Shang Academy was a realm of its own—sprawling libraries, spirit-forged arenas, and countless disciples from noble clans. Zhen Zenin walked its marble halls like a ghost among peacocks. Where others flaunted their status, he studied in silence.
His days began before dawn—studying formations, spirit beast anatomy, and cultivation theory. At night, he practiced battle techniques, quietly pushing his Qi control to the limit.
He had no allies. He wanted none.
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Instructor Bai, a strict but sharp-eyed teacher, observed him quietly during sword class.
"Zhen Zenin," he called one day, "Show us the Moon Piercing Form."
Dozens of students turned, eager to see the so-called underdog falter.
But Zenin's blade moved.
A single fluid motion—graceful yet devastating—cut through the training dummy's core with surgical precision. His sword stopped an inch from Instructor Bai's neck.
Silence.
The instructor smiled faintly. "Perfect execution."
The students stared. Many were noble-born with better resources, yet this boy—a so-called trash—had surpassed them in both theory and blade.
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Meanwhile, Lady Zhen received another report. Her brows twitched.
"He's adapting too fast. Even the instructors speak well of him now…"
Zhen Yun snarled, "He humiliated me today. Said nothing, but every look was like a knife!"
Lady Zhen's voice dropped cold.
> "If shame can't kill him, perhaps... pride will."
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That night, as Zenin read alone in the dorms, he felt something.
A faint trace of spiritual energy in his room—a probe. A test.
He let it pass, pretending not to notice. But deep in his heart, he smiled darkly.
> "You test the fire, unaware it once devoured realms."
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The academy welcomed him. The students watched him. And his enemies began sharpening knives—not knowing the storm they provoked had already begun.
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