The next day arrived with a hush in the air, as if Shang City itself held its breath.
At Shang Academy, instructors praised Zenin's performance while remaining cautious. He had no powerful backing, no cultivation lineage—just raw, terrifying growth.
Students began keeping their distance. Some out of fear. Others out of envy.
But Zenin didn't care for their opinions. His eyes were on the path ahead—both the Golden Core Realm and the Academic Finals stood like gates before freedom.
He sat inside the academy's inner library, flipping through cultivation scrolls. While other students needed weeks to grasp Qi circulation patterns, Zenin dissected them in hours.
> "This world's methods are clumsy," he thought. "Compared to the Hell Arts I once forged…"
Still, he had to adapt. This was no longer the Thirteen Hells. This was a world ruled by clans, sects, and corrupt immortals. To win, he had to play the part of the clever fox—at least, for now.
Outside the library window, Yue Qing watched him from a distance. Her curiosity had turned to obsession. She had started collecting everything about Zenin—his old test records, daily routines, even the names of those who once mocked him.
"He's dangerous," she whispered. "But maybe… that's what we need."
Back at the Zhen estate, Zhen Mei received word of the failed assassination attempt. Her expression didn't change.
"I see," she said coldly. "Then we adjust. Slowly. Poison, perhaps."
But one of her advisors warned, "Lady Mei, if he continues like this, even you may not be able to stop him when the time comes."
Zhen Mei's fingers clenched around her jade cup until it cracked.
"Then we ensure that time never comes."
That night, Zenin returned to his courtyard and found a white lotus placed on his windowsill—a symbol of apology… or a warning.
He studied it silently.
> "In the Thirteen Hells, a flower on your bed meant only one thing: someone wanted your corpse buried with beauty."
He crushed the lotus in his palm.
"Try harder," he said aloud, his voice echoing into the night. "If this is a game, then play it well."
As the wind rustled through the courtyard, a thought crossed his mind:
"Soon, I must give her a warning. If my mother's heart is truly black… she'll hear my voice at Chapter Fifty."
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