I'm simply adapting."
Yue bit her lip. "And your test? It's in two days."
Zenin nodded. "I'll pass. Then leave. I don't intend to remain in this cage."
Yue hesitated. "Will you forget me?"
Zenin paused.
"I forget the weak," he said. "Not those who stood beside me."
---
That night, Zenin slipped out of the clan estate, hooded and silent. He moved like shadow, arriving at a small herbalist shop in the outer city. The shop was closed.
But Zenin didn't knock.
He entered.
Inside, Fang Zhi—the same servant who had delivered the poisoned food—sat with a hidden blade beneath his sleeve. His eyes widened in shock.
"You—!"
Zenin didn't speak. His hand surged with white flame. A punch followed—a silent strike that burned directly into Fang's heart.
No scream. No mercy.
Zenin caught the falling body and gently laid it down.
"One."
He left quietly, not a single trace behind.
---