Chapter 40
It came from Wuming.
Lin Yi's silver eyes narrowed slightly, not in doubt—but in recognition.
So this is what you were doing…
Weiyang's earlier outburst still echoed faintly in his mind—pawn—a word thrown in irritation, in emotion, without understanding its own accuracy. Because that was exactly what had happened. Not insult. Placement.
Wuming had placed them.
Not forcefully.
Not obviously.
But precisely.
He had not allowed a single person to take continuous hits. That was the first layer. Every strike from the snake had been distributed—not equally in appearance, but efficiently in function. Yinghua had been pushed to the front when her will ignited, removing her from direct hits. Weiyang, with his reckless stamina and recovery, had been rotated into positions where he could absorb the strikes without breaking rhythm. Wei Zhi—calm, stable—had been placed to maintain the flow when transitions were needed.
And himself—
Third.
Always third.
Not coincidence.
Constraint.
He couldn't push his speed further without breaking his own limits. His chest was already damaged; his stamina, not built for prolonged strain like this. So instead of forcing himself into inefficiency, he anchored himself where he could observe, adjust, and influence.
A fixed point.
A control point.
From there, he moved them—not by command, but by suggestion, by timing, by small interventions that the others followed instinctively.
He replaced Weiyang with Yinghua when she surged forward, letting her lead where her momentum was strongest. He allowed Weiyang to fall back just enough to take the next hit—because Weiyang would complain, yes—but he would endure it. Then Wei Zhi would take position, stabilizing the formation again.
Rotation.
Not random.
Cycled.
Controlled.
No one overwhelmed.
No one spared.
Balanced.
Lin Yi's fingers tapped lightly against the closed cover of his book.
You didn't just survive the exercise…You turned it into a system.
Wuming your critical thinking is commendable.
Below, Weiyang groaned loudly as another strike landed on him, his entire body flinching as the disgusting slime spread across his clothes. "This is so nasty—why is it always me?!"
And yet—
He kept running.
He didn't fall out of formation.
Didn't break the cycle.
Didn't even realize—
He was part of something structured.
Lin Yi almost smiled again.
Because that was the most interesting part.
Wuming had not told them what to do.
He had made it so they did it anyway.
No speeches.
No explanations.
Just movement.
Just placement.
Just result.
Ruthless, Lin Yi thought.
Not because it was cruel—
But because it was efficient without concern for emotion.
And yet—
It worked.
And the others supported it.
That was what impressed him.
Not just Wuming's thinking—
But that the team, without fully understanding it, had aligned with it.
They had become something functional.
Something cohesive.
Something dangerous.
Lin Yi exhaled quietly, his gaze still fixed on them.
"…Good," he murmured under his breath.
Not praise.
Acknowledgment.
Because what he had been trying to teach—
They had already begun to build.
And Wuming—
Without even intending to teach—
Had made them learn.
The forest had begun to soften.
Not in mercy—but in color.
The sun hung lower now, still present, still watching, but no longer harsh. Its light stretched longer through the trees, spilling gold across the ground, catching in strands of hair, in sweat, in breath. It was nearing evening—an hour more, perhaps—and yet for those running beneath it, time had already lost meaning.
It was around four.
And they were breaking.
Not all at once. Not dramatically. But in the quiet, inevitable way the body begins to surrender when pushed beyond its honest limits. Their steps had grown heavier, less precise. Breaths came harsher now, louder, almost desperate. The logs above their heads no longer felt like weight—they felt like punishment that had forgotten its purpose.
Weiyang's pace had slowed, though he still pushed forward stubbornly, dragging himself step by step, his earlier energy now burned into nothing but will. Yinghua's arms trembled uncontrollably, her injured hand barely holding on, her entire body shaking with the effort of simply continuing. Wei Zhi's control was still present—but thinner now, stretched. And Wuming—silent, steady—was reaching that invisible threshold where even control begins to fracture.
And then—
"Okay."
Lin Yi's voice cut through everything.
Not loud.
But final.
The snake beneath him stilled instantly as he raised a hand slightly, his gaze dropping fully onto them for the first time in a while.
"This is getting useless now," he said calmly, as if concluding something simple. "You all managed to pass the first round."
A pause.
"Let's see if you can get through the last round too."
Silence.
They all stopped—
Not moving, but mentally halting, their exhausted minds trying to process what he had just said.
Slowly—
All four of them looked up at him.
Suspicion.
Pure.
Undeniable.
"…Really?" Weiyang asked, his voice dry, almost disbelieving.
Lin Yi nodded.
Smiling.
That smile—
Did not help.
At all.
Their expressions didn't change.
Instead—
Almost in perfect sync—
They turned their heads.
Slowly.
From Lin Yi—
To the snake.
The massive white serpent blinked.
Tilted its head.
Almost—
Cutely.
Yinghua, still breathing heavily, stared at it for a second longer than necessary before saying, completely serious, "He's… kind of cute."
Wei Zhi turned her head toward her slowly, disbelief written plainly across her face.
All four of them, still wary, spoke almost together, voices uneven but united in suspicion. "It's… not going to hit, right?"
"Nope," Lin Yi replied easily.
A pause.
Then, almost generously—
"You all can rest now."
That was it.
That single sentence—
Broke everything.
The logs dropped.
Not carefully.
Not gracefully.
They fell from their hands like burdens finally rejected by the body.
Weiyang collapsed first—straight onto the ground, limbs sprawled out as if he had been cut loose from strings.
Wuming followed—less dramatic, but no less final—his body giving in as he dropped down, breath heavy, eyes half-lidded.
Yinghua sank down next, her legs folding beneath her as she let herself fall, her arms finally lowering, her injured hand resting limply at her side.
Wei Zhi—
Held for half a second longer.
Then dropped as well, sitting heavily before letting herself lean back, exhaling slowly.
The forest fell quiet again.
Only their breathing remained.
Rough.
Uneven.
Alive.
Lin Yi looked at them all—
Scattered across the ground.
Broken.
Spent.
Then said, very lightly—
"…Oops."
Four groans answered him immediately.
The ground welcomed them like a quiet mercy.
Soft grass bent beneath their weight, carrying the faint warmth of the sun that still lingered above, now gentler, now golden. The forest no longer felt like a place of trial—but of aftermath. All four of them lay sprawled across the earth, limbs stretched out without care, forming an unintentional symmetry—like a star fallen from the sky and broken into four breathing pieces.
Yinghua lay at the upper side, her arms wide, chest rising and falling rapidly, strands of her dark pink hair clinging to her damp face. Beside her, slightly angled, Wei Zhi rested with her eyes closed, her breathing steadier but deep, conserving what little strength she had left. Below them, Weiyang had collapsed almost dramatically, limbs thrown out, his orange-blond hair catching the sunlight as he stared blankly upward, still trying to process whether he was alive or not. And near him—Wuming.
He lay still.
Too still.
His arms spread across the grass, fingers slightly curled as if even they had lost the will to hold form. The green beneath him contrasted sharply with the pale tone of his skin—no, not pale—
It was turning white.
Subtly.
But unmistakably.
Qi overflow.
The air around him felt… off.
Thin.
Unstable.
Nearby, Lin Yi stood beside the great serpent, his hand resting briefly against its head. With a quiet motion, the creature dissolved—its form breaking into faint streams of light before vanishing entirely, returning to wherever it had been summoned from.
Weiyang turned his head weakly, still lying flat. "Shi Fu…" he muttered, voice rough, "how did you even bring that thing?"
Lin Yi didn't look at him. "A summoning Zhen."
Weiyang's eyes lit up faintly despite exhaustion. "Can you teach me?"
"No."
The answer was immediate.
"First pass the test."
Weiyang groaned again, dropping his head back onto the grass in defeat.
A voice cut through the quiet.
"Wei Zhi."
Wuming's.
Low.
Tight.
Wei Zhi's eyes opened instantly. She didn't need to turn to know something was wrong—but when she did, her gaze landed on him and—
Her expression shifted.
She pushed herself up quickly, moving toward him, her steps unsteady but urgent. Kneeling beside him, she took one look at his condition and muttered under her breath, "Oh no…"
His skin—
Too pale.
His breathing—
Uneven.
The Qi around him—
Overflowing without control.
"I…" she hesitated, her voice tightening slightly, "I don't have enough Qi, Wuming…"
He didn't respond to that.
Didn't argue.
Didn't react.
Just lay there, eyes half-lidded, as if even speaking had become unnecessary.
"…Ask Lin Yi," he said instead, voice quieter now.
Wei Zhi didn't waste time.
"Shi Fu."
Lin Yi was already walking toward them.
He stopped beside Wuming, then lowered himself into a crouch, resting on his haunches with composed ease. His silver eyes scanned Wuming—not with panic, not with urgency—but with sharp, precise understanding.
He observed the discoloration.
The unstable flow.
The silence.
Then spoke—
Calmly.
As if this, too, was part of the lesson.
Lin Yi's gaze did not waver as he studied Wuming, but there was a shift now—subtle, deeper than before. His fingers hovered just above Wuming's chest, not touching, only sensing. The air around him trembled faintly, as if something unseen was trying to hold itself together and failing.
"…Why is his Qi so unstable…" Lin Yi murmured, more to himself than to her. Then his eyes sharpened slightly. "…and his soul… something is wrong with it."
Wei Zhi froze.
"Why," he continued quietly, "is his soul showing such disturbing signs?"
Her breath hitched.
She looked down at Wuming.
He lay there, silent, unmoving, his lips barely parted as if words had abandoned him entirely. His chest rose shallowly, uneven, and for a moment—just a moment—she thought he might stop breathing altogether.
"I…" she tried, but her voice failed her. "I can't…"
Her heart began to race.
Too fast.
Too loud.
Her thoughts tangled over each other—Why? Why is this happening? Wasn't it healed? It was healed… wasn't it? Then why now? Why again?
Her hands trembled.
She couldn't think.
Couldn't focus.
Panic crept in—sharp and suffocating.
Wuming didn't speak again.
But she understood.
He couldn't.
That alone was enough to break whatever fragile control she had left.
His soul vessel…
It's hurt… it's leaking…
But why? Why is it like this again…?
A firm grip caught her shoulder.
Lin Yi.
He shook her—just enough.
Not harsh.
But grounding.
"Wei Zhi."
She blinked, snapping back slightly, her gaze finally meeting his.
"Don't panic," he said, voice calm, steady—unmoved by her fear. "Tell me what happened."
Her lips parted.
Then closed again.
For a second, she hesitated—
Then muttered, barely audible, "Tell them… to go away."
Lin Yi didn't question it.
He simply turned his head slightly.
"You two," he said evenly, "go. Give some space."
Yinghua immediately pushed herself up halfway, worry clear on her face. "Is something wrong with him? What happened to Wuming?"
"Nothing happened," Lin Yi replied without pause. "He just exhausted himself."
Weiyang frowned, not convinced. "Then why are you being so secretive? We can stay too—"
Wei Zhi looked up.
And glared at him.
Weiyang stopped.
Completely.
His usual expression—the light, careless smile—disappeared as if it had never existed. What replaced it was hesitation. Real hesitation. Because her face—
It wasn't normal.
Pale.
Eyes wide, pupils shrunk tight.
Cold.
Sharp.
Not angry.
Terrified.
"Go away," she said.
Quiet.
But absolute
End of 40