The Moonlight Gala was the social pinnacle of the academic year. The school's central plaza had been transformed into a crystalline wonderland of floating lanterns and silk drapes. While the "blooming buds" of the student body were dressed in gowns that cost more than a mid-sized sedan, Chen Feng arrived in a custom-tailored charcoal suit—no tie, top buttons undone, and a single violet pocket square that matched his car.
The moment he entered, a hush fell over the room. It wasn't just his looks; it was the way the air seemed to settle around him, as if the gravity of the room had found its true center.
To the collective gasp of every girl in the hall—and the localized heartbreak of the cheerleading squad—Chen Feng didn't head toward the punch bowl. He walked straight to the VIP dais where Principal Ye Qingxuan sat.
She looked ethereal in a midnight-blue dress that hugged her curves like a second skin.
"Principal," Chen Feng said, bowing with a grace that felt centuries old. "The music is playing, the moon is full, and I believe the Dean owes the Principal a dance to ensure 'inter-departmental harmony.'"
Ye Qingxuan's eyes flickered. She wanted to say no, but as she looked into Chen Feng's eyes, she saw an intensity that didn't match his playful words. She stepped onto the floor.
As the music reached its crescendo, the ground didn't just throb—it sighed. Chen Feng's eyes flashed gold. Through his vision, the floorboards were turning transparent, revealing the black, oily sigils of Zhao's Blood-Lock pulsing like a dying heart.
Suddenly, a massive shadow-wraith, visible only to Chen Feng, erupted from the center of the dance floor, its claws reaching for the throat of a nearby student.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" Chen Feng shouted, his voice booming over the orchestra. He spun Ye Qingxuan with one hand, while his other hand flicked a silver dessert spoon from a passing waiter's tray. "Welcome to the Dean's Surprise Gala Magic Show! Keep your eyes on the lights!"
He threw the spoon. To the audience, it looked like a flashy juggling trick. In reality, the spoon was infused with pure Yang energy. It whistled through the air and pierced the shadow-wraith's head, causing it to explode into a shower of harmless, glittery sparks.
"Ooh!" the students cheered, clapping. "Special effects!"
Standing in the shadows of the pillars, Mu Ronghuan watched them. She was furious that he was dancing with the Principal, but she was also deeply unsettled. She noticed that every time Chen Feng "juggled" or "performed a card trick," a strange, cold wind seemed to vanish from the room.
"Is he a demon?" she wondered. Her family had been plagued with misfortune lately, and she couldn't shake the feeling that Chen Feng was at the center of everything. "Is this 'magic' just a cover for something darker?"
"And now, for my next trick," Chen Feng laughed, though his brow was damp with effort. A dozen more wraiths were crawling out of the buffet table. He grabbed a handful of rose petals and tossed them into the air.
He snapped his fingers. To the students, the petals turned into a beautiful, swirling crimson mist. To the wraiths, the mist was a cloud of acidic holy fire that dissolved them instantly.
"He's amazing!" a girl screamed. "He's better than a professional magician!"
Ye Qingxuan leaned in close as they spun.
"Chen Feng, why is the temperature dropping? And why is the floor vibrating?"
"It's just part of the show, Principal," Chen Feng whispered, his eyes locked on a massive shadow looming behind her—the manifestation of Director Zhao's hatred.
"Don't break the rhythm. If the audience stops believing in the magic, the 'special effects' might actually start to hurt."
He dipped her low, his hand subtly tracing a golden seal on the floorboards, pinning the ancient burial mound back into the earth for one more night.
"The show must go on," he grinned, while beneath them, the very foundations of the school groaned in frustrated malice.