The whispers followed Jin Wei like a plague.
He kept his head down, his focus locked on the worn cobblestones of the academy path. It didn't matter. The weight of a hundred gazes pressed down on him, sharp and heavy as stones. The news of his flight from the exhibition had already spread, a wildfire of gossip and scorn. Every hushed word was a fresh lash against his raw pride.
Ink-dead hands.
Son of a traitor.
Ran like a dog with its tail between its legs.
He needed supplies. Paper and ink. The thought was a bitter joke—practicing an art for which he was condemned—but it was a tangible act in a world dissolving into shame. A sliver of control.
The student market buzzed with activity, a stark contrast to the dead silence he had inflicted upon his room the night before. Here, the world was painfully alive. He navigated the gauntlet of stalls, his worn robes an island of coarse linen in a sea of silks and fine cottons.
He finally reached a supply stall tucked away in a corner, its wares piled high with chaotic energy. He avoided the vendor's gaze, his voice a low murmur. "Ten sheets of practice paper. The cheapest you have."
The old man's eyes flickered over him, a brief, pitying glance that was almost worse than open mockery. Without a word, he pulled a bundle of coarse, yellowish scrolls from beneath the counter. The paper was rough enough to fray a lesser brush. It was all Jin Wei could afford.
He paid the coppers, the metal cool and insignificant in his sweaty palm. He clutched the bundle to his chest like a shield and turned to leave, his only goal the solitude of his room. He just wanted to escape.
To avoid the main thoroughfare, he took a shortcut through a small, secluded bamboo courtyard. The tall green stalks offered a brief illusion of peace, their leaves rustling in a gentle rhythm. It was a path he often took to avoid notice, a quiet refuge from the academy's relentless judgment.
Today, it was a trap.
Sun Jian barred the path. He stood flanked by two of his sneering cronies, their postures a study in predatory casualness. Sun Jian's lips curled into a slow, cruel smile.
"Well, well," he said, his voice smooth and laced with venom. "Look what the wind blew in. I thought you'd have crawled into a hole by now, Jin Wei."
Jin Wei stopped, his heart sinking into a cold pit of dread. His knuckles were white where he gripped his new scrolls. He said nothing, knowing any word would be twisted and used against him.
Sun Jian took a step closer, his gaze falling to the bundle in Jin Wei's arms. "What's this? Buying supplies? Are you practicing how to write an apology worthy of your family name?"
One of the cronies snickered, the sound oily and loud in the quiet courtyard.
"Leave me alone, Sun Jian," Jin Wei said, his voice tight.
"Leave you alone?" Sun Jian feigned surprise. "But the fun is just beginning." He gave a subtle nod to the taller of his two lackeys.
The crony took a clumsy, deliberate step forward. He "stumbled," his shoulder slamming into Jin Wei's chest with enough force to send him staggering back. The bundle of scrolls flew from his grasp.
They landed with a soft, wet slap in a muddy puddle left by the morning's rain.
The world narrowed to his ruined paper, dark water and filth soaking into the cheap scrolls. The struggle for those few coppers, the humiliation—it all culminated in this single, deliberate act of destruction.
A silent, white-hot rage flooded him. It was a physical force, tightening his jaw until his teeth ached and making his hands clench into fists at his sides. He wanted to launch himself at them, to feel his knuckles connect with Sun Jian's smug face.
He couldn't. He was outmatched. Any retaliation would only earn him a swift, brutal beating and further disgrace. The impotence was a physical agony, a poison that left him shaking and silent.
A shadow fell over the courtyard entrance. "That's enough."
Lin's voice, cold and clipped, cut through the tension. She stepped into the clearing, her hand resting on the hilt of the short sword at her waist. Her presence instantly shifted the dynamic. The two cronies tensed, their bravado faltering before her coiled readiness. They recognized a true fighter.
Sun Jian, however, remained perfectly calm. He turned to her with an almost bored expression. "Ah, the loyal watchdog. Come to bark for your master?"
"He is not my master," Lin stated, her eyes like chips of flint. "And you will leave him be."
"Or what?" Sun Jian laughed, a short, ugly sound. "You'll draw on me? The heir to House Sun?" He took a deliberate step toward her, his smile widening. "Go on. I'm sure the magistrates would be fascinated. A low-born retainer physically harms a noble. The penalty for that is quite severe, isn't it? A quick beheading, I believe. No trial necessary."
Lin froze. The threat was not idle; it was law. The Empire's rigid hierarchy checkmated her strength, her skill, her loyalty. Her hand fell away from her sword, her expression one of helpless fury.
With Lin neutralized, Sun Jian turned his full attention back to Jin Wei. He gestured to the muddy scrolls, his voice dripping with condescension. "This brawling in the mud is beneath us. Our kind settles disputes in a civilized manner."
He stood tall, his voice rising to carry across the courtyard. "I, Sun Jian of House Sun, formally challenge you, Jin Wei of no house worth naming, to a sanctioned Ink Duel."
By academy statute, sanctioned Ink Duels settled disputes the courts dared not touch; to refuse one was to wear the mark of cowardice forever.
The words hung in the air, a public declaration. A point of no return.
"One week from today," Sun Jian continued, savoring the moment. "In the main training hall. The winner will have the right to demand a price from the loser. Any price."
Jin Wei stared at him, his mind reeling. He was trapped. To refuse was to be branded a coward for life, cementing his family's disgrace beyond recovery. He would face endless torment. To accept was to walk into a battle against a master of the Resonant Path, a fight he had no conventional way of winning. A choice between a slow death and a fast one.
His gaze dropped to the ruined scrolls, a symbol of his pathetic hope. He looked at Lin, her face a mask of rage and powerlessness. He looked back at Sun Jian's smug, triumphant face, a face that had haunted him his entire life.
The despair inside him didn't break. It crystalized, hardening into something cold, sharp, and absolute.
His thoughts flickered between fear and relief — at least the rules gave his shame a shape.
His voice emerged unnaturally steady, a chilling calm that betrayed the storm raging within him. "I accept."
It was a death sentence. But as Jin Wei met Sun Jian's surprised eyes, the phantom chill of the inkstone prickled his skin. It was a silent promise of terrible, ruinous power.
And for the first time, he was willing to pay its price.
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Your support keeps the brush moving. Gratitude from the ink-stained author.