It seemed to take ages, but only moments had passed since Jiang Chen reached the Inner Academy.
Before the vine serpents fully sealed the sky, a pale figure found a gap and shot upward, almost escaping.
Shhh! Shhh! Shhh!
Countless wooden spikes erupted, piercing the figure through. His body jerked in midair, suspended, until the barrage stopped and he fell. From skull to shin, he was nothing but bloody holes. Utterly dead.
The entire Academy fell silent. Outer and Inner disciples alike stared in stunned awe.
Jiang Chen's eyelid twitched. "That dark cultivator... just died?"
Dean Dong didn't even look. "The other one. Still hiding?"
"Ridiculous." He strolled upward through the air, step by step. "Everything in the Jade Cage answers to me. Everything lives. Only your stench makes me sick."
He reached out and clenched his fist.
A nearby door sprouted a massive hand that seized an Outer Academy disciple. Wooden fingers ran over the body, locking it in place.
The arm extended, lifting the captive into the air before Dean Dong.
"Speak. Who sent you? Daring to murder in my Academy?" Dean Dong stood against the stars, looking down at the would-be assassin.
Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
The ordinary-looking assassin grinned. His head exploded.
Dean Dong's fist tightened. A water membrane wrapped the gore, forming a swollen sphere.
He glanced at the first corpse. A seed broke through the earth, grew into a bud, blossomed into a massive maw that swallowed the body. Dean Dong tossed the water sphere in after it. The flower closed and retracted into the soil.
Two corpses disposed of. Dean Dong's anger only grew more visible.
"A cultivation seed of Zhuang, murdered in the Academy! Dark cultivators this bold! This will be investigated to the end! The city lord's office must give me answers! Whoever is behind this will die!"
Fifth-rank power shook the city. His voice thundered like rolling drums.
All of Maple City trembled.
Then another booming voice answered across the city. City Lord Wei Lin: "Rest assured, Dean Dong! This office will deliver justice! No matter who is involved, they will not escape execution!"
Jiang Chen watched, sensing hidden currents swirling beneath the surface.
The Academy was where the kingdom nurtured its future. Attacking it violated Dean Dong's absolute bottom line.
Qin had already torn away Zhuang's dignity by using its territory to ambush enemies. Now dark cultivators struck the Academy itself. Whatever their goal, they were testing the official response.
And everyone knew: before today, Dean Dong and Wei Lin had not seen eye to eye. The dean belonged to Chancellor Du Ruhai's faction. The city lord was an old subordinate of General Huangfu Duanming.
Dean Dong hadn't needed such a dramatic display to catch an assassin. Covering the entire Academy with a technique, then publicly coordinating with Wei Lin—it was a show of force. A declaration to the shadows.
Zhuang was not at peace.
"Disperse." Dean Dong turned and walked down from the sky.
Doors settled back. Ivy returned to the walls. The Academy resumed its normal appearance.
The night had always been this quiet.
Like a dream.
But the wound on Jiang Chen's foot reminded him: this was real.
This was the power of a fifth-rank cultivator.
This was the summit he would climb.
Zhao Yan arrived after everything had settled. The only sign of disturbance was clusters of excited Outer disciples discussing the dean's display.
He found Jiang Chen in the dorm, carefully polishing his sword with a gold-threaded handkerchief.
Zhao Yan's, naturally. No one else in the room owned such a thing.
Zhao Yan noticed the freshly bandaged foot first. "Injured again? Some 'swordsmanship first' you are. Overrated much?"
"Still good enough to teach you a lesson." Jiang Chen didn't look up from the blade. "Little brother."
"One year older. One extra year of practice." Zhao Yan sniffed.
"Older is older. Little brother."
Zhao Yan clicked his tongue. "Stop polishing. Do you know how many of your junk swords my handkerchief could buy?"
Jiang Chen grinned. "Do you know how many of your handkerchiefs my sword will be worth someday?"
They both fell silent.
Because those words—those were Fang Heng's style. Using Zhao Yan's embroidered handkerchiefs to polish swords had been his idea. "Our blades will be legendary. They deserve proper care. Your face won't be remembered, little Yan. But these swords will."
Some people vanished. But their traces lingered.
Zhao Yan changed the subject. "Third Brother. This attack on the Academy—was it random? Or were you the target?"
"The Fang family wouldn't dare." Jiang Chen shook his head. "But you never know. Have you seen Big Brother?"
Ling Chuan had gone to the Fang residence at noon and still hadn't returned.
Zhao Yan's brows rose. "Heard they threw him out. After that, who knows?"
Jiang Chen fell silent. "Let's find him."
"You find him. I'm not going to play the good Samaritan."
"Hey, I didn't ask you to get thrown out." Jiang Chen just looked at him.
Zhao Yan surrendered. "Fine, fine. But where do we look this late?"
"First, he wouldn't dump the body in a mass grave."
"But he has no money," Zhao Yan said.
"And he's sentimental..." Jiang Chen stood. "I know where he went."
"I know what he's doing!" Zhao Yan followed, wrinkling his nose. "Crying his eyes out, guaranteed."