In Àotiān Academy, there was an unwritten rule everyone accepted.
Whenever a student died, disappeared, or was disqualified,
their residence and belongings were not to be handled privately.
In theory, such matters were to be taken over by the Chief Steward's office—
catalogued, sealed, and archived by the academy.
But reality was rarely that simple.
If the incident involved a life‑and‑death duel, forbidden pills,
or anything that might affect the academy's reputation,
the presiding elder could temporarily take over the scene,
invoking the justification of "stabilizing the situation."
Over time, the boundary between the steward's authority and the elders' authority blurred.
Whoever intervened first
held the right to handle the aftermath.
And after Cáo Jiànyú died in the arena,
his residence was designated a "temporary restricted zone" that very night.
As for who gave the order—
no student knew.
——
By afternoon, the academy bell had just finished ringing.
The inner hall of Silver Mirror was far quieter than the outer courtyard.
The heavy wooden doors shut out the noise, leaving only the soft rustle of pages and the faint hiss of burning lamp oil.
The hall was arranged with strict precision—
long desks aligned in straight rows, scrolls sorted by category,
even the placement of the desk corners looked measured and re‑measured.
The newly appointed acting vice‑leader, Hán Cè, stood at the front desk, reading through a scroll.
Tall and slender, with a lean face and narrow, composed eyes,
his Silver Mirror robes hung perfectly straight, not a wrinkle at the cuffs.
The lamplight cast sharp, clean lines across his profile.
Shí Zhōngqīng stood below him, posture formal.
Hán Cè did not look up.
He spoke lightly.
"There has been more talk in the academy lately."
Shí Zhōngqīng frowned slightly.
"You mean the life‑and‑death duel?"
"Not only that."
Hán Cè turned a page.
"The restricted zone has had… visitors."
The words dropped, and Shí Zhōngqīng's expression darkened.
Only then did Hán Cè lift his gaze.
"The vice‑leader's matter has not fully settled.
Cáo Jiànyú died in the arena.
The last thing Silver Mirror needs right now is new rumors."
His tone was steady—
no blame, no command.
Just fact.
He closed the scroll.
"Some say they saw a few students privately investigating those residences."
Shí Zhōngqīng's eyes sharpened.
Hán Cè's voice remained calm.
"Whether it's true or not doesn't matter."
"What matters is whether the rules still stand."
A brief silence followed.
Hán Cè lowered his head again, sorting the documents as though the conversation had ended.
"You've always handled things carefully," he added casually.
"Go take a look."
No order.
No target.
Not even instructions on what to do.
But Shí Zhōngqīng already understood.
He cupped his hands and bowed.
"I understand."
He turned and left.
Hán Cè did not watch him go.
He simply reopened the scroll.
The lamplight flickered.
As if nothing had happened at all.
When Shí Zhōngqīng stepped out of the inner hall, the sun was already tilting westward.
The long corridor outside the Silver Mirror building was washed in pale gold.
The distant murmur of students drifted over, then faded quickly.
He did not slow his pace.
Hán Cè's words had been few—
but more than enough.
Silver Mirror did not exist to win fights.
It existed to maintain order.
If everyone acted on strength alone, even the greatest academy would crumble into scattered sand.
The thought tightened his expression.
The academy's atmosphere had indeed shifted lately.
Ever since the life‑and‑death duel, rumors had spread.
Some questioned the rules.
Some secretly investigated restricted areas.
If such behavior were allowed to grow unchecked,
today it would be "investigation,"
tomorrow it would be outright interference.
Once rules were ignored,
they were nearly impossible to restore.
Silver Mirror existed precisely to prevent that.
Shí Zhōngqīng drew a slow breath, his mind settling.
He did not dislike those three.
He even acknowledged Xuán Chén's strength on the arena.
But strength had never been a reason to stand above rules.
If even the strong refused to follow them,
what would the weak rely on?
He recalled something his grandfather once said—
"An academy survives a hundred years not because of geniuses, but because of its system."
His steps grew steadier.
If someone had crossed the line,
then he would redraw it.
Nothing more.
The evening light stretched his shadow all the way to the end of the corridor.
He did not look back.
—
The next day after class.
The sun had not fully set, and the mountain path still held the warmth of the day.
A few students lingered at the sides, whispering, though none dared approach.
The atmosphere wasn't tense—
just subtly discouraging.
From a distance, Xuán Chén and the others saw unfamiliar figures standing outside the Xuán‑Star Cave.
Several students in Silver Mirror robes stood on either side of the entrance, posture straight, expressions cold—
as if on routine duty.
At their head stood someone about their age, tall and upright, with a sharpness he had not yet learned to hide.
Shí Zhōngqīng.
The three did not slow.
They walked forward as though they hadn't seen anything.
But as they passed—
Shí Zhōngqīng stepped forward.
A hand extended, calm and level, blocking their path.
Bǎishìtōng stiffened, instinctively stepping back half a pace, qi quietly circulating.
Xiǎo Chén raised a brow, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
Xuán Chén's expression remained unchanged, his gaze settling on the young man before them.
"Silver Mirror blocks our way. For what purpose?"
His tone was mild.
Shí Zhōngqīng cupped his hands in a formal salute—precise, restrained.
"Gentlemen."
"Silver Mirror has routine inquiries to conduct.
Please come with me."
Xiǎo Chén blinked, smile still lingering.
"Inquiry? About what?"
Shí Zhōngqīng's tone was flat.
"In recent days, the three of you privately entered restricted areas.
This constitutes overstepping authority.
According to academy regulations, the matter must be reviewed by the presiding elder."
Bǎishìtōng's face tightened.
Xiǎo Chén tilted his head, whispering,
"Who is this guy? Why's he talking like he owns the place."
Bǎishìtōng muttered back,
"Shí Zhōngqīng… mid‑level Silver Mirror steward.
Sixth Elder's faction."
Xiǎo Chén's brow arched.
A thought flickered—
and he sent it straight to Xuán Chén.
—He's here to pick a fight.
Xuán Chén's expression did not change.
"Restricted zone?" he said lightly.
"I was the one involved in the arena duel. Investigating matters concerning myself—"
His gaze settled on Shí Zhōngqīng.
"How does that count as overstepping?"
A faint crease formed between Shí Zhōngqīng's brows.
"The academy has its procedures."
"Private investigation only disrupts order."
"And if the procedure cannot answer the questions?" Xuán Chén asked calmly.
Shí Zhōngqīng's expression darkened.
"Whether it is reasonable is not for the three of you to decide."
"Please cooperate."
The air tightened, almost imperceptibly.
Xiǎo Chén let out a soft laugh.
"Have the presiding elder judge us?" He shrugged.
"I'd rather have Teacher Xuānyuán judge me. At least she makes sense."
The moment the words fell—
The Silver Mirror members' expressions shifted sharply.
And then—
A low, rumbling laugh sounded from behind Shí Zhōngqīng.
"Hahaha… quite the bold tongue."
All eyes turned.
From the back of the Silver Mirror formation, a figure stepped forward—
The Sixth Elder.
Hands clasped behind his back, a smile on his face,
and a thin, nearly invisible chill in his eyes.
Shí Zhōngqīng stiffened, immediately stepping aside to salute.
"Sixth Elder."
The elder walked forward unhurriedly, stopping beside him.
He raised a hand and patted Shí Zhōngqīng's shoulder lightly.
"Well done."
The tone was casual—
like an elder praising a junior.
Then he looked at Xiǎo Chén.
"I was unaware that interrogating a student now requires the student to choose the interrogator."
He stopped walking.
His gaze swept slowly across the gathered crowd—
Silver Mirror members, watching students,
and finally the three standing at the front.
At last, his eyes locked onto Xuán Chén.
A pressure, invisible yet heavy, descended.
"What's wrong?
Is an elder of this academy… not qualified enough?"
The temperature in the clearing seemed to drop.
Whispers around them died instantly.
The Sixth Elder's gaze sharpened.
"Xuán Chén."
His voice was not loud,
yet it silenced the entire crowd.
"You have repeatedly overstepped authority,
conducted private investigations,
and disregarded academy discipline."
His tone was flat—
as if reciting a conclusion already decided.
"This matter—
will be interrogated by me personally."
The Silver Mirror members moved to step forward.
But at that moment—
"Hold."
The voice was calm, unhurried,
coming from the back of the crowd.
Everyone froze.
Dù Jīn stepped out, expression composed,
his gaze sweeping the scene before settling on the Sixth Elder.
A faint, almost invisible crease formed between the elder's brows.
Dù Jīn walked into the clearing,
but did not step any closer.
The two stood several paces apart, facing each other.
Neither raised their voice.
Neither released any aura.
Yet the entire area fell silent—
as if everyone understood:
In this academy,
the one who yields is never the one who speaks softer,
but the one whose reasoning cannot stand.
Dù Jīn spoke evenly.
"Before the matter is clarified,
it is inappropriate to take them away directly."
His tone remained calm.
"Otherwise, if disputes arise regarding the arena incident in the future—"
"Who will bear responsibility?"
The Sixth Elder snorted, sleeve flicking sharply.
"Since Chief Steward Dù is here—
then let us follow the rules."
Shí Zhōngqīng stepped forward, cupping his hands.
"Chief Steward Dù," he said formally,
"Xuán Chén privately entered a restricted zone.
There are multiple witnesses.
If this is ignored today—
how will academy rules convince anyone in the future?"
His tone was proper, without hostility.
Dù Jīn chuckled softly.
"Steward Shí, upholding discipline is, of course, correct."
His voice remained steady.
"…but before acting," Dù Jīn continued mildly,
"one should first understand whether one is upholding the rules—
or being used by them."
Shí Zhōngqīng's expression shifted.
He opened his mouth to argue—
A hand landed lightly on his shoulder.
Not forceful.
But enough to stop the words in his throat.
He turned.
The Sixth Elder stood beside him, shaking his head ever so slightly.
No words.
After a brief silence, Shí Zhōngqīng drew a slow breath and cupped his hands.
"…Thank you for the reminder, Chief Steward Dù."
The clearing fell quiet.
Only then did Xuán Chén offer a slight bow.
"I did investigate."
A ripple of murmurs spread among the watching students.
Xuán Chén remained calm.
"The life‑and‑death duel was overseen by the academy.
As the involved party, I believed investigating the cause and circumstances was cooperation, not overstepping."
He lifted his gaze to the Sixth Elder.
"If this too is a violation, then I ask the academy to clearly define the boundary."
His tone was composed—
neither humble nor defiant.
The Sixth Elder stared at him for a moment, then let out a cold laugh.
"Very well."
His sleeve flicked sharply.
"Since Chief Steward Dù values procedure so highly—
we shall follow procedure."
He turned and strode away.
Shí Zhōngqīng hesitated, his gaze lingering on Xuán Chén for a long moment before he cupped his hands and followed.
The Silver Mirror members withdrew swiftly.
Only then did the tension in the air slowly dissipate.
Silence stretched.
Xiǎo Chén finally exhaled a long breath.
"Brother," he grinned, "that line you said—did you plan it, or did it just come to you?"
Bǎishìtōng immediately chimed in,
"My heart was in my throat the whole time!"
Xuán Chén glanced at them, voice even.
"I simply said what needed to be said."
Xiǎo Chén snorted.
"Every time you say 'what needed to be said,' things get big."
Before the words finished—
Dù Jīn had already stepped up to them.
He didn't speak immediately.
He simply looked at the three of them.
His expression was more serious than before.
After a moment, he said quietly:
"You three—come with me."
Xiǎo Chén blinked.
Dù Jīn added,
"Dean Gǔ wants to see you."
The three exchanged a look.
The pressure that had just dispersed
returned silently.
None of them spoke.
They followed Dù Jīn toward the main peak.
Night was slowly descending.