"The Dao is empty, yet using it, one is never overfilled. Profound! It seems the ancestor of all things. Blunt its sharpness. Untangle its knots. Soften its glare. Become one with its dust. Deep! It seems to exist. I do not know whose child it is. It seems to precede the Emperor of Heaven."
The old Daoist's voice was barely above a whisper, yet every student in the scripture hall heard him clearly. When he finished the final word, his eyes suddenly drooped, as if sleep would take him in the next breath. He looked every minute of his eighty-plus years.
Jiang Chen did not dare slack. He rose with his fellow disciples, bowed respectfully, and only then left his seat.
This unassuming elder was Song Qifang, vice dean of Maple City Academy. More precisely, he had been the dean before Dean Dong's arrival, rooted in Maple City for decades. His cultivation had stalled at Seventh Rank, unable to open the Gate of Heaven and Earth. Long ago he had abandoned ambition for advancement and buried himself in scriptures and teaching. The students loved him for it.
When Dean Dong came, Song Qifang did not compete. He cooperated fully, letting Dean Dong take smooth control of the Academy. In return, Dean Dong showed him the highest respect.
In all of Maple City, no one commanded more esteem.
* * *
Jiang Chen's heart remained unquiet long after leaving the scripture hall. He felt submerged in vast wonder.
What was the Dao? Invisible, untouchable, yet everywhere, endless. How could one know it, understand it, pursue it? The more he pursued, the more he realized his own ignorance, his own insignificance.
He could only sigh: profound!
Ling Chuan walked and recited, chewing over every word. Zhao Yan, who usually cared little for coursework, also fell into thought. Only Du Hu yawned endlessly, as if he had just woken from a nap.
Each inner cohort had ten students. In basic breathing technique alone, Du Hu's progress ranked just behind Jiang Chen, whose meridian had already manifested. The man's talent was undeniable. But the great classics? He could not sit through them. Put him in an arts class, and he came alive.
The inner Academy was the real Academy. In the outer Academy, they had learned only simple martial techniques, with an inner disciple dropping by for group instruction now and then. Now they had scripture lectures every five days and arts lessons every ten. Senior Daoists taught both. Daily cultivation questions could be brought to any instructor at any time. And the martial techniques that outer disciples had to exchange merit for were now freely available.
Not that they held much appeal for inner disciples. Not because martial arts were weak — the entire Zhuang cultivation world simply revolved around Daoist methods. The Maple City Academy's martial collection was a transitional supplement for outer disciples, far inferior to Dao arts in power. No one chose the lesser path when the greater lay open.
* * *
"Senior Brother Jiang, wait!"
Jiang Chen turned. It was Fang Lin, admitted to the inner Academy in the same cohort. He came from one of Maple City's three great clans; Fang Heng had been his cousin.
Strictly speaking, Fang Lin had no right to enter the city Academy's inner circle. But every cohort, the three great clans demanded one slot. It was an unspoken rule. Fang Heng's admission had been earned. Fang Lin's had cost his family something behind closed doors.
Such was reality. Cultivation was a path to the extraordinary, but any path walked by humans would never be free of tangled relationships and impure dealings. Not even the Maple City Academy was exempt.
"What is it?" Jiang Chen asked flatly.
"Oh, nothing much." Fang Lin wore a moon-white robe. He cupped his hands with practiced grace. "I simply wished to apologize for Fang Heng's wolfish ambition on behalf of my family. He has been struck from the clan registry. The Fang family does not harbor such unrighteous men."
"He is him. You are you. You have no need to apologize for him, and his actions have nothing to do with you."
Jiang Chen walked on. He had no patience for this young lord's performance.
But Fang Lin felt insulted. He was the heir apparent of a great clan, personally apologizing to some pauper's son — and Jiang Chen did not even show gratitude? He should have clasped hands, looked him in the eye, shared a moment of fellow feeling. Instead, cold dismissal.
"Senior Brother Jiang, what's the hurry?" Fang Lin hurried ahead, cutting Jiang Chen off with a smile. "I forgot to mention — yesterday I took a Meridian-Opening Pill. My meridian has manifested."
He tried to restrain himself. The smugness still bled through.
"And then?" Jiang Chen asked.
Fang Lin faltered. "In this entire cohort, only the two of us have manifested meridians early. We should cultivate a closer bond."
Young as he was, his breeding kept the surface polite. But his words already showed the world through his eyes: the two heroes under heaven, you and I alone.
He did not truly resent Jiang Chen for Fang Heng's death. If Fang Heng had not died, Fang Lin would never have had this chance. If not for preserving the clan's reputation and securing the Academy slot, even his father — the likely next clan head — could not have persuaded the family to spend so much on a pill.
He would have entered the inner Academy next year at best. Maybe not even then. Only ten slots per year, and all of Maple City watched. If another clan youth outshone him, his father could not play favorites too openly. Fang Heng's prior claim to that slot had proven as much.
"Oh."
Jiang Chen made one sound and walked around him.
He knew Fang Lin was the direct heir of the Fang family's next head. He knew Fang Lin had no real quarrel with him and would likely play at brotherhood to protect the clan's name.
But why should he perform along?
Fang Heng had been brilliant. He had begged for a single Meridian-Opening Pill until desperation drove him to cruelty. Yet days after his death, this worthless dandy possessed one? Fang Lin's mediocrity was no secret among the brothers. If he had any real ability, the Fang family would never have let Fang Heng take the lead.
Even dead, Fang Heng deserved better than to be trampled by this fool.
Jiang Chen's restraint not to lash out already spoke volumes. Ling Chuan and Du Hu had not looked at Fang Lin once.
The group walked away, leaving him standing there, his smile slowly hardening.
He had not expected to be ignored.
Not after manifesting his meridian. Not after stepping directly into the inner Academy. He was still invisible.
He remembered his first day in the outer Academy, spotting these prominent figures outside the gates. He had eagerly approached to greet his cousin's friends.
Fang Heng had not even seen him. He walked off arm-in-arm with these same men.
That humiliation had never faded. So the moment his meridian stabilized, he came to find them.
He did not know what he wanted to prove. But they had to look at him. They had to.
Yet nothing.
Nothing had changed at all.
"Jiang Chen!"
Fang Lin screamed the name inside his heart.
He fought to control his face. But his expression had already curdled.