The morning sun had climbed, its orange glow spilling across the western fringe of Shanli Kingdom. From the crest of a low hill, Xiao Lei watched the light unfurl over Stonebrook Village. Rooftops below caught the hue like smouldering embers, while fields and worn paths stretched toward the horizon where the borders of Xihe waited.

  A week of relentless travel ended here. His breath ran steady, though the pulse beneath his skin carried the echo of strain. The night before leaving, he had broken through to the seventh stage of Qi Awakening.

  For one instant—bright, glass-thin—he had felt the barrier to the eighth quiver beneath his will. Then it held. His strength remained fixed, one step gained, no more. Others had leapt further on the same pill. The thought pressed him, then slipped away. His hand flexed once at his side, then stilled. That was the lesson burned deepest between his former life and this one: each choice stood. No turning. Only forward.

  The road had promised ten days. He made it in seven. At dawn, with dew still on the grass and mist low to the ground, he was already moving. Now—Stonebrook before him, twenty-one days left until he must stand again at the Academy gates. Two weeks to carve this mission to its end.

  Plain at first glance, the village stood as a throat between kingdoms: one step inward, Shanli; one step outward, Xihe. Behind its walls waited a garrison of soldiers, iron at their sides, eyes sharp along the border. Beyond that point stretched Xihe itself—land of caravans and quicksilver trade, wealth moving as ceaseless as the wind.

  Stonebrook’s narrow lanes thrummed with it. Wagons groaned under their loads, and the voices of merchants tangled in half-familiar dialects. Xiao Lei noted them without pause, weighing noise and movement the way another might read a map. What looked rustic was in truth a fulcrum of power.

  A quiet exhale left him, a ribbon of breath against the rising warmth of day. Then he shifted, descending from the hill toward the gates. First—information. Always information. Only after that could he choose his step.

  Sunlight struck across his shoulders as he walked. Behind him, the hill shrank to a shadow against the glow. Ahead, the gates rose, and the village’s voice reached his ears: the long groan of a cart wheel under weight, the low drone of penned beasts.

  The village stretched along the borderlands like a scar, its jagged lines of stone and timber braced against the ceaseless wind. Nothing here had been crafted for beauty. Roofs leaned inward, as if to shield themselves from blows that might never come, walls patched with warped planks and smoke-darkened clay.

  Border villages were made to endure, not charm. Beneath the thin veil of civility between kingdoms, war smouldered quietly, and these people had learned to live beneath its ash.

  Xiao Lei moved through narrow lanes, each step measured, his gaze calm yet sharp. Faces appeared briefly in shadowed thresholds, wary but disciplined, retreating before his presence settled. He inquired after the chief, letting the name rest on his tongue—Jun Qingshan. The man had petitioned for support, a plea that trickled down like stagnant water: ignored by officials, handed off to the Academy as little more than training fodder.

  Finally, he arrived at a two-story house taller than its neighbours, walls plastered and faintly gleaming. The courtyard lay swept and ordered, gravel raked in meticulous lines—too neat for a border hamlet, a mark of discipline or pride. Xiao Lei paused beneath the eaves, noting the oppressive quiet, the way the wind stilled as if holding its breath. He announced himself to the attendant.

  The words Royal Academy struck like a sudden gust, bending the air. The middle-aged man stiffened, colour draining from his face, and bent so low his forehead nearly kissed the ground. The bow carried fear tempered by respect, a motion refined through generations who had learned the Academy’s weight. His sandals scuffed the polished stone as he slipped inside, returning moments later to lead forth a man in bright blue.

  Jun Qingshan appeared around forty, shoulders broad yet tempered by age. Qi coiled faintly about him, restrained yet potent, the quiet tension of a seventh-stage cultivator. Sun-browned skin and faint lines at the corners of his eyes spoke of vigilance and long labour.

  Each gesture measured, each motion deliberate, radiating an authority sensed rather than declared. Xiao Lei noted the subtle flex of muscle beneath the silk, the faint pulse of Qi beneath the skin, a steadying of breath that hinted at power controlled rather than wielded.

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  He cupped his hands toward Xiao Lei; the motion was mirrored in practiced ease. Xiao Lei followed silently, tracing the imperceptible rhythm of the chief’s stance. Inside, chambers exhaled control. Servants glided across polished floors, setting down cups of steaming tea before vanishing like smoke. The fragrance of roasted leaves lingered, bitter and warm, threading through the taut space between host and guest.

  Across the low table, silence stretched thin. Xiao Lei broke it deliberately.

  “Chief Qingshan, could you tell me more about the bandits?”

  The words rippled through the still air. Jun Qingshan’s lips twitched, and a shadow of heat rose across his face. His eyes narrowed; the calm he had worn like armour trembled subtly, a spark of long-held loathing flickering at the edges of his controlled aura. It was a quiet fire, coiled and ready, now stirred by the question. Xiao Lei’s gaze flicked to the faint tension in the chief’s fingers, noting the depth beneath the composure, filing it away.

  After a few deliberate breaths, Qingshan finally spoke, his voice low and sharp, carrying a chill that sliced through the quiet of the chief’s office. “They are the lowest of the low any human can descend to.” His gaze, fixed on the young features of Xiao Lei, was steady, unblinking, weighing each flicker of expression as if measuring the youth’s very soul.

  “The problem isn’t new. They have been at it for decades. Every time I request assistance from officials, someone from the academy is sent. After one or two skirmishes, the bandits vanish—probably hiding in Xihe—and resurface only after the student leaves.”

  “Oh,” Xiao Lei murmured. The single word betrayed nothing, yet beneath his calm, his mind churned with probabilities, contingencies, and risks. Calculations spun faster than any visible movement. Silence stretched between them, broken only by the faint whistle of wind through the open shutters.

  After a measured pause, Xiao Lei’s voice returned, crisp and deliberate, carrying an authority that seemed to bend the air itself. “Then we need to solve the problem at its root. The academy does not have the time nor the resources for these trivial matters.”

  Qingshan’s eyebrow twitched—an almost imperceptible irritation—but he knew better than to argue. Indeed, in a kingdom perpetually troubled by war and unrest along its borders, a bandit group in a single village was trivial. Yet Xiao Lei’s tone framed it as both trivial and urgent, leaving the chief’s thoughts unsteady.

  “And may I dare to ask how, Sir Lei, you plan to do that?” Qingshan finally spoke, careful respect colouring his voice, tempered by decades of authority and experience.

  Xiao Lei leaned forward slightly, the faint glimmer of sunlight catching the edges of his sharp features. “According to what you’ve said,” he began, tone measured yet biting, “there must be a leak on your part. Otherwise, how else do the bandits always know when to retreat and resurface? You do not suggest that students from the Royal Academy would announce their movements themselves. And besides you, who else knows when they arrive or depart?”

  Qingshan stiffened, anger flaring, yet found no words to retort. The accusation hung between them, Qingshan’s jaw tightening as silence pressed like a tangible weight.

  Xiao Lei leaned slightly closer, his words cutting through the space between them like a drawn blade. “I need something big. Tempting. Valuable enough that they strike even knowing it’s a trap.” He paused, letting the weight of the statement settle before delivering the pivot that struck the heart of the plan. “You are the wealthiest man in this village. Everything you have—spirit coins, valuables, anything at all—must be taken out and used as bait.”

  “What?” Qingshan shot from his seat, hands gripping the armrests, disbelief sharpening into alarm. Though he had encountered students from the Royal Academy before, never had one spoken with such uncompromising precision, such ruthless calculation.

  Xiao Lei’s gaze hardened, leaving no space for argument. “You have been the chief here for decades, accumulating profits and influence. Don’t tell me your eyes linger on the ledgers longer than the villagers. And, frankly, the academy already regards you with suspicion. This plan was suggested by the elder who assigned me this mission.”

  Qingshan’s eyes narrowed. “Plan?”

  “Yes,” Xiao Lei said, voice like tempered steel. “If the bandits attack, I will eliminate them at the root, every last one. If they do not, despite such temptation, then it confirms a mole exists. Only the two of us know this plan. So either way, the issue will be resolved.”

  The chief’s hands curled into fists, teeth gritted against the invisible weight of the strategy. “And if they succeed in looting and escape? My family’s wealth—everything—would vanish…”

  Xiao Lei cut him off sharply. “I almost believed you cared for people, that your righteousness was genuine. But now I see—it was all a carefully painted mask, a show to fool the villagers. Let me tell you something bluntly: if the items you produce are mere trinkets, if this bait is incomplete, do not blame me for ruthlessness. The academy will compensate you for all losses, provided you follow the instructions fully.”

  Qingshan sagged slightly, nodding in reluctant acceptance. Though his lips muttered curses beneath his breath, he understood that resistance here was not an option.

  Xiao Lei straightened, the quiet authority of youth pressing into the room, his shadow stretching long against the walls. The plan was laid. Time would reveal its outcome.

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