Chapter 18.
He tried to recall what it meant from his past life, but nothing clear surfaced. It hadn't been something important back then, and he had never bothered remembering things that held no immediate value. Still, the way people whispered it here—it carried weight.
Something was off.
He didn't say it out loud.
All three of them stood together as their application slips were accepted. The instructor stamped them one by one and handed them back before speaking in a calm, firm tone.
"There will be two tests. Minor, but necessary. Pass them to officially begin your time in the academy, young ones."
He paused briefly, then glanced toward Xiao Weiyang.
"I'm sure he will show you the way."
Weiyang grinned instantly, almost proudly.
"Of course, Sir Shin."
Then he turned around, stretching his arms behind his head casually.
"Let's go."
He walked ahead, relaxed and careless, as if he already owned the place. Wuming walked beside him on his left, while Wei Zhi walked on his right, slightly quieter but attentive.
Wuming spoke without looking at him.
"So. It's your second time here?"
Weiyang laughed.
"Nope. Fourth."
Wuming glanced at him.
"You failed four times?"
"Yeah," Weiyang said without shame. "Because I can't pass that dumb fire shu. It's so damn hard. And making clones is the first test. The second one is written."
Wei Zhi looked at him.
"Let me guess," she said calmly. "You don't know how to write?"
Weiyang immediately frowned.
"Hey. I do know. It's just… I don't get numericals."
Wuming spoke flatly.
"So you're dense like a child?"
Weiyang looked between both of them.
"What—are you two going to bully me now?"
Neither of them answered.
By then, they had already reached the classroom.
"This is it," Weiyang said, pushing the door open.
Inside, the room was large, wider than it first appeared from the outside. Three long rows of wooden benches stretched forward, each row raised slightly above the one in front, forming a layered seating arrangement. Each bench could fit three students comfortably, and most of them were already occupied. Boys and girls filled the space, their voices overlapping in low chatter, creating a constant hum of sound.
Sunlight poured in from the tall windows along the side wall, casting a soft glow across the room and reflecting faintly off the polished wooden floors. The atmosphere was alive—noisy, restless, full of energy.
They moved toward the last row.
Wei Zhi took the seat by the window, the light falling softly across her side. Weiyang dropped into the middle casually, while Wuming sat at the corner, slightly separated but still close enough.
Weiyang immediately started talking to Wei Zhi about something random, leaning toward her with enthusiasm.
She ignored him.
He continued.
She refused again.
He persisted.
Wuming didn't interfere.
Instead, he observed.
His gaze moved across the room slowly, taking in everything—the students, their behavior, their expressions.
Many of them had already noticed him.
Several girls were glancing toward him repeatedly, their faces slightly flushed, whispers forming between them. Some tried to hide it. Others didn't bother.
Wuming rested his elbows on the desk, fingers interlocked, chin resting lightly over them as he watched the room in silence.
Children.
All of them.
Talking.
Laughing.
Unaware.
Then—
His eyes paused.
A girl with dark pink hair.
She was seated a few rows ahead, slightly turned back in her seat. Her long hair fell smoothly behind her, catching the light from the window. Her eyes—bright, almost jade-like with a soft teal tint—were fixed on him.
There was no hesitation in her gaze.
Only curiosity.
And something softer.
When his eyes met hers—
She didn't look away immediately.
Her expression remained gentle, almost in awe.
Around her, a few others had also begun whispering.
"Is he royalty?"
"His hair… it's silver…"
"And his eyes—"
One girl suddenly covered her nose as blood slipped down, and another quickly helped her out of the classroom, dragging her toward the infirmary.
Weiyang noticed and clicked his tongue.
"Ugh. What a trouble," he said, leaning back lazily. "Can't you just be ugly?"
Wuming didn't respond.
Wei Zhi, however, let out a quiet laugh.
And the noise of the classroom continued as if nothing had happened.
The girl did not look away.
The eye contact remained.
Wuming noticed it immediately, and for a brief moment, it caught his attention. Most people avoided his gaze. His eyes were not soft or welcoming—they were cold, sharp, almost unsettling, the kind that made others instinctively turn away. Yet she continued looking at him, steady and unafraid.
It was unusual.
His gaze remained on her for a second longer, studying the calmness in her expression, the softness that didn't waver even under his stare.
Then, quietly, almost under his breath, he spoke a single word.
"Yinghua."
Cherry blossoms.
The thought settled in his mind without effort. It wasn't just her pink hair—it was the feeling she gave off. Light. Gentle. Fleeting, yet composed.
For a moment, he simply watched her.
Then his attention shifted away, as if nothing had happened.
Slowly, time passed.
The examinations came and went—both written and practical. Wei Zhi and Wuming remained calm throughout, their expressions unchanged, their movements steady, controlled. There was no rush in them, no visible strain.
But Weiyang was different.
The moment they stepped out of the examination hall, his shoulders dropped, his posture loosening as if something had been drained out of him. His face looked worn, almost lifeless, as though all his energy had been pulled away and nothing was left behind.
He exhaled heavily.
"Damn… I'm dead."
Neither Wuming nor Wei Zhi responded.
Students were guided back to the same classroom they had been in before. The process was smooth, organized. No chaos, no confusion. Within a short span of time, everyone had returned to their original seats.
Three hours.
It had taken only three hours.
Fast.
Efficient.
Both Wuming and Wei Zhi noticed it.
The academy didn't waste time.
They took their seats again in the last row—Wei Zhi by the window, Weiyang in the middle, Wuming at the corner. The sunlight had shifted slightly now, falling at a different angle across the wooden floor and desks. The earlier noise had settled into something quieter—low conversations, tired murmurs, students waiting.
Weiyang leaned forward, resting his head briefly on the desk.
"I hate exams," he muttered.
Wuming ignored him.
His gaze moved across the room again, just as it had before.
And once again—
That girl.
Dark pink hair.
She was still there.
Seated a few rows ahead.
This time, she wasn't openly staring, but every now and then, her eyes would drift back toward him—quick, careful glances, almost as if she didn't want to be noticed.
Quiet.
Subtle.
But consistent.
Wuming noticed.
He didn't react.
He simply observed.
Then looked away.
Time passed slowly after that.
One by one, teachers began entering the classroom.
Each of them carried a list.
Each of them called out names.
"Team One—come forward."
Students stood, gathered, and left.
Then another teacher entered.
"Team Two."
Again, names were called. Another group left.
The process repeated.
Orderly.
Methodical.
Teams were formed quickly—four students and one instructor assigned to each group.
One team.
Then another.
Then another.
Six teams had already been taken away.
The classroom had grown quieter with each departure. The once full room now felt spacious, the empty benches stretching across the rows.
Only twelve students remained.
Three more teams.
Wuming stayed still, watching.
Wei Zhi sat quietly beside him.
Weiyang had lifted his head again, looking around with mild curiosity.
Then—
Another teacher entered.
A woman this time.
Her steps were steady as she walked to the front of the room, her presence calm but authoritative. She opened the list in her hand and spoke clearly.
"Team Eight."
There was a brief pause.
"Please come forward."
Her eyes moved down the page.
"Yu Hang. Zhu Ri. Jing Yuan. And ming yue"
She closed the list and looked at the three who had stepped forward.
"My name is Ya Ting," she said calmly. "From today onward, I am your Shifu."
Without wasting another moment, she turned and walked out, the three students followed behind her. Or should I say, the girls went ahead and the boys stayed.
Twelve students remained.
Three teams left.
The room felt more open now, the empty seats stretching across the rows.
Then a voice broke the quiet.
Yu Hang leaned back slightly, glancing toward Weiyang with a smirk.
"Yo, duffer," he said lazily. "Seems like your team's going to get a duffer teacher too. You bring an absurd amount of bad luck. I will be sorry for your team mates."
A few students snickered.
Then more joined in.
Laughter spread lightly across the room.
Weiyang didn't respond immediately.
Wei Zhi, however, didn't like it.
Her expression didn't change.
She said nothing.
But her hand moved.
She bit her thumb, blood flowed out. Quietly, her finger traced a small, precise pattern on the surface of the desk—subtle, controlled, almost invisible unless one paid close attention.
Wuming noticed.
His eyes dropped to the table.
The lines.
The flow.
A formation.
His lips curved slightly.
Indigestion spell.
Without looking up, she asked in a low voice,
"What's his name?"
Weiyang blinked once, then whispered back casually,
"Yu Hang."
Beside the formation, she lightly traced a name.
Yu Hang.
That was enough.
Wei Zhi's finger stopped.
The pattern faded almost instantly, leaving no visible trace behind.
Moments later, the teacher, ya ting came back and inquired calmly. "what are you doing, staying behind?"
Yu Hang stood up along with the others, stretching slightly as he began walking toward the door.
Halfway there—
He suddenly paused.
His hand moved to his stomach.
His face twisted.
"What the hell—"
He clutched his abdomen, bending slightly as a sharp discomfort hit him out of nowhere.
A low groan escaped him.
The room went quiet again.
Wei Zhi looked ahead, calm.
Then smiled faintly.
Weiyang noticed immediately.
And understood.
A grin spread across his face.
"It seems," he said loudly, crossing his arms, "you're the real scared cat, Yu Hang."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Getting a stomachache right after being assigned to a team?"
A few students looked confused.
Some tried not to laugh.
Weiyang smirked.
"Are you that nervous? Pussy cat?" he added, taunting lightly.
Yu Hang glared back, still holding his stomach, unable to respond properly as the teacher urged him to move.
She shook her head," let's get you to the infirmary."
Wuming said nothing.
But his eyes shifted once toward Wei Zhi.
His eyes narrowed, and the wind moved in the class. Through the window, Wuming's hair floated in the air, his silver white hair shined, his eyes remained calm as the breeze. His hair wasn't in any hairstyle he doesn't like, and he never has a hairstyle.
Yu Hang was still clutching his stomach as he was forced out of the room, his steps uneven, his face twisted in discomfort while the teacher urged him forward. A few students whispered, some confused, some amused, but no one understood what had actually happened.
Except three.
Wei Zhi sat quietly, her posture straight, her expression calm as if nothing unusual had occurred. But her fingers rested lightly against the wooden desk, the faintest trace of red already gone from her skin.
Wuming had seen it.
His eyes had followed the movement of her hand earlier—the slight pause, the precise motion, the controlled pressure of her fingertip dragging across the surface. It had not been random.
It had been structured.
A formation.
A Zhen.
And more than that—
It had been formed using blood.
His gaze lowered to the desk again, as if trying to trace what was no longer there.
No residue.
No mark.
No mistake.
Clean.
Too clean.
His thoughts moved quietly.
She used blood to stabilize the pattern… not even a full seal… just a trigger formation.
His eyes shifted toward her.
How does she know this?
End of 18