The next morning, Xiao Lei stood before a gate so vast it seemed to cleave heaven from earth. On either side loomed statues of three-headed lions, fangs bared and eyes glinting with cold authority in the pale dawn light. Between them, etched deep into the stone arch, were the words.

  Royal Academy.

  He carried little with him. A worn bag slung over one shoulder, filled with only the barest necessities. In his hand, a folded letter sealed with the crest of Princess Xinyue—his passage through the gates. Behind him lay Lian, left in the residence the princess had arranged. Within these walls, disciples lived under strict confinement. Outsiders were not permitted.

  A long breath escaped him, steadying the weight in his chest. He stepped forward.

  The guards did not stop him. But their eyes betrayed another truth—quick, sidelong glances at his servant’s uniform, his measured stride, as if searching for the spark that warranted such a letter.

  Beyond the threshold, the academy opened into silence. The air no longer pressed heavy on his chest as it had beneath the lions’ shadow. Instead, it seemed deceptively light, cool and crisp, like the hush of morning wind threading through pine branches.

  The oppressive grandeur of the gate collapsed into a serenity almost too gentle, as though beauty itself was meant to disarm. Mist draped the courtyards, softening stone and timber, but beneath the stillness pulsed a quiet order—discipline cloaked in calm. Figures moved along the paths with the unhurried rhythm of early training, each step measured, as if even leisure here carried weight.

  Xiao Lei studied his surroundings briefly, then turned right, following the direction marked on his map. He approached a tall building. At its entrance, he handed the letter to a waiting maid servant, who bowed and disappeared within. Moments later, he was summoned inside.

  A middle-aged woman sat behind a low desk of dark wood. In her hands rested the letter. Her gaze lifted to Xiao Lei, weighing him with quiet scrutiny. He stood unmoving beneath that look. Whatever she sought, she found no trace of brilliance in him—only a boy whose face revealed nothing.

  Her expression remained unchanged. She set the letter aside and, without ceremony, flicked a small object across the desk. A token of polished blue landed before him, catching a shard of light as it spun to a halt. The surface was smooth, cool as river stone, yet a faint hum of qi coiled within it, like a heartbeat waiting to be claimed.

  “Your identity token,” she said, her tone clipped and final. “When you have time, infuse your qi into it. It will tell you what you need to know. You will be staying in Dorm B, Room 121.”

  She waved her hand, the dismissal brisk and unquestionable.

  Xiao Lei inclined his head in a small bow, neither eager to speak nor inclined to. He gathered the token and turned to leave. Behind him, the woman’s gaze lingered a fraction too long.

  The princess has never recommended anyone before, she thought, a faint crease tugging at her brow. And yet this one seems… ordinary. Too ordinary. Her brow creased, a pause tightening her hand before it dropped to the desk. Her instincts stirred uneasily, as if what she failed to see was precisely what she should fear.

  The map guided him through winding courtyards to a cluster of dormitories. Soon he stood before a marked with numbers faded by countless years of use: 121. Pushing it open, he stepped into a small chamber—bare and functional. A narrow cot. A low table. An open stretch of floor for meditation. A cramped side-room with a basin and stone bath. The quarters of an outer disciple.

  Setting his bag on the table, Xiao Lei lowered himself onto the cot. The blue token gleamed faintly in his palm, cool against his skin. This place would be his cage—and his forge—for the days to come. He closed his fingers around the token, mind sharpening. The first step was simple, to know the rules of the academy.

  And with that thought, he fed a thread of qi into its depths.

  The rules of the Royal Academy revealed themselves quickly enough—straightforward on the surface, but each line carried hidden weight.

  The academy was split into two realms—Outer and Inner. Any youth at fifth stage before fifteen could enter. Or, once a year, a noble house or royal might offer a single recommendation—a token worth more than coin.

  Xiao Lei had stepped across both thresholds. His strength had already climbed to the sixth stage, though his body carried the maturity of someone older. At eleven, he appeared closer to thirteen or fourteen, his frame hardened from battles that would have broken many grown men.

  And beyond raw strength, Princess Xinyue herself had offered her single annual recommendation to place his name among the academy’s rolls.

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  But from this point on, no hand would guide him.

  The Inner Academy could not be entered by favour or bloodline. The only door was combat—challenge a current disciple, defeat them, and seize their place.

  White-robed disciples were more than students. Seeds of future pillars, they commanded respect from city, kingdom, even passing travellers.

  Their number never exceeded ninety-nine, a deliberate scarcity that sharpened their worth. When they left the academy on missions, they walked like young lords of heaven, and the world was forced to bow.

  Missions formed the heartbeat of the academy. Every month, each student needed to complete at least one task. Success earned them academy points, the currency that could be traded for everything—elixirs, cultivation manuals, weapons, even audience with elders.

  Those unwilling to risk missions could gather points elsewhere. Fixed weekly allotments, contests, martial competitions, collective projects. Yet all roads narrowed to the same truth—without points, no one advanced.

  Other rules were carved in stone. Fighting was encouraged, killing forbidden. Betrayal of crown or kingdom meant death. Beyond that—ambition clashed freely.

  Xiao Lei’s eyes opened slowly as he sat within his quarters. The faint light leaking through the window fell across his face, catching the sharp focus in his gaze.

  Points. He would need a great many of them.

  His chest tightened with the reminder of his emptiness. He had no martial techniques to call his own, no honed methods for channelling qi into true killing force. What he relied upon was only his Echo Arts.

  Techniques were the refined edge of cultivation, the means to turn qi into devastating reality. Each movement elevated a cultivator’s attack, defence, speed, precision.

  They ranked: Mortal, Earth, Sky, Heaven—each split into low, mid, high tiers. He recalled Lei Morin’s Thunder Fist, an Earth-level, low-tier technique—hardly the pinnacle, yet far more advanced than anything Xiao Lei had ever seen.

  And what of weapons? His crude clawed glove, his bow—both shattered in earlier battles. He had neither coin to purchase replacements nor patron to supply him with arms. His hands were empty.

  That emptiness led to another question pressing heavy against his mind.

  How should he move from this moment forward?

  Remain low-key, his true strength veiled. It would grant survival. He could fade into the crowd, gathering what points he could in obscurity. Yet too much silence meant stagnation. Without risk, he would fall behind in the ruthless contest for resources.

  Or dazzle. Stand too tall, too bright. Crush obstacles openly and let the academy remember his name. Such light could draw resources like moths to flame, but also predators. Even Princess Xinyue and Uncle Li, who thought they had seen through him, might reconsider if he grew too uncontrollable.

  The scales wavered inside him. Safety against opportunity. Shadow against flame.

  In the stillness of that dilemma, a sound broke the air.

  Knock. Knock.

  His brow furrowed. The quarters were his alone, and he knew no one within the academy walls. The sound came again, hurried, relentless.

  He rose, the boards beneath his feet creaking softly. His hand found the latch, hesitation lingering for only a breath. Who would seek him here?

  With narrowed eyes, Xiao Lei pulled the gate open.

  Outside his gate, two boys waited. Seventeen, perhaps a little older. Both wore the plain grey robes of outer students, identical to his own.

  Xiao Lei slowed. Their presence was deliberate, the way they leaned casually against the wall, as though they had been waiting for prey.

  He greeted them with a smile, the kind that softened his face into harmlessness. Easygoing. Innocent. A boy too fresh to the academy to know the shadows behind its walls.

  One of the youths stepped forward, the corner of his mouth curving as if he were already in control of the conversation.

  “Little brother,” he said smoothly, “You’re new here, right?”

  Xiao Lei nodded, keeping the smile fixed. “Yes, elder brother. I only came this morning.”

  The pair exchanged a glance. Their smiles widened, enthusiasm rising like actors slipping into their roles. But beneath that brightness, their eyes betrayed something colder. They lingered on the plain servant’s uniform he wore beneath his robe. Contempt stirred there, sharp and unguarded, though their tone carried only warmth.

  “You must be talented,” the second youth said, voice dripping with honey. “No need to worry, little brother. If someone bothers you, just call us. We’ll deal with it.”

  Xiao Lei dipped his head in gratitude. His expression was pure sincerity, as though the words had touched his heart. “Thank you, elder brothers.”

  The first boy chuckled, emboldened. “Then… younger brother, you should hand over five spirit coins each. New students always draw attention, and others might cause you trouble. Think of it as protection money. We’ll look after you.”

  They spoke as if granting him a great favour, their voices kind, their eyes already counting easy coin. The smile on Xiao Lei’s lips remained. Harmless. Trusting.

  And then it vanished.

  Without warning, his body shifted. The air cracked with motion. His fist lashed out before their smiles had time to fade.

  The attack was sudden, merciless. They barely managed to stir their qi, threads of light flickering over their skin in a desperate defence. It wasn’t enough. Xiao Lei’s fist landed with a brutal thud, force tearing through the thin veil of protection.

  he corridor echoed with the brutal thud of flesh and bone against stone.

  Xiao Lei did not follow up. He turned smoothly, shut his door with a click, and disappeared inside.

  Silence was a choice. Violence was another. He would decide which to use, not them. Especially when his opponents were foolish enough to stand in front of his gate.

  The corridor had not been empty. A handful of students, moving to and fro, stopped mid-step. Their mouths hung open as they witnessed the scene—a new face striking the moment he arrived.

  Whispers rose at once, rustling like dry leaves.

  “Who is that boy?”

  “New, isn’t he? Bold to start like this…”

  The two older youths staggered upright, supporting one another. Their teeth ground audibly as they spat curses under their breath. Rage burned behind their eyes, shame eating at them deeper than the pain in their bodies.

  They hurried away, but every step carried the weight of humiliation. Too many had seen. Too many had watched them fall.

  He had smiled even as he struck them down. That smile, more than the fists, would haunt them.

  Humiliation demanded repayment. And repayment always came.

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  Destiny Reckoning. It’s set in the same universe, and you definitely don’t want to miss it, because the stories will eventually crossover.