Night settled deep over the academy.
In the remote, abandoned equipment district,
silence hung unnaturally heavy.
Only the wind whispered through the broken clock tower,
echoing like secrets that should never see the light.
Cold moonlight seeped through the cracks of ruined walls,
casting pale streaks across the rubble—
as though trying to conceal something forbidden.
Sītú Jìng stood before a collapsed wall,
hands clasped behind his back,
expression dark.
After a long moment,
his brows tightened,
his voice low and edged with suppressed anger.
"You're late."
From the shadows,
a bulky figure lumbered out.
It was Cáo Jiànyú,
ranked eighty on the Hidden Dragon List—
the White‑Mirror Hall's infamous "Oil Ghost."
His face was greasy,
and his laugh was low and obscene.
"Sītú Jìng, my apologies.
Had something to take care of first.
Got delayed."
He chuckled, oily and unashamed.
Sītú Jìng raised an eyebrow,
his tone dripping with mockery.
"'Something to take care of'?
You mean fooling around with that woman pretending to be a student?"
Cáo Jiànyú froze—
then licked the corner of his mouth,
his voice turning slick.
"Heh… Leader Sītú, men will be men.
Someone like me—
stuck in the outer courtyard all day with nothing to do—
needs a little entertainment to stay sane, don't you think?"
Sītú Jìng snorted,
refusing to waste breath on him.
His voice sank, cold and sharp.
"Enough games.
If you handle this properly,
I'll arrange for you to enter the inner courtyard.
Your cultivation resources will double.
You won't have to worry about being 'bored' anymore."
Greed flashed in Cáo Jiànyú's eyes—
quick, but unmistakable.
Still, he didn't dare trust too easily.
He lowered his voice.
"And… what exactly do you want me to do?"
Sītú Jìng slowly turned,
his gaze cutting like a blade.
"For the next three months,
I want Xiǎo Chén and Xuán Chén to know no peace.
Use whatever methods you like—
but the result must be the same:
they cannot focus,
cannot cultivate.
If you can injure them,
or poison them…
all the better.
Prove your worth,
and I'll raise your position far beyond what you have now."
Cáo Jiànyú let out a low, sinister laugh,
eyes gleaming with malice.
"Rest easy, Lord Jìng.
Even without your orders…
I've been wanting to deal with them for a long time."
Cáo Jiànyú's tone shifted suddenly.
He licked the corner of his mouth, voice turning sly.
"It's just…
I'm stuck in the outer courtyard.
Resources are limited.
A man needs something to look forward to, right?
And you know—
give someone a sweet date,
and they'll work harder for you.
Maybe if you… advanced a little something first,
things would get done faster…"
Sītú Jìng's eyes chilled,
his voice dropping to a razor‑thin edge.
"You're negotiating terms with me?"
Cáo Jiànyú forced a laugh,
though sweat was already gathering in his palms.
"Heh… wouldn't dare.
Just saying—
a little motivation makes the job smoother, doesn't it?"
A flicker of disgust and impatience crossed Sītú Jìng's eyes,
though his face remained expressionless.
After a moment of silence,
he turned his back,
his voice slicing through the night like a blade.
"I'll consider it.
But remember—
if you overstep even once,
not even your White‑Mirror Hall identity will protect you."
Cáo Jiànyú nodded repeatedly,
his smile obsequious—
but a flash of viciousness glinted beneath it.
Once Sītú Jìng's figure disappeared into the darkness,
Cáo Jiànyú hissed through clenched teeth,
"Sītú Jìng…
one day, the positions between us will be reversed."
—
High atop the old clock tower,
a White‑Mirror Hall outer disciple, Liú Xū,
was bent over, cleaning the great bell.
Suddenly, the small knife in his hand slipped,
clattering loudly against the metal.
He bent down to pick it up—
and by chance,
his eyes fell upon the scene below:
Cáo Jiànyú
standing in secret conversation
with Sītú Jìng.
Liú Xū's pupils shrank.
His face drained of color.
His heart pounded violently,
as though something had seized his throat.
He jerked back behind the railing,
mind in turmoil.
Why would Cáo Jiànyú be colluding with the head of Silver Mirror…?
Every instinct screamed
that this was something
that must never be spoken aloud.
Still trembling,
he forced himself to breathe,
planning to slip away under the cover of night
and report this to the steward he served.
But he did not know—
his brief movement
had already been noticed
by Cáo Jiànyú.
—
The next night,
inside an abandoned stone hut in the inner courtyard—
Dù Péng, the White‑Mirror Hall's outer‑affairs steward,
the man who usually handled errands for the White Lion,
was sorting through old records.
Liú Xū hurried in,
his voice trembling as he lowered it.
"Steward Dù…
last night I saw…
Sītú Jìng and Cáo Jiànyú.
They were… they were—"
Before he could finish,
Dù Péng's face changed drastically.
He understood instantly.
If this reached the White Lion's ears,
he himself would be finished.
His eyes turned cold.
"I'm sorry, Brother Liú."
Liú Xū blinked, confused—
and then a flash of cold steel swept across his vision.
His pupils shrank.
A burst of blood.
Liú Xū stared in horror,
hands clutching his chest
as blood poured through his fingers.
He reached out with a trembling hand,
but all he could see
was Dù Péng's expressionless face.
The steward's blade still dripped red,
his eyes flickering with unease.
"D‑Dù… Brother Dù…
why…"
Liú Xū's voice broke apart,
and he collapsed before he could finish.
Dù Péng's heart sank.
His knuckles turned white around the hilt.
Killing was not unfamiliar to him—
but killing one of their own
sent a chill deep into his bones.
He knew the White Lion's temper.
If this were discovered…
the consequences would be unimaginable.
From the darkness,
a low, eerie chuckle echoed.
"Hehehe…
Not bad."
Cáo Jiànyú's bulky figure emerged from the shadows,
his face twisted with malice.
"Steward Dù,
you really are reliable."
Dù Péng's face tightened,
his voice trembling.
"This…
this was a White‑Mirror Hall disciple…
If the White Lion finds out—"
Cáo Jiànyú narrowed his eyes,
cutting Dù Péng off with a cold snort.
"'If' what?
Hmph.
Even the White Lion can't protect every dog under him.
Remember—your job is to do as you're told.
The rest… leave to me."
He placed a heavy hand on Dù Péng's shoulder,
a flash of viciousness glinting in his gaze.
"From this moment on,
you and I are in the same boat.
If this corpse is discovered…
well—
that just means you were too stupid to hide it.
No one else to blame."
Dù Péng clenched his teeth,
a cold shiver running down his spine.
He didn't dare resist.
"…Understood."
But the unease in his eyes
refused to fade.
Cáo Jiànyú watched him,
a slow smile curling at his lips.
"Relax, Steward Dù.
Do this well,
and I'll make sure you're rewarded.
As for Liú Xū…"
He paused,
a cruel glint flickering in his eyes.
"Leaving a loose‑tongued fool alive
would only ruin my plans.
He should've died long ago."
He walked to the corpse,
nudging it with the tip of his boot,
then waved impatiently.
"Clean it up.
No loose ends."
Dù Péng gritted his teeth,
lifted the body,
and disappeared into the shadows—
but his heart was far from steady.
Tonight
would unleash a tide no one could predict.
—
Dawn broke with a storm.
Heavy clouds pressed low over the academy.
Rain poured in sheets,
filling the long‑abandoned drainage channels
around the old equipment district.
"Wā‑lā‑lā—"
The murky water surged,
carrying broken planks and debris downstream.
Something pale rolled with the current—
A withered arm
broke the surface.
Several outer‑courtyard students,
sent to clear the clogged channels,
wrinkled their noses at the stench,
wanting to finish quickly.
One of them kicked aside a soaked cloth—
and froze.
A stiff, pale face
stared back at him,
eyes still wide with terror.
"Ah—!"
The scream echoed across the district.
—
Inside the academy,
another shout tore through the morning air.
"Someone's dead!"
Within half a day,
the news spread through the entire institution.
Because the corpse still wore
the White‑Mirror Hall insignia,
their disciples gathered in shock.
"Liú Xū is dead…
Who did this?"
"These wounds aren't from a duel—
it was an ambush!"
"Why would he die here…?"
Liú Xū's status wasn't high,
but the inexplicable nature of his death
sent rumors spiraling.
The academy's upper ranks
were forced to intervene,
and the matter was immediately reported
to the White Lion.
Upon hearing the news,
the White Lion remained unnervingly calm.
"Guard the body.
Do not spread the word.
The rest…
I will investigate."
A dark current
quietly seeped through the academy.
No one knew
that the true mastermind
was already laughing in the shadows.
Thus,
a single assassination
quietly ignited a far greater storm.