By the second week of his "Dean-ship," the atmosphere at Imperial High had shifted from curiosity to full-blown infatuation. The "God of Purple Thunder" had become a phenomenon. Female students would "accidentally" drop their textbooks as he strolled past, hoping for a Sovereign's glance, while the school's cafeteria had officially renamed their strawberry milk to "The Dean's Elixir."
However, not everyone was drinking the kool-aid.
Standing at the top of the central staircase was Mu Ronghuan. If Lin Xuerui was ice and Meiling was fire, Mu Ronghuan was "Old Money" personified. Her family, the Mu Clan, had been the city's power brokers since before the first skyscraper was built. She was the Student Council President and the undisputed queen of the campus.
To her, Chen Feng wasn't a god. He was a Flower-Stealing Master—a classic cultivation-era term for a predatory rake who charms innocent girls only to ruin their "foundations."
"Look at him," Ronghuan hissed to her entourage, her eyes narrowing as she watched Chen Feng high-five a group of swooning sophomores. "He uses that 'carefree' aura to bypass their defenses. He's a professional heart-thief. He's probably refining their collective adoration into some sort of perverse energy."
"But President," one girl whispered, "he did fix the Wi-Fi in the library just by tapping the router..."
"A trick!" Ronghuan snapped. "A classic seduction array technique. He is a predator in a Hawaiian shirt, and I will be the one to unmask him.
Chen Feng was enjoying a quiet moment in the school's botanical garden—specifically the "Rare Petals" section, which was filled with "blooming buds" of both the floral and human variety. He was currently explaining the "Dao of Photosynthesis" to three girls who were staring at his biceps more than the roses.
"You see," Chen Feng said, leaning back against a stone pillar. "The flower doesn't try to grow. it just realizes that the sun is free real estate. If you stop trying to be 'pretty' and just start 'being,' you'll find that—"
"ENOUGH!"
Mu Ronghuan marched into the garden, her designer heels clicking like a death march. She pointed a manicured finger at Chen Feng's chest.
"Dean Chen! I've watched you for ten days. You've corrupted the discipline of the cheer squad, you've turned the library into a lounge, and now you're here, in the garden, playing the 'Philosophical Rogue' to trick these girls into your web!"
Chen Feng blinked, honestly confused. "My web? I don't even have a LinkedIn profile, Miss Mu. And I'm not stealing flowers. I'm literally just standing near them. It's called co-existence."
"You are a Flower-Stealing Master!" she declared, the term echoing through the garden. "You target 'blooming buds' because you lack the strength to face a real woman! You're a vagrant who stumbled into a suit, and I will see you expelled before the mid-term dance!"
Chen Feng looked at her—really looked at her. Her aura was a chaotic mess of "Superiority Complexes" and "Repressed Boredom." She was so used to everyone bowing to her wealth that a man who didn't care about her money felt like a personal attack.
"Miss Mu," Chen Feng said, his voice dropping to a Sovereign's depth. "You call me a flower-stealer. But look around. The flowers are blooming better than they have in years. The girls are smiling. The only thing being 'stolen' here is your monopoly on attention."
As Ronghuan's face turned a brilliant shade of scarlet, the ground beneath them gave a rhythmic, sickening throb. It was a vibration felt only by those with a high spiritual sensitivity—or those targeted by the curse.
Deep in the basement, Director Zhao's Blood-Lock had finished calibrating.
The curse didn't just target Chen Feng anymore. It had latched onto the "Karmic Link" he had formed with the students. Because so many girls now "crushed" on him, their youthful energy was being siphoned through their affection directly into the burial mound.
"Aha," Chen Feng whispered, his eyes flashing gold behind his sunglasses. He realized the trap: Zhao wanted him to be popular. The "Flower-Stealing Master" label was actually the key to the curse. Every "crush" was a thread of silk wrapping around his throat.
"Is something funny?" Ronghuan demanded, unaware that the ground beneath her feet was becoming a spiritual vacuum.
"Not at all," Chen Feng said, standing up and dusting off his shorts. He looked toward the Principal's office, where Ye Qingxuan was watching from the window. "Miss Mu, you want to unmask me? Fine. Tonight is the school's 'Moonlight Gala.' I'll be there. We'll see who's stealing what."
He leaned in close, his voice a whisper. "But you might want to check your family's basement. I think your 'Old Money' is sitting on a very 'Old Problem.'"