The third day before the rankings dawned colder than the last.
A thin mist clung to the lower courtyards of Riverstone Regional Academy, turning every breath into visible vapor. Students moved through it like ghosts—robes damp, footsteps muffled, conversations reduced to fragments carried on the wind. The academy felt subdued, as if even the stones were holding their breath.
Lin Wei stood at the edge of the outer archery range, alone for the moment. He held a standard wooden bow, nocked an arrow, and drew slowly. The string hummed as he released. The arrow struck true—not the center, but close enough. Consistent. Unremarkable. Exactly the kind of result no one could accuse of arrogance.
He lowered the bow and let his gaze drift across the mist-shrouded field. Several figures lingered at the far end: outer disciples pretending to practice, but their eyes kept returning to him. Not staring. Glancing. Measuring. Watching for reactions rather than results.
The invitations for the Zhao-hosted "private evaluation" had solidified overnight. Whispers said it would be held tomorrow evening in one of the inner pavilions. Voluntary in name. Heavily encouraged in practice. The kind of invitation that tested obedience more than strength.
Lin Wei nocked another arrow.
He had not yet responded.
Chen Yu appeared as the mist began to burn off, hands tucked into sleeves, expression thoughtful rather than playful. His presence was casual, but his eyes were sharp.
"You still haven't sent word," he said quietly, stopping a respectful distance away.
"I haven't."
Chen Yu exhaled a plume of white breath. "They're interpreting silence as defiance. Zhao Feng was asking around this morning—casually, of course. But people talk." And when people talked, the clans listened.
Lin Wei loosed the arrow. It landed beside the first, almost touching.
"Silence isn't defiance," he said. "It's consideration."
Chen Yu watched the arrows for a moment, then shifted his weight. "And if they take it as a refusal?"
"Then they act on their assumptions." Lin Wei set the bow aside. "Better they move first. Predictability is a weakness."
Chen Yu shook his head slowly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "You're playing a longer game than most people here can see."
"That's the point," Lin Wei replied.
They walked together toward the central plaza. The mist had lifted enough to reveal groups clustered around notice boards—final reminders about the rankings, rules for the evaluation ceremonies, lists of required contributions for promotion. Voices were hushed, eyes flicking between names and faces.
One notice caught Lin Wei's eye: a small addendum at the bottom.
Private assessments may be requested by sponsoring clans. Participation reflects positively on individual rankings.
Subtle. Clear. And deliberately placed.
Chen Yu read it too. "They're making it official now. Hard to refuse without looking uncooperative."
Lin Wei said nothing. Silence, again, chosen rather than forced.
By late morning, the day's lectures were theoretical—discussions on qi stabilization during advancement, the risks of uneven refinement, the value of patience over haste. The lessons felt less like instruction and more like warning.
Lin Wei sat near the back, listening without note-taking. The instructor's words were familiar; the subtext was new. Each phrase felt sharpened, aimed.
Every few sentences, the lecturer's gaze lingered on certain students—those rumored to be on the evaluation list. Including him. Lin Wei met the gaze calmly each time, offering nothing.
After the session, Mu Xueyi found him in the corridor outside.
She didn't greet him. She simply fell into step, matching his pace without effort.
"They're watching how you react to pressure," she said after a few paces. "Not just strength. Restraint. How long you can hold silence before speaking."
Lin Wei nodded once. "I noticed."
She glanced sideways. "And?"
"I'll attend," he said simply. "But on my terms."
Mu Xueyi's brow lifted slightly. "Which terms?"
"When they expect an answer, I'll give one. Not before."
She studied him for a long moment, eyes searching for cracks that weren't there. Then, quietly: "Be aware that absence can be louder than words."
"I know."
They parted without further exchange, their paths diverging like pieces already set on a board.
That afternoon, Lin Wei returned to his quarters. He retrieved the Celestial Frost Fox Egg once more—not to check progress, but to hold it. The shell felt slightly warmer today, the faint pulse more rhythmic, though still distant, like a heartbeat heard through ice.
[Bond Stability: Gradually Increasing]
[Growth State: Dormant]
[External Interference: None Detected]
He returned it to storage without comment, as if acknowledging it aloud might disturb the balance.
Then he sat and cultivated.
Qi flowed smoothly, pure, without resistance. No urges. No temptations. The sealed technique—Life Essence Extraction—remained a distant promise, locked behind the threshold he had not yet crossed.
Middle Qi Refining.
Not yet.
As evening fell, a messenger arrived at his door—a junior disciple, nervous, holding a sealed scroll. His hands trembled slightly.
"From the Zhao family," the boy said, bowing deeply. "They request your presence tomorrow evening for the private assessment. Attendance is… appreciated."
Lin Wei accepted the scroll without opening it.
"Tell them I will consider it," he said calmly.
The boy bowed again and hurried away, relief obvious in his retreat.
Lin Wei closed the door.
He unrolled the scroll anyway.
Formal language. Polite invitations. Subtle implications of future favor. A list of names—some he recognized, some he did not. All outer disciples who had drawn attention recently.
His name was third.
He rolled it closed.
Three days until the rankings.
One day until the evaluation.
And in the quiet of his room, Lin Wei allowed himself a single, measured thought:
The threads were almost taut enough.
Soon, someone would pull.
And when they did—
He would be ready to see where they led.