The halls of Shang Academy bustled with noise, but Zhen Zenin walked through them like a ghost—calm, composed, and untouchable.
He had already passed the first two written exams, shocking both students and instructors alike. The boy they once called "Zhen the Useless" now gave answers that even scholars paused to reread.
Today, however, wasn't about ink and paper. Today's trial was physical combat—the Battle Assessment.
"Zhen Zenin?" Instructor Lin Ya's voice echoed.
He stepped forward silently, dressed in plain robes, his hair tied loosely behind him.
His opponent smirked: Chen Rui, the academy's favored prodigy and son of a noble clan. "Ready to be humiliated in front of everyone, beggar?"
Zenin didn't reply. Instead, he calmly took his stance—left hand open, right fist clenched. He didn't use a weapon. He didn't need one.
The gong sounded.
Chen Rui rushed forward with a wind-imbued blade, his movements confident, practiced. Zenin evaded each slash by inches, his feet moving like flowing water.
Then, with one twist of his body—he struck.
A palm to the chest. Qi infused—not enough to kill, but enough to break ribs.
Chen Rui flew back, coughing blood. The entire arena fell silent.
Instructor Lin Ya blinked. "You've entered... early Qi Gathering?"
Zenin nodded once.
The instructors took notes. The students gawked.
"Impossible," someone whispered. "He was trash just a month ago…"
Zenin's eyes swept the crowd. He wasn't looking for praise. He was looking for fear.
Because fear spreads faster than rumor—and he needed both.
That night, Zenin sat alone under the academy's moonlit pavilion. His mind drifted to the Thirteen Hells, where he once trained warriors to crush gods.
> "Fear sharpens obedience. Pain engraves loyalty."
He clenched his fist. "This world will learn."
From the shadows behind a pillar, Yue Qing watched him. "He's not normal... Who are you, Zhen Zenin?"
Far away, in a dark room of the Zhen clan residence, his mother received a letter.
The report read:
> "Zenin passed the test. Entered Qi Gathering. Recognition from instructors."
She crushed the paper.
Her voice cold and quiet: "That boy… he should've stayed weak."
She turned to her maid. "We start now. Slowly. Carefully."
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