The academy grounds slowly returned to their usual rhythm after the testing ended, but for Lin Ye, everything felt subtly different.
As he walked through the wide stone corridors, whispers followed him like faint echoes. They weren't loud, nor openly hostile—but they carried weight. Curiosity. Speculation. A few traces of disbelief. His results hadn't been the highest, yet they were strange enough to draw attention, especially from those who knew how the academy truly judged talent.
Lin Ye kept his expression calm, his posture relaxed, just another orphan student blending into the crowd. On the inside, however, his mind was anything but quiet.
The sensation he felt during the final test still lingered.
That brief moment—when his blood seemed to respond to something deeper than spiritual qi, when the world around him felt slower, clearer—had not been imagination. He knew that much. It was the same faint pull he had felt during meditation in the orphanage, the same subtle warmth that surfaced whenever he pushed his body beyond its limits.
Whatever it was… it was waking up.
By the time he reached the outer dormitory courtyard, the sun was already leaning westward. Tall training pillars cast long shadows across the stone floor, and a handful of students were already testing their strength against them, eager to prove themselves even after the official evaluation had ended.
Lin Ye ignored them and headed straight for his assigned residence.
The dormitory was simple—four stone walls, two narrow windows, and a single wooden bed. A far cry from luxury, but far better than the orphanage had ever been. He closed the door behind him and sat cross-legged on the floor, taking a slow, steady breath.
Now that no one was watching, he allowed himself to relax.
He guided his awareness inward.
Spiritual qi flowed through his meridians smoothly, refined from years of quiet, disciplined training. His cultivation was stable, solidly within the early Body Tempering Realm, his foundation far sturdier than most students his age. Yet beneath that familiar flow was something else—something dormant, coiled deep within his blood.
Lin Ye focused on it.
At first, there was resistance. A pressure, like trying to look through fog. Then, faintly, a pulse answered him.
Thump.
Not from his heart—but from everywhere at once.
His bones hummed. His muscles tightened. For an instant, ancient images flashed through his mind—vast lands drowned in flame, towering beasts roaring beneath blood-red skies, and a presence so overwhelming it nearly crushed his consciousness.
Lin Ye's eyes snapped open as he gasped.
"That wasn't… just power," he muttered.
It felt like memory.
Or inheritance.
Before he could reflect further, a sharp knock echoed from his door.
Lin Ye stood, quickly regaining his composure, and opened it to find a middle-aged instructor clad in gray academy robes. The man's eyes were sharp, calculating, as if he were constantly measuring those before him.
"Lin Ye," the instructor said calmly. "You've been selected for provisional observation."
Lin Ye's heart skipped a beat—but his face remained neutral. "Observation, Instructor?"
The man nodded. "Your test results were… unusual. The academy wishes to see how you develop over the next few months. You will be placed in a mixed training group starting tomorrow. Failure to show progress will result in reassignment."
And success? The instructor didn't say it—but Lin Ye understood.
Success meant opportunity.
After the man left, Lin Ye closed the door slowly, his thoughts racing.
He had planned to remain unnoticed. To grow quietly. Safely.
But fate—or something far older—clearly had other plans.
He clenched his fist, feeling that faint warmth stir once more beneath his skin.
"If this bloodline wants to wake," he whispered, eyes steady with resolve, "then I'll be ready for it."
Outside, the academy bells rang, signaling the beginning of a new cycle.
And deep within Lin Ye's veins, something ancient listened.