Qinglong Academy did not only teach martial arts and breathing techniques. There was one lesson rarely spoken aloud, yet quietly became the foundation for those who truly wished to survive in this unforgiving world, strategy.
That day, the sun was nothing more than a pale glow behind thick mist. The strategy training room was located in the eastern wing, separate from the martial arts hall where Li Yuan usually trained.
The room was filled with long tables, ancient maps, jade war pieces, and scrolls of silk inscribed with battle formations. On the walls hung paintings of blood-soaked battlefields and ruin. A heavy atmosphere instantly settled upon anyone who entered.
Li Yuan sat in the very back, silent and observant.
At the front, an old teacher with a long white beard unrolled a large scroll.
"You all know how to breathe. You all can shatter stone with your bare hands. But… who among you knows how to kill ten men without suffering a single wound?"
The students fell silent.
The teacher continued, voice cold and steady.
"Strength is a tool. But strategy is the hand that wields it. On the battlefield, the strong die meaninglessly without direction. But those who understand timing and position… will command the fate of thousands."
On the main board, he drew a curved line.
"This isn't just war strategy. This is the art of killing with the mind."
Li Yuan did not flinch. But within him, something stirred. He began to see strategy not just as a matter of warfields, but of human understanding. Weakness, belief, hope, and fear, each could be turned into a weapon.
"Is it possible to kill… without violence?"
"Can I make the enemy retreat… using only choice and pressure?"
Across the room, Mu Yi Fan Tu listened with narrowed eyes. For those being shaped into the academy's hidden force, this lesson was like a handbook for missions yet to be revealed.
And for Wen Zhi, quietly watching from the upper balcony, this too was part of his trial for the students. He observed with calm focus, especially Li Yuan.
After the class ended, Li Yuan approached a scroll left on the teacher's desk. The writing was intricate but clear:
"True strategy is not about winning battles."
"True strategy is making the enemy believe… there is no battle."
Li Yuan stared at the words for a long time.
"If I can understand this art… perhaps I can end wars without ever drawing a sword."
But he also knew: the world does not always offer the choice not to fight.
The morning air felt heavy.
Li Yuan stood at the edge of the stone courtyard, gazing at the grey sky. There was no training today. Only silence. A silence that seemed to urge the students to reflect more deeply on their existence at Qinglong Academy.
In a corner of the courtyard, Mu Yi Fan Tu and several students from other villages huddled together, speaking in hushed voices.
"You've realized it, haven't you?"
"What?"
"This training… it's not about defending villages. It's not about protection. This is—"
"—about killing," Mu Yi Fan Tu quietly interrupted.
A younger student, his face marked with bruises and cuts, stared at the ground. His voice trembled.
"Are we… going to be turned into assassins? Secretly wiping out the nation's enemies?"
No one answered. Because deep down, they all knew… the answer was yes.
On the other side of the courtyard, Li Yuan sat beneath the old tree. His breathing was steady. In his left hand, he held a stone; his right hand slowly clenched. He listened to the whispers of the wind, as if seeking answers hidden in the voice of the world.
"If all this is meant for killing… will I lose my understanding?"
"Does understanding mean avoiding violence… or knowing when it's necessary?"
In his heart, the voice of the old teacher from his village, the one who had taught him how to read and write, still echoed.
"True strength is not in killing, but in knowing when and why something must be destroyed."
Footsteps approached. Mu Yi Fan Tu now stood before him.
"Li Yuan, do you see where this training is leading?"
"I do," Li Yuan replied simply.
"And do you agree with it?"
Li Yuan looked up at him.
"I don't seek strength to kill. But… I can't close my eyes if the world forces me to."
"If my understanding leads to killing, then I will kill."
"But I will not kill… without understanding its meaning."
Mu Yi Fan Tu fell silent, then gave a short laugh.
"You're strange… but maybe, that's exactly what this world needs."
That night, in their separate rooms, the students grew restless. The scent of blood from combat training still clung to their memories. And amid their quiet anxiety, one question crept into each of their hearts:
"Will I… become a killer?"
Meanwhile, on the highest floor of the academy, Wen Zhi sat beneath the stars. He wrote a single note:
"This generation… is not just strong."
"They've begun to ask."