Having obtained the confirmation he'd sought about Lu Mingfei's true nature, Chu Zihang made no attempt to contact his former classmate directly. After spending several peaceful days at home—a rare luxury in his increasingly complex life—he and Finger prepared for their return to Chicago as Cassel College's new semester approached.
The timing worked in their favor. Chu Zihang's suspected high-level mixed-blood status had earned him certain privileges within the college's administrative system, including flexible travel arrangements that spared them both the uncertainty of navigating Chicago's transportation network independently.
"What a blessing it is to travel with a high-level mixed-blood!" Finger sighed contentedly as he settled into the plush seating of their private train compartment. "Miss the standard departure schedule? No problem—the school simply dispatches a dedicated transport the moment you arrive in the city. I could get accustomed to this level of service very easily."
Chu Zihang ignored his companion's commentary, instead gazing through the window at the American countryside flowing past in the gathering twilight. Before their departure from China, Professor Schneider had contacted him directly with news about the upcoming semester—specifically, a special entrance examination that would formally determine each new student's bloodline classification.
The prospect stirred something unexpected in Chu Zihang's chest. Throughout his academic career, examinations had never caused him anxiety—if anything, he'd found them almost boringly predictable. But this test would measure something far more fundamental than accumulated knowledge or learned skills. It would quantify the very essence of what he was becoming.
"Junior brother, you're not actually worried about the exam, are you?" Finger's voice carried the wheeling tone of someone sensing opportunity. He leaned closer conspiratorially, lowering his voice to theatrical whisper levels.
"I could help you prepare, if you're interested. I happen to possess actual examination questions from previous years—obtained through entirely legitimate research, of course. My prices are quite reasonable, and I guarantee complete customer satisfaction."
The offer was delivered with the practiced smoothness of someone who'd made similar pitches countless times before. Chu Zihang simply turned his head to face the opposite window, effectively dismissing both the proposal and its maker.
"Such a heartless man," Finger muttered, returning to his seat with exaggerated dejection. "You're becoming less entertaining by the day, junior brother. Ever since we left Xia Mi behind, you've been practically immune to my conversational charms."
Despite the apparent setback, Finger's interest in Chu Zihang remained as keen as ever. His information broker instincts insisted there was a significant story hidden beneath his companion's increasingly confident exterior—something connected to that mysterious "foreign aid" figure who'd helped slay the dragon. Following Chu Zihang throughout their Chinese adventure had yielded frustratingly few clues, but Finger was nothing if not persistent.
He'd continue his investigation until he uncovered the truth, no matter how long it took.
Cassel College buzzed with renewed energy as they arrived, the campus alive with the controlled chaos that marked the beginning of each academic year. The school had been officially operational for two days, filling previously empty corridors with the voices of returning veterans and nervous newcomers.
Two particular topics dominated conversations throughout the student body, each generating its own species of excitement and speculation.
The first centered on the remarkable trophy now displayed in the college's main exhibition hall—the perfectly preserved heart of Ladon, the second-generation dragon that had met its end at Gustave's hands. Though Principal Anjou had distributed most of the dragon's remains to major mixed-blood families worldwide and various academic departments, the heart—that most vital and symbolically significant organ—had been retained for educational purposes.
The week-long exhibition served multiple functions. For incoming students, it provided their first tangible proof that dragon-slaying was more than theoretical possibility. Even in death, the heart radiated an oppressive aura that made lower-bloodline students instinctively step back, their draconic heritage recognizing the presence of a superior predator.
For the college administration, it represented a powerful recruiting and publicity tool. Under Anjou's skilled presentation, Gustave had been retroactively designated a "visiting professor" and official Cassel College affiliate—a creative interpretation of reality that transformed an independent contractor into institutional achievement.
Had Gustave known about this creative rebranding, he would have immediately demanded compensation for unauthorized use of his reputation. But in his absence, he'd become something of a legendary figure among the student body—a mysterious figure whose single-handed defeat of a second-generation species elevated him to near-mythical status.
The second topic generating widespread interest concerned the incoming freshman class, specifically two individuals whose bloodline assessments had already marked them as exceptional.
A-level mixed-bloods were rare at any institution. Most students fell into the B or C categories, with genuine A-level specimens appearing perhaps once or twice per graduating class. S-level individuals were so uncommon that some faculty members had never encountered one during their entire careers.
This year's freshman cohort boasted two confirmed A-level students, both coincidentally from China. The first was Chu Zihang himself, whose independent discovery of Cassel College and subsequent recruitment had already earned administrative attention. The second was Chen Motong—a red-haired young woman whose fierce beauty and equally fierce temperament had earned her the unofficial nickname "red-haired witch" among those who'd encountered her during preliminary assessments.
The convergence of two such talents in a single incoming class was unprecedented, leading to considerable speculation about their respective capabilities and potential impact on established campus hierarchies.
In the Student Union headquarters—a suite of offices that reflected both institutional authority and personal luxury—Caesar Gattuso received updates on the newest arrivals with the casual attention of someone accustomed to being informed about everything of consequence.
"President, the suspected A-level freshman Chu Zihang has returned to campus, accompanied by that persistent hanger-on Finger," reported a junior Student Union member, consulting his notes with professional efficiency.
Caesar swirled the wine in his crystal glass thoughtfully, golden hair catching the light from the office's expensive fixtures. Despite being only a year older than most incoming students, he commanded the Student Union with the natural authority of someone born to leadership roles. His election to the presidency during the previous semester had been less a contest than a coronation—few dared challenge someone who combined genuine competence with the kind of wealth and connections that could make opposition uncomfortable.
"So he's finally arrived," Caesar mused, his tone carrying mild interest rather than concern. "Should I extend an invitation?"
"Shall I have one prepared immediately?" the aide asked, pen poised over his notepad.
"Let's wait until after tomorrow's examination," Caesar decided after a moment's consideration. "Bloodline assessments have been known to surprise people—better to have confirmed data before making any commitments."
While the Student Union adopted a cautious approach to recruitment, their primary institutional rival had already taken decisive action.
The knock on Chu Zihang's dormitory door came that evening, delivered with the confident authority of someone accustomed to immediate responses. When opened, it revealed a tall, serious-faced student flanked by two companions wearing matching expressions of barely concealed pride.
"Chu Zihang?" the leader asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer. "I'm Stroev, current president of the Lionheart Society. I'd like to speak with you about joining our organization."
The Lionheart Society represented Cassel College's oldest and most traditional student fraternity, an institution that traced its origins back to the school's founding. While the Student Union focused on contemporary campus politics and social activities, the Lionheart Society maintained its dedication to the classical ideals of dragon-slaying—honor, duty, and the cultivation of martial excellence.
"You want me to join the Lionheart Society?" Chu Zihang asked, genuinely surprised by the personal recruitment visit. Finger's briefings had covered the basic campus organizations, but he hadn't expected such direct attention.
"Indeed," Stroev replied with formal courtesy. "If you accept our invitation, I can guarantee that you'll be appointed vice president immediately upon the next leadership transition. Your capabilities and potential make you exactly the kind of member we seek."
The offer was remarkably generous—most new students spent years working their way up organizational hierarchies. But Stroev had his reasons for such aggressive recruitment. The position of president was already earmarked for Lancelot, a French student whose family connections to Stroev ran back generations. Though Lancelot hadn't been pre-classified as A-level, Stroev's personal knowledge of the family bloodlines confirmed his exceptional potential.
"I'll need to consider your offer," Chu Zihang replied diplomatically. "This is all quite new to me."
"Of course. Take whatever time you need—the Lionheart Society will be here whenever you're ready to join us," Stroev said graciously, though his expression suggested he expected a positive answer sooner rather than later.
After the Lionheart delegation departed, Finger practically materialized in Chu Zihang's doorway, his face glowing with vicarious excitement.
"Junior brother, you're certainly attracting attention! A personal recruitment visit from Stroev himself—that's practically unheard of for incoming students!"
"Fame doesn't matter," Chu Zihang replied with characteristic directness. "In the end, only strength counts for anything in this world."
With that philosophical observation, he closed the door firmly, leaving Finger in the hallway with his enthusiasm unshared.
"What a cruel, cruel man," Finger chuckled to himself, shaking his head with something approaching affection as he returned to his own room.