Two elderly men stood tall and dignified, their postures straight and proud. Their robes were a striking blend of white and blue, intricately adorned with fine fabrics. The flowing garments cascaded elegantly to the ground. Embroidered on the robes were two distinguished insignias, one marked with the title 'Headmaster' the other with 'Deputy Headmaster'. The insignias gleamed subtly, catching the light as the men stood in silent solidarity, watching from afar.
"This year, has a lot of talents, especially that Xiang Yimu."
"Indeed. It's been years since we've seen another grade one core."
The headmaster, cleared his throat and asked the deputy. "What about the orders from the imperial family?"
The deputy headmaster, sighed while lowering his gaze. "I am working on that, but I haven't been able to make much progress."
The headmaster shook his head discreetly, before his gaze turned ice cold.
He then gently smiled at the deputy headmaster and flew out into everyone's view.
With his hands behind his back, he stood upright like a sword, unbent by old age. His presence alone demanded attention, everyone's gazes quickly landed upon him.
The whispers and the chatter quickly toned down.
"Thank you to everyone here for your time, unfortunately our time has come to an end. For the young people who have not been assigned to a class I hope they will not be demoralized and will start working even harder. As for the talented young cultivators whose skills and hard work have been recognized, I would like to warmly welcome them to one of the most reputed schools in the whole empire and to a new chapter in their cultivating life."
The crowd erupted in cheers, especially the young cultivators, even the ones rejected were clapping and cheering.
Zhao Meng however was motionless, he was tired from last night, he had cultivated until the early morning without sleeping too much.
Though cultivation enhanced vitality and endurance amongst many other things, it could not replace sleep, at least not entirely.
The crowd began to thin.
Chatter faded into murmurs, and those murmurs dissolved into footsteps. Zhao Meng was among the first to leave. His footsteps were light but fast.
To him, social gatherings were no different than noise in a temple, pretty on the surface, but ultimately meaningless. Clamor pretending to be joy. Tradition pretending to be purpose.
He didn't belong in it.
He didn't want to belong in it.
The faces around him were painted with excitement, ambition, pride. But Zhao Meng felt like a spectator behind a pane of glass, distant, disconnected. His emotions moved at a different rhythm than the rest of the world. They always had.
He slipped through the academy gates like smoke in the wind.
The walk home was quiet. No one stopped him. No one noticed his feelings. The streets were lined with lanterns still flickering from the event, casting long shadows along the dirt path. Crickets chirped beneath moonlight, and the gentle rustle of the trees overhead filled the silence.
His pace slowed.
Eventually, he came to a stop just outside the Jin household, yet he did not go in.
Instead, he looked up.
The sky stretched out above him, vast and endless, a field of stars scattered like cold fire across the velvet night. Some blinked faintly, others glowed with piercing clarity.
Zhao Meng took a deep breath, and for the first time that day, he let his thoughts speak freely.
This world is filled with opportunities but even more so with death and suffering.
There was no hesitation in the thought, no anger. Only a cold, honest realization. He had been face to face with death twice now. The kind of death that came without warning. The kind that didn't care about fairness or talent or youth.
If I am to survive in this world... then my life must come first. My needs, my safety, my peace of mind, these are priority.
Other people? They were secondary. Tools, meant to achieve my only purpose. But never something to rely on blindly. Never something to depend on more than myself.
What good would it be if I lived my whole life as a saint, pure and principled, only to die and be forgotten?
The thought stirred something bitter in his chest.
In the end, others would go on living their trivial little lives, untouched by my righteousness, unbothered by my sacrifice. I would be dead. Nothing more than a pebble washed away in the currents of life.
He let his gaze fall from the sky. The stars shimmered quietly above him, uncaring.
Life is like a headless chicken, flailing, directionless, frantic in its last moments. That's all we are. Running blindly until death finally catches up.
The thought was dark.
But it was honest.
He sat down on the small stone bench near the courtyard, folding his hands in his lap.
Fear was no longer something he could ignore. Not after everything he'd seen. Not after the blood, the deaths. His mind had been altered, shaped not by nurturing hands, but by the cold hammer of reality.
I don't want to die.
The thought came softly this time.
Not a defiance, not a vow, just a quiet admission. A truth whispered to the night.
Right now, I'm a chicken trapped in a cage. Waiting for the executioner's blade.
His jaw tightened.
But what if I'm the first chicken to learn how to fly? What if I escape this vicious cycle of life and death.
The fear in his chest twisted into something else ,something hotter, sharper...
Resolve.
Shall I die a dog's death. Shall I tower over everyone and show the splendor of my might. Whatever the result may be, I will be trying my best, sweat, blood, whatever it takes.
His fingers clenched.
The stars were no closer, but something in him reached anyway.
Behind him, a faint voice called from within the Jin household.
"Big Brother? Are you still outside?"
It was Lanyue. Of course it was.
Her voice was warm, naive, soft with worry. But Zhao Meng remained silent. He didn't want to speak, not yet. Not while his soul was still trembling from thought.
"I'm coming in." he finally said, his voice low.
He rose from the bench, brushed the dust from his robe, and walked toward the lantern lit door.
Behind him, the stars still burned.
Unchanging.
...
Two days passed in silence.
The world outside moved as it always did, loud, unbothered. But inside the Jin household, Zhao Meng had wrapped himself in routine. He read, he trained, he meditated beneath the tree in the back courtyard until the cicadas went still.
It was a silence he clung to. A silence where nothing unexpected could reach him.
But the morning came, nonetheless.
His first day.
The soft light of dawn crept in through the wooden shutters. Dust particles floated in the golden beams, dancing lazily through the air.
Zhao Meng opened his eyes.
His breath was steady. He didn't stretch or groan like a young boy who had just awoken, instead, he sat up in a single, smooth motion. Silent. Methodical.
He dressed quickly. A clean, white robe, modest and practical. He tied the sash neatly, adjusted the cuffs. His movements lacked excitement, but not care. He didn't look like a boy heading to school for the first time, he looked like a soldier preparing for inspection.
He approached the mirror quietly.
The mirror was an old bronze relic, slightly tarnished along the edges, hanging on a wooden post by the corner of the room. He looked into it without flinching.
His reflection stared back.
Short, slightly messy brown hair, combed into place with his fingers. Green eyes, sharp and still. There was a calmness in them, but also something heavy. Not sadness exactly, but, tiredness. The kind only life could give. The kind no twelve year old should have.
His face was narrow, clean, quiet. No scars. No marks. But there was a maturity that clung to his expression. He didn't tilt his head curiously like a child admiring himself, he simply looked. Measured. Assessed.
He left the room and stepped into the hallway, the wooden floor creaking beneath his soft steps.
In the kitchen, the scent of porridge lingered. Jin Shufen had left a bowl for him, steam still rising gently.
He ate in silence.
This magic school, for most, was a path to status. A place to grow, to dream, to prove something.
For him, it was different.
This wasn't a dream.
It was a necessity.
A place where he would learn to grow strong enough to never feel helpless again. Where he would learn how to live without fear ever again.
He finished eating and washed the bowl. He wiped it dry and set it back into its place.
Then, he stepped outside.
The city was stirring, slowly.
Vendors were setting up their stalls. Bells jingled softly as carts passed. School age children rushed past with messy hair and wide grins, robes flapping behind them. Laughter rang out.
Zhao Meng walked through them like a shadow. Alone, calm, unnoticed.
The path to the academy stretched before him.
Stone roads. Weeping trees. Whispering wind.
And up ahead, the towering gates of the Blue Cloud Academy, ancient and regal, still cloaked in the morning mist.
His first day.
And yet it felt like just another step on a long, lonely road.
He adjusted the strap of his satchel and kept walking.
No fear.
No joy.
Had it been his younger self, he would've walked with his head low, avoiding every gaze, afraid of judgment.
But now?
He was a man in a boy's body.
His chin was high, eyes forward, yet always aware of the ground beneath his feet. Not prideful, not defiant, simply unbothered. Like someone who had already faced the worst the world had to offer, and survived.
He didn't care if they stared. He didn't care if they whispered. None of it mattered anymore. After all they were just kids.
Their opinions were wind passing by.
The walk to the Class A courtyard wasn't long, but it felt... loud. Not the surroundings, no one dared be too boisterous this close to the elite section, but his own senses. Every step echoed with the weight of something new. Not fear. Not excitement. Just... unfamiliarity. And that meant vigilance.
The entrance to the classroom was a tall, arched gate made of polished stone and dark wood. Ancient characters were etched across the beam above, "Strength is cultivated in silence." A good reminder.
Zhao Meng pushed the door open.
The classroom was wide and high ceilinged. Cushioned seats arranged in a half circle, all facing a central platform. No desks. No chalkboards. Just the open space where battles of theory and mind would unfold. Every inch of it was designed for prestige and pressure. The academy didn't want comfort. It wanted focus.
There were already students inside, scattered around. Some sat with backs straight and arms crossed, others chatted in hushed tones. Eyes flicked toward him the moment he stepped in.
He ignored them.
His steps were silent, slow, and deliberate. He took a seat in the second row from the top. Not too close to be noticed. Not too far to look arrogant. Just... right.
So these are Class A students?
They looked the part. Most wore customized uniforms, subtly altered, tighter sleeves, looser collars, embroidered cuffs. Family crests glimmered faintly on their belts or shoulders. Little things to say: I'm not like the rest.
They all want to be known for something before they've even done anything.
He watched a boy with slick silver hair and a jade hairpin boasting about his family's private tutor. Another girl sat quietly with her eyes half closed, muttering inaudible words beneath her breath.
And then, her.
Xiang Yimu.
He didn't need anyone to tell him her name. He'd heard it enough. She stood out not because she tried to, but because she didn't. Her uniform was standard, not a thread out of place. Her posture was composed. Arms on her lap, back straight, expression unreadable.
There was an elegance to her presence. But beneath that... something else. Her eyes didn't drift like the others. They studied. Measured. When they met his, just for a flicker of a moment, it felt like blades crossing under silk.
He looked away first, not out of intimidation, but calculation. No need to provoke a chess match before the board's even been set.
He exhaled slowly, staring ahead at the empty platform. Waiting patiently for the lesson to start.