By the time night settled, no one lingered outside Silver Mirror's council hall.
In a small side chamber, a single lamp burned faintly.
Sītú Jìng sat alone at the desk.
Beside his hand lay an unopened letter.
There was no signature on the envelope.
He didn't rush to open it.
Outside the window, the outline of the academy's inner courtyard stretched quietly into the distance.
Calm.
Orderly.
The new regulations had taken effect.
Silver Mirror's new appointment was settled.
The situation appeared stable.
Sītú Jìng reached out and gently pushed the letter aside.
He didn't need to read it.
Some things had already been decided the moment the regulations were posted.
"Cut the line," he murmured.
No one answered.
Yet the lamp flickered, as if brushed by a passing breeze.
Sītú Jìng lifted his gaze toward the night beyond.
Stepping down was meant to reassure others.
But true reassurance never came from stepping down.
It came from—
who still held the invisible thread.
His expression remained calm.
This round didn't need to be won beautifully.
He only needed to outlast the rest.
—
Deep into the night, the inner courtyard had long fallen silent.
Xuán Chén moved without alerting anyone.
He paused briefly outside Cáo Jiànyú's residence.
The lock hadn't been changed.
No seal.
As if, once the matter ended, this place had been quietly deemed "no longer important."
Xuán Chén pushed the door open.
His first impression—
wrong.
Far too tidy.
The desk had been wiped down.
The floor spotless.
Even the clothes that should have been left scattered were neatly folded in the corner.
It looked like a different person lived here now.
Xuán Chén didn't start searching immediately.
He stood in the center of the room, eyes closed for a moment.
No lingering medicinal scent.
No unusual spiritual fluctuations.
Even the dust was evenly distributed—
almost deliberately so.
He moved to the desk and opened the drawer—empty.
Checked the cabinet—empty.
Under the bed, hidden compartments, corners of the walls—
No notes.
No ledgers.
No trace of black‑market dealings.
Clean.
So clean it felt like…
Someone had searched it before he arrived.
Xuán Chén's gaze darkened.
This wasn't a panicked cleanup.
It was deliberate.
And done with a steady hand.
He glanced up at the ceiling beam, then down at the threshold.
The footprints outside had been wiped away.
Even the faintest marks on the floor had been smoothed out.
"Fast work," he murmured.
He was late.
Or rather—
someone didn't want anyone arriving earlier.
Xuán Chén didn't stay long.
He had already found what he came for.
Not evidence.
A conclusion.
This wasn't something done on impulse.
At the very least, someone had prepared in advance.
When Xuán Chén stepped out of the residence, the moonlight was pale.
He didn't look back.
There was nothing left here worth looking at.
——
Inside the Sword‑Star Stone Tower, the night was unnervingly quiet.
Bǎishìtōng sat at the small desk by the window.
Several slips of paper lay spread before him—none of them fully written.
He wasn't writing.
He was thinking.
Xiǎo Chén leaned against the wall.
Xuán Chén stood by the window, silent.
Only after a long while did Bǎishìtōng finally speak, voice low.
"…Something's off."
Xiǎo Chén turned slightly.
"Where?"
Bǎishìtōng scratched his head, as if sorting through tangled thoughts.
"The vice‑leader's place—we went there once, right?"
"After that, we found nothing, and the matter stopped."
Xuán Chén nodded.
"After that visit, someone reported it," Bǎishìtōng said slowly.
"Not formally. More like… mentioned it in passing."
Xiǎo Chén frowned.
"How do you know?"
"I have friends," Bǎishìtōng said with a bitter smile.
"Someone pulled me aside afterward and told me to keep my movements small for a while."
The room stilled.
Bǎishìtōng continued.
"And then there's Cáo Jiànyú."
"Senior brother, you went to his place last night."
Xuán Chén didn't deny it.
"That place had already been touched," Bǎishìtōng said, lifting his head.
"And not by outsiders. By someone who knew exactly what they were doing."
Xiǎo Chén suddenly realized something.
"So…"
"So we've crossed the line at least twice," Bǎishìtōng finished.
"Once with the vice‑leader. Once with Cáo Jiànyú."
He drew in a deep breath.
"Neither time was a coincidence."
Silence settled over the room.
Bǎishìtōng stared down at the slips of paper, then added quietly:
"There's one more thing."
Xiǎo Chén looked at him.
"I found out that on the day of the life‑and‑death duel… the Sixth Elder and Dù Jīn made a bet."
Xuán Chén's gaze shifted slightly.
"What kind of bet?" Xiǎo Chén asked.
"On the outcome," Bǎishìtōng said, swallowing.
"Half a year's salary."
The moment the words fell, the atmosphere changed.
Bǎishìtōng let out a strained laugh.
"It's not just the money. It's the pride."
"And the one who lost… was the Sixth Elder."
He lifted his head, looking at the two of them.
"On the day of the duel, we didn't have a choice."
"But in front of the old Dean… we didn't exactly give the Sixth Elder any face."
And with that,
he placed the final piece of the puzzle.
"The vice‑leader's matter—we touched it.
Cáo Jiànyú's matter—senior brother, you checked it.
On the arena, the Sixth Elder lost his bet.
And before that, Xiǎo Chén, when you went into demonization… you confronted him head‑on."
He didn't continue.
Because the conclusion that followed
was already clear to all three of them.
This wasn't a conspiracy.
It wasn't about any single incident.
It was—
someone had been stepped on too many times in a row.
Xuán Chén finally spoke.
"So he was always going to make a move."
Bǎishìtōng nodded.
"Not to uncover the truth."
"But to tell everyone—"
Xiǎo Chén finished softly,
"—where the line is."
The three exchanged a look.
This time, none of them said they should act first.
Because they all understood—
when one side plans and the other doesn't,
the direction of things is already set.
—
The next morning, Xiǎo Chén went to the training grounds as usual.
The mist had not yet lifted.
The stone steps along the edge of the sword arena still held the chill of the night.
Xuānyuán Dié was already there.
She stood in the center of the field, her sword still sheathed—
but unlike usual, her aura wasn't sharp and outward‑pressing.
Not gentle.
Just… looser.
The change was so subtle that if Xiǎo Chén hadn't spent so much time by her side, he might not have noticed it at all.
Her guidance was still strict.
Her strikes still fierce.
But in the brief pauses when she drew back her sword, her movements were half a beat slower than usual—
as if something she once carried had finally slipped off her shoulders.
Xiǎo Chén hesitated, then spoke.
"Teacher…"
Xuānyuán Dié glanced at him.
"Speak."
"Today… you seem to be in a good mood."
The moment the words left his mouth, Xiǎo Chén regretted them.
It wasn't something he normally asked.
Xuānyuán Dié didn't answer immediately.
She sheathed her sword, her gaze drifting toward the far side of the training grounds—
as if thinking of something, or perhaps just looking idly.
Only after a moment did she reply, lightly:
"A good thing."
Just two words.
No explanation.
No elaboration.
Xiǎo Chén blinked, wanting to ask more—
but Xuānyuán Dié had already turned away.
"That's all for today."
"Go rest. We continue tomorrow."
Her tone was ordinary, but left no room for argument.
Xiǎo Chén could only bow and withdraw.
As he stepped out of the training grounds, he couldn't help glancing back.
Xuānyuán Dié had resumed her stance, her gaze fixed toward the inner courtyard of the academy.
Her expression was calm—
but faintly, unmistakably, there was a trace of…
the casual ease of someone who had just gained an advantage and saw no need to explain it.
Xiǎo Chén couldn't put it into words.
But he could feel it.
Somewhere beyond their sight,
someone had quietly made a decision.
And for now,
that decision wasn't against them.
——
Night settled over the academy, and the elders' quarters were sparsely lit.
The Sixth Elder's residence sat high on the inner‑courtyard slope, stone steps rising layer by layer, far removed from the noise of the student districts.
The courtyard was wide, the pillars thick, and the walls bore not paintings but plaques—records of achievements from earlier years.
Not ornate, but heavy enough to press on anyone who entered.
Inside, the furnishings were old yet immaculate.
The sandalwood desk gleamed from years of polishing.
A censer in the corner burned agarwood, its thick scent lingering without dispersing.
Under the lamplight, two figures sat facing each other.
One dressed plainly, expression gentle, yet carrying a presence impossible to ignore.
The other wore a dark scowl, fingers tapping the table unconsciously, anger simmering beneath the surface.
Sītú Jìng and the Sixth Elder.
Sītú Jìng lifted the teacup before him, swirling it lightly as he watched the liquid turn.
His tone was mild.
"Sixth Elder, I wonder—was the matter I entrusted to you handled smoothly?"
A smile tugged at the elder's lips, though it never reached his eyes.
"Rest assured, Sītú Jìng. What you asked for was settled long ago."
Sītú Jìng smiled faintly.
"Good."
He paused, then asked casually,
"I heard those three went to investigate both the vice‑leader's and Cáo Jiànyú's residences.
I trust… there were no loose ends?"
The Sixth Elder's expression hardened instantly, his tone dropping.
"Sītú Jìng, when have I ever dragged trouble to your doorstep?
What needed clearing, I cleared."
Sītú Jìng finished his tea in one smooth motion and set the cup down, his voice still calm.
"Sixth Elder, I've already resigned.
No need to call me 'leader' anymore."
The elder let out a low, humorless chuckle.
"Others may believe you resigned. I don't.
Do you, Sītú Jìng?"
Sītú Jìng didn't answer.
He simply lowered his gaze to the empty cup, as though contemplating something.
After a moment, he spoke again.
"It would be best not to underestimate those three.
The arena with Cáo Jiànyú already proved that much."
The Sixth Elder's hand froze.
The scene from the arena surged up unbidden—
the half‑year salary wager,
Dean Gǔ Líng's presence,
and those three young men, utterly unrestrained in their attitude.
A surge of anger shot straight to his chest.
He slammed the table and rose to his feet.
"Those three brats!
Repeatedly humiliating me—do they really think no one in this academy can put them in their place?"
Cold light flashed in his eyes, his voice turning sharp.
"One day, I'll make them understand what it means to cross an academy elder."
Sītú Jìng watched him quietly, his expression unchanged.
In that moment, the lamplight flickered.
No promises were spoken.
No plans were laid out.
Yet one thing was silently acknowledged by both—
This matter had already reached the point
where neither of them could turn back.