Swinging the sword a few times, following her master's deliberate pace and sharp stances, Wenli felt the surge of confidence slowly take root. The once-foreign movements of Shiãchi had become instinctive, each step flowing like wind threading through the pine trees. Though her muscles still ached and her back protested with every twist, she held her ground. She wasn't proud—yet. But she was ready for more.
"I can hold up, Master. You don't need to be bothered. Besides, you want me to learn and be independent so I don't have to give in or wait for someone to save me." Her voice didn't waver. She didn't want room for weakness. She had no idea when she'd return to her world—if she ever would. But until then, she would master herself. That much, she owed her past.
The next lesson was something Master Wu called Qiang.
Unlike Shiãchi, which was centered on fluid motion and focus, Qiang emphasized swift slashes and precise cutting. It was aggressive, offensive—the art of pushing forward and not merely defending. It should've felt more complicated, but strangely, Wenli felt like she'd done this before. The familiarity of violence, perhaps. After all, the modern world hadn't been so peaceful either.
"You learn too quickly," Master Wu muttered, eyeing her student.
"Is that bad?" Wenli asked, uncertain if it was a compliment or concern.
"It's… unusual. Dangerous, even." Wu's gaze was calculating. "Most students take months to reach your level. It took you three days. Just like the spirit summoning."
Wenli swallowed, unsure whether to feel flattered or afraid of what her talents implied.
"How did I do?" she asked finally, her voice a whisper seeking approval.
"You're ready to go into the next step," Master Wu confirmed, nodding. Her eyes softened, a proud smile teasing the corner of her lips.
"Like I did well?" Wenli pushed again, wanting—needing—to hear it aloud.
Master Wu nodded again. "You did well. Remarkably well."
The words rang louder in Wenli's ears than a crowd's applause. She swung the sword joyfully, energy radiating off her body. "Let's stop for today," her master said. "Just… get along with the other candidates. I'll leave you to yourself for now."
"Yes, Master Wu." Wenli bowed slightly, hiding the grin that threatened to betray her pride. It had been nearly a month since she'd stepped foot outside the training grounds. She was eager to breathe in the fresh air again—and perhaps, this time, with some sense of direction.
As she left, the halls echoed lightly with her steps. Outside the gates of the training courtyard, Hualia waited with her usual attentive posture.
"Li-jie, lunch is ready!" Hualia beamed, holding up a basket wrapped in pale silk.
"How did you know I'm starving?" Wenli grinned and dropped onto the bench just outside their room. She stretched her legs, dusted off her sleeves, and gestured toward Master Wu. "Aren't you eating?"
Master Wu paused. She glanced once at Hualia, then turned away. "No. Not hungry. I'll leave you two."
Wenli watched her go, a twinge of curiosity tugging at her chest. Master Wu was an enigma wrapped in calm and cloaked in thunder. One never knew whether she was watching or brooding. And her quiet exits? Always made one wonder what she knew that others didn't.
"You always walk without a sound," Wenli muttered under her breath.
She shook her head and turned to Hualia. "Well, let's eat."
After a few silent minutes of chewing, Wenli asked, "So… Hualia, up for a little tour?"
"Isn't that against the rules?" the younger girl asked, eyes wide.
"Rules? Come on. Who do you think I am?" Wenli quipped. "Let's go."
She didn't wait for an answer. Her footsteps were light now, almost musical on the gravel paths of the academy's courtyard. She wasn't planning to get into trouble, just… acquainted. That was all. And maybe, make a friend or two.
In her previous life, she had been invisible. Even in crowds, her presence barely registered. Most colleagues at work didn't know her name. But this was not her world anymore. She wouldn't fade again.
As they strolled past one of the outer training fields, laughter—raucous, unkind—broke the peace.
A group of trainees were gathered near the sparring ring, both men and women. They weren't training, though. They were laughing, shouting—jeering. Wenli's steps slowed. That laugh… she knew it. The fake, cruel one that echoed across middle school playgrounds and the corners of office hallways. The sound of bullies.
"What's going on?" she asked, already dreading the answer.
"I'll go find out," Hualia offered.
"No need." Wenli looked toward the noise. "We ignore it."
It was what she always did—stay invisible, stay safe. She told herself it wasn't cowardice. It was survival. As long as they didn't target her, she had no problem pretending she saw nothing.
But that thought broke as a sharp cry pierced the air.
Her breath caught.
"Hualia," she said tightly, "go see what's happening."
"But—"
"Now!"
The urgency in her voice propelled Hualia forward. Wenli stood still, her fists clenched at her sides, watching as her servant weaved through the crowd. She could barely see beyond the ring of students.
Minutes later, Hualia returned, face pale. "His name is Rong Wen Ru… an outcast. His father died of plague, and his mother remarried and abandoned him."
Wenli's brows furrowed. "How did he get here?"
"The mother had an academy letter. Not for training—he was left here for… other purposes."
"Such as being bullied?" Wenli's voice dropped an octave. "What kind of school allows this?"
Hualia shook her head. "That's all I know."
That was all she needed to know.
Her feet moved before her mind caught up. She pushed past the gathering crowd and into the center of the ring. There, a boy—barely fifteen—was being pulled in different directions, one student holding his hair, another his arms. Two others, one male and one female, each gripped a whip. The boy's back bore angry red welts, some bleeding, some purple.
Wenli's vision tunneled. She didn't know whether it was instinct or emotion, but her body moved faster than her logic could stop her. She stepped between the whip and the boy, and before she could think again, a lash cracked against her back.
Pain. White, hot, sharp. Her legs nearly gave out.
A tear slid down her cheek before she could stop it. Her breathing was ragged, her hands trembling. But she didn't move. The boy behind her looked up, teary eyes wide with disbelief.
"Are you alright?" she asked softly.
He nodded slowly.
Then she stood, tall and defiant.
"I'm taking him with me."
"You don't get to decide that," snapped the female student, whip still in hand.
"But I already did."
The girl scoffed. "Who are you?"
Wenli straightened her robe. "Zhu Wenli."
The name rippled through the crowd. Some blinked. Some whispered.
"You don't belong in this fight," said another, older girl stepping from the crowd. She had a regal poise, clearly used to control.
"Neither do you," Wenli retorted.
"This boy is nothing. Why protect him?"
"Because someone should."
There was silence. Not because they agreed—but because she dared.
The regal girl narrowed her eyes. "We're not done with him."
"Well, I am. He needs treatment. Or do you enjoy watching others bleed?"
"You'll regret this," the whip-holder hissed.
Wenli raised her brow. "Are you Bill Gates? Elon Musk? Because if not, I really don't care what you think." The English flowed out of her in a thick snarl, and the crowd blinked.
"What language was that?" someone asked.
"English, you fool."
Gasps and whispers.
"You…" The regal girl stepped forward again.
Wenli raised her voice. "Let me guess. You want to report me? Go ahead. I'll write my own letter of apology—with a sword."
There were murmurs now—some awe, some amusement, some fear.
She turned to Hualia. "Help me get him out of here."
As they left the stunned crowd behind, Wenli knew she had crossed a line—but a necessary one.
When they reached the infirmary, she finally asked the boy, "What's your name?"
He hesitated. "Wen Ru."
She smiled softly. "Well, you're my brother now."
That night, Master Wu didn't say a word. But her eyes said enough. And as Wenli bandaged her own wounds, she repeated the words that once annoyed her:
"When in Rome, behave like the Romans."
But she added her own twist:
"Or burn the city down if it's rotten."