Rong Meilin stepped forward, her boots tapping crisply against the marble floor of the grand hall, each step echoing like a drumbeat. Her long black hair swayed behind her, streaked with a violet hue that shimmered beneath the floating lanterns. The air around her buzzed faintly with static, as if the very walls could sense her lightning-imbued Qi.
"So," she said coldly, her eyes scanning Mike from head to toe, "you're Mike. I've heard all about you from Senior Jian Wu."
She stopped a few paces away, the tip of her Lightning Spear gently scratching the polished stone floor. A dangerous smirk curled on her lips. "I think it's time someone tested your reputation."
Mike stood still for a moment, hands calmly at his sides, his long robe rustling gently in the soft indoor breeze that carried the scent of plum blossoms from a nearby open corridor. He gave a slight bow, his voice composed.
"Senior Meilin," he said, "Forgive me, but... what exactly is happening here?"
The seniors standing behind Rong Meilin leaned against the decorative pillars, their arms crossed and smirks wide. They wore casual arrogance like armor.
Rong Meilin shrugged nonchalantly.
"I was thinking," she said, twirling her spear once with casual ease, "we should have a little fight."
A shout erupted behind her.
"Yeah! Leader Meilin! Let's see how tough they really are!"
The Drunkers Team roared in unison, their laughter loud and cocky, echoing off the intricately painted ceiling, where golden dragons danced among clouds in the mural.
Before anyone could reason, the hall fell into sudden silence—then burst back into chaos.
Mike's expression darkened, the light in his eyes shifting from politeness to focus. With a faint pulse of Qi, he summoned his weapon: a towering, dark-iron hammer that landed in his hand with a heavy thud, sending a tiny ripple through the tiles. Dust stirred near his feet. The air thickened.
Rong Meilin's spear crackled, veins of violet lightning slithering up and down the shaft.
"Let's go, newcomer," she whispered. "Try not to disappoint me."
Mike's lips curved into a small smile.
"This fight might get... terrifying. Senior, allow me to demonstrate my move."
He lifted the hammer high with both hands. Qi surged around him like a storm gathering force. With a mighty roar, he unleashed his move—One Big Hammer Shot—and brought the weapon crashing down.
A golden wave of force erupted from the hammer's impact. Rong Meilin met it head-on, her spear slicing through the pressure like lightning cleaving a storm cloud.
The moment their weapons met, a thunderous shockwave blasted outward, rattling the lanterns hanging in the air. Several of them flickered, some extinguished. Decorative vases tumbled from ledges and shattered.
Mike was flung backward like a broken arrow, skidding across the polished floor and slamming against a wooden pillar. A splinter cracked off the beam as he dropped to one knee, coughing violently. Blood painted the edge of his lip.
Gasps filled the air. The once-festive atmosphere curdled.
And then—
A fierce, booming voice shattered the tension.
"Enough!"
The great doors burst open with a gust of wind that scattered petals from a nearby bonsai display. Figures cloaked in long robes stepped in—mentors of the Inner Academy, their auras pressing down on the room like a mountain.
In the center stood Jian Dao. His dark-blue robe shimmered faintly under the lantern light, stitched with constellations that moved ever so slightly. His gaze was cold steel.
"Rong Meilin," he said, each word like a blade, "I told you—no one must be hurt! This is an academy, not a battlefield!"
Rong Meilin dropped her spear, her confidence shattered like the tiles around Mike. She bowed, her voice small.
"I'm sorry, Headmaster… I went too far."
Just then, from among the crowd, Jian Wu appeared, pushing his way through with urgent steps. His usually playful demeanor was replaced with concern.
He knelt beside Mike.
"Brother Mike… you've finally arrived," he thought, hiding his emotions behind a warm smile.
Out loud, he said, "Brother Mike, are you alright?"
Mike wiped the blood from his mouth, wincing as he stood. His voice was cold and sharp.
"What kind of welcome is this?" he asked, surveying the broken decor and worried faces. "If someone had been seriously injured… would you still call it a test?"
The room was silent.
Jian Dao's face darkened. "Wu. Take Mike to his room. Now."
Jian Wu blinked, surprised. "Ah—Yes! Of course, Dad. Right away."
He gently supported Mike, who limped slightly as they left the hall. The hallway outside was long and quiet, flanked by rows of glowing spirit stones embedded into the walls. Wind rustled through the trees outside, visible through the arched windows—willows and silverleaf trees that whispered in the moonlight.
Whispers followed them.
"Did Jian Wu just call him Brother?"
"Even the mentors looked surprised…"
"Who is Mike, really?"
In Mike's room—a modest space lit by a single floating lantern—he sat down heavily on a smooth wooden bed. The mattress was soft, the scent of herbal incense faint in the air. Jian Wu leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed.
"Where are my friends?" Mike asked, glancing around.
"They're probably in their rooms," Wu said, plopping down into a nearby chair. "Inner Academy rules—no team dorms. Everyone lives solo for proper cultivation."
He grinned mischievously. "Maybe you'll get lonely. Ghosts like to visit newcomers."
Mike gave a shaky chuckle. "You're not helping…"
Just then—knock knock.
"Come in," Mike called.
The door creaked open. Jian Dao stood there, moonlight trailing behind him from the open corridor. His presence made the entire room feel tighter, like the air itself stood at attention.
Mike stood instantly and bowed.
"Master... it's been a while."
Jian Dao gave a subtle nod. "Good. Come with me, Mike. You too, Wu. There's something we must discuss."
They stepped into the corridor, their footsteps soft on the smooth stone path. Above them, the night sky was clear, dotted with countless stars. The moon hung low and silver, its glow bathing the garden below in a cold, serene light. The sound of cicadas echoed faintly in the distance.
As they walked under a pergola of flowering vines, Mike finally asked,
"Master… is this about something important? About my father?"
Jian Dao slowed his pace. "Yes. I heard… you named your team 'Wall of Academy'?"
Mike nodded with pride. "I did. It felt right."
Jian Dao gave a ghost of a smile. "It is a strong name. But now, listen closely."
Mike's heartbeat quickened. He could hear the wind rustling through the trees behind the academy wall, smell the dew rising off the grass.
"Tian Ling's agents intercepted a message," Jian Dao said, his voice low. "Something massive is stirring. So massive, in fact, that all three continents—Qing Yuan, Zhen Wu, and Tian Ling—have begun to unite."
Mike's eyes narrowed. "But my father...?"
Jian Dao stopped walking. His gaze fixed on the distant mountains, their peaks glowing faintly in the moonlight.
"If I'm correct…" he said softly, "The message wasn't just about a threat. It was about the disappearance of the Protectors."
Mike's breath caught in his throat. The night seemed to freeze around him.
Jian Dao looked directly into his eyes. "Your father, Mike… is one of them.
A Protector of the Holy Tree."
The wind whispered through the leaves. The stars blinked above. And Mike, frozen in place, felt the world tilt.