Chapter 17.
They continued walking through the long corridor toward his room.
After a moment, Wei Zhi looked at him and asked,
"Are you allergic to people?"
Wuming gave a small breath of amusement.
"Who am I to be allergic to them?" he said calmly. "I am one of them."
He paused slightly.
"But I'm not a hypocrite either."
"I despise humans. All people. All mankind."
Wei Zhi turned her head toward him, listening carefully.
"Humans are toxic," Wuming continued. "And we thrive on that toxicity. Women may love a man who cannot promise loyalty, yet they still stay. And men speak sweet, loving words that they don't truly mean."
"Both believe they love each other."
"But in the end…"
He glanced forward calmly.
"Love is often nothing more than a chemical reaction. It's a matrix of dependency."
Wei Zhi frowned slightly.
Wuming continued walking.
"We are all toxic," he said quietly.
"Every human being has been toxic at some point… is toxic now… or will be toxic someday. But there are two kinds of people." he continued.
"Some choose to understand it and become better. Others refuse accountability and continue behaving the same way." his voice thoughtfully and cold like ice.
He stopped speaking.
Then he said,
"Pay attention to that, Wei Zhi."
Wei Zhi listened carefully.
Instead of arguing, she simply smiled slightly out of curiosity.
"I understand your words," she said.
Then she tilted her head slightly.
"By the way… what are chemical reactions?"
Wuming glanced at her.
He explained briefly how emotions could be connected to reactions inside the body.
Wei Zhi listened with interest.
When he finished, she smiled again.
"Every time I talk to you, I learn something new."
Then she asked playfully,
"Do you learn anything from me too?"
Wuming thought for a moment before answering honestly.
"I have nothing to learn from you."
Wei Zhi blinked once.
But he continued calmly,
"Except the way you see the world."
"It's similar to mine."
"But not exactly the same."
Wei Zhi tried to understand what he meant.
"That's probably because you're older," she said after thinking.
"You're not the old Wuming."
"The old one always learned new things from me."
Wuming stayed silent for a moment.
Inside his mind, a different thought appeared.
And those things made him mature.
You talk like someone who has lived seventy years… not seven.
What exactly have you gone through to become like this? Like me.
For a brief moment, Wuming felt a strong curiosity.
A transmigrator?
Someone bound to time?
Or something else entirely?
He wanted to ask.
But he didn't.
Because deep down, he already knew the answer.
She wasn't.
Wei Zhi was simply… Wei Zhi.
And strangely, that made him glad.
Being able to speak with her like this—
To explain things.
To watch her understand them.
That alone felt like a gift to him.
He glanced at her quietly.
She might be the sharpest young girl anyone will ever meet.
He looked at her and, for a moment, saw his own reflection in her—a young child who was already mature and somewhat dead inside. Maturity always came with a price. It kills a part of you, a spark in you, a feeling that completely changes you as a person. It's a disease.
Yet at the same time, it was useful… even necessary.
Maturity is when you choose silence, Because you know your energy and time is too precious to waste on things that won't even matter tomorrow. Stay calm in chaos, controlling your emotions, even when everything feels like it's turning against you, don't be cold, being cold doesn't mean you're mature, it simply implies you don't want to either feel pain or suffering, for knowing too much for understanding too much.
Embracing who you are—your flaws, your scars, your past. And choosing not to judge others the way you once did.
It was peace.
And it was growth.
Wuming stood at the entrance of the academy with Wei Zhi beside him, the large stone gates rising before them as students moved in and out, voices blending into a constant flow of noise and motion. Both of them stood apart without trying to. Wei zhi stands poised in a striking fusion of elegance and quiet power, dressed in a modern, Hanfu-inspired ensemble that blends tradition with a sharp, contemporary edge. A fitted black sleeveless vest hugs her upper body, adorned with delicate swirling embroidery and a metallic shoulder piece that hints at a warrior's authority. One side of the outfit softens into a flowing white sleeve, its fabric light and graceful, contrasting beautifully against the structured darkness of the top. At her waist, a richly detailed green sash cinches the look together, from which red tassels and ornamental beads cascade, swaying gently with every movement. Her lower half is draped in voluminous white trousers that resemble a skirt, their soft folds marked with subtle ink-wash patterns, giving the illusion of art in motion. Black boots ground the look with a modern, combat-ready finish. Completing the ensemble, her hair is styled with an intricate headpiece accented by red and blue tassels, while layered jewelry frames her neckline, enhancing her aura of refined strength. Altogether, she embodies the presence of someone both graceful and formidable—like a noble warrior whose elegance conceals lethal precision.
Wuming stood beside her in contrast. His clothing followed a similar structure but remained simpler, dominated by black and white. Clean lines, no unnecessary detail. He did not like colors, and it showed in everything he wore.
He observed the academy quietly, his gaze moving once before settling again.
Then his attention shifted—not outward, but inward.
A memory surfaced.
The evening when Elder Gu had called Wei Zhi to his office.
Seven p.m. sharp.
She had gone without question.
And when she returned, she was carrying more than just instructions. Documents. Permission. A few books. Her entry into the academy had already been arranged.
She had not known before she went.
But when she came back—she knew.
Wuming's eyes remained steady.
So that's when it was decided.
Elder Gu had handled everything. Smoothly. Without resistance.
A faint, almost imperceptible thought passed through him.
Interesting man.
Beside him, Wei Zhi was smiling slightly as she looked ahead, her expression calm, composed.
Wuming said nothing.
Then, quietly, another thought settled in his mind.
This will be useful.
He was glad that she was going with him. Wei Zhi was strong-willed and sharp, someone who did not bend easily. A reliable presence. A useful ally. Yet her Soul Reaper abilities remained an enigma to him. Even as they walked, his thoughts circled around it. Powers like hers were rare—difficult to inherit, even harder to master. Most who possessed them struggled for years just to grasp the basics. And yet, Wei Zhi understood them. Not fully, but enough. Clean execution. Controlled movement. Whether it came from relentless effort or natural talent, he could not tell. Either way, it drew his attention. He wanted to see it properly—her limits, her depth.
They stepped further into the academy grounds.
At the inner gate, several instructors stood in a line, checking student applications and forms. There were ten of them, all dressed in the same uniform—simple black upper garments fitted close to the body, loose black trousers, and cloth shoes similar to the ones he had seen before, flat and practical for movement. White bandages were wrapped around their thighs, layered tightly, not decorative but functional, suggesting both discipline and combat readiness. Their posture was straight, their presence steady. Not overwhelming—but controlled.
Wuming observed them briefly.
Standard uniform.
Disciplined stance.
No wasted motion.
Wei Zhi stepped forward toward one of the instructors, holding both their application slips in her hands. Her tone was calm and respectful as she spoke, presenting the documents clearly, answering the brief questions directed at her without hesitation. The instructor took the papers and began checking them one by one, his expression neutral, movements precise.
Wuming stood beside her.
Silent.
Observing.
But his attention did not remain on the process for long.
His eyes drifted.
Past the instructor.
Past the line of students.
And settled somewhere farther.
At the edge of the courtyard, slightly removed from the gathering, there was a tree casting a wide, quiet shade. Beneath it, a simple wooden swing hung from a thick branch, its rope slightly worn, the seat swaying faintly with the movement of air.
Xiao Weiyang was sitting there.
Alone.
Not moving.
Not speaking.
Wuming had noticed him off to the side of the courtyard. There was a tree near the edge of the training grounds, its branches wide enough to cast a calm shade over the ground beneath. A simple wooden swing hung from one of its thicker limbs, the rope slightly worn, the seat smooth from repeated use. It was positioned just far enough from the main crowd to feel separate.
Just seated, One foot pressed lightly against the ground, the other hanging loosely, his body leaning forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. His head had been lowered—not in exhaustion, but in stillness. The usual brightness around him had been quieter at that moment. Not gone. Just… held back.
Wuming's thoughts were futile, he couldn't change the fact how things were for weiyang. For someone like him—
It didn't fit.
He was bright.
Loud.
The kind of person who naturally drew attention.
Then why—
Was he sitting there?
Away from people?
Wuming's gaze remained steady on him, his thoughts aligning quietly.
Around the entrance, the space was more crowded than it had seemed at first—students standing in small groups, parents lingering nearby, voices overlapping in low murmurs that carried just enough to be heard without being acknowledged.
A few of those voices turned toward him.
Low.
Not meant to be heard openly.
"Isn't that the kid from the Xiao clan…?"
"The Yakshas…"
Another added, quieter but sharper,
"Don't say it out loud. It's forbidden."
It was taboo? Wuming thought.
"He failed again last year, didn't he?"
The words didn't rise into confrontation. They stayed where they were—whispers, half-hidden, yet deliberate enough to be noticed.
The words settled into place.
Without reaction.
Without interruption.
Wuming understood.
Not everything.
But enough.
Weiyang had been sitting there.
Not swinging.
Just seated.
The crowd near the gate had continued moving.
No one had approached him.
No one had called out.
The distance between him and the others had been small in space.
But clear.
Then—
He had looked up.
Seen them.
And everything shifted again.
The stillness broke as if it had never existed.
He pushed himself off the swing in one motion, the wooden seat swaying slightly behind him, the rope creaking softly as it moved. His steps quickened, energy returning instantly, expression bright again, as if nothing had been there moments ago.
Xiao Weiyang came running toward them, waving his hand high in the air, his expression bright and open as if the entire place belonged to him. Unlike the others, he wasn't surrounded by anyone. People moved aside instead of closer. A few students glanced at him with clear distaste, some whispering under their breath, others simply watching.
By the time he reached them, the whispers had already begun fading.
Or pretending to.
"HELLOOOOO!"
He waved again as he approached, louder than necessary, unbothered—or choosing to appear that way.
Wuming watched him rushing towards them. Weiyang's face bright, eyes closed as he kept moving through the crowd, nothing affecting him.
As if everything was normal.
Was it?
Weiyang reached them, slightly out of breath now, placing his hands on his knees for a moment.
"Finally," he said between breaths, "you guys are here… damn."
He straightened and stepped forward, pulling out his own application slip and handing it over to the same instructor.
Wuming thought was he waiting for us to be here? since when.
The instructor took it without comment.
Checked.
Stamped.
Then handed the documents back one by one.
Simple.
Routine.
But the atmosphere around them remained unchanged.
Not loud.
Not open.
Just quietly aware.
Wuming's thoughts lingered on the word.
Yakshas
End of 17.