Echoes of a Street Fight
The walk back from the hospital was a quiet one, the city's evening sounds—distant spirit-powered vehicles, the hum of neon signs, the murmur of late-night vendors—washing over them like a gentle tide. The adrenaline of the fight had ebbed, leaving behind a reflective, somber energy among the four teenagers.
Yao Xuan replayed the system's chime in his mind.
'So, that's how it works,' he mused, his footsteps falling in rhythm with his thoughts. The first point was standard—a quantifiable measure of overcoming a power-grade obstacle. The second, however, was a revelation. It wasn't the shallow recognition of classmates; it was the deep, resonant gratitude of people whose lives he had tangibly improved. It was a energy born of relief and newfound safety, a crude but potent form of faith. The system's mention of "widespread fame" suddenly held new, profound meaning. It wasn't about vanity; it was a potential pathway to power rooted in the goodwill of people. A protector, not just a conqueror.
"Boss," Xie Xie's voice, still carrying a slight rasp, broke the silence. He walked a bit stiffly, but the healing light had done its work. "Thank you. For Uncle Li. And for… well, for not making me look like a complete idiot back there."
Yao Xuan glanced at him. The usual arrogant glint was subdued, replaced by a sincerity that was more valuable. "We're a team, Xie Xie. We look out for each other. And we look out for people like Uncle Li. That scum wasn't just your problem; he was a blight on the whole street." His words were simple, but they carried the weight of a principle.
"What about those other guys?" Tang Wulin asked, his brow furrowed with concern. He had been the steadfast guard at the door, his solid presence preventing any escape. "The ones who were just standing around. They're ordinary people, right? The Federation laws…"
"Are clear about Soul Masters not oppressing the non-awakened," Yao Xuan finished, nodding. "And we won't." He stopped and turned to face the small crowd of shopkeepers who had followed them at a respectful distance, their faces illuminated by the flickering street lamps. "Everyone!" he called out, his voice calm but carrying. "These men work for Guanglong. We, as Soul Masters, have done what we can against the one with power. But justice should belong to everyone. We leave them in your hands. Let those who have been wronged find their own redress. Just… keep it within reason."
A wave of determined murmurs passed through the crowd. There was no bloodlust in their eyes, but a fierce, communal resolve. The butcher, the noodle seller, the tailor—people who had paid for "protection" with fear—now stepped forward, not as a mob, but as a jury and executioner of street-level justice. Yao Xuan watched for a moment, ensuring the energy was one of catharsis, not mindless violence, before turning away. True justice, he believed, sometimes needed to be felt by the community it served.
The trip to the hospital was a blur of sterile lights and hushed urgency. On the makeshift stretcher, Uncle Li's face was pale, his breathing shallow. Xie Xie hovered, his earlier bravado completely gone, replaced by a raw, worried guilt. "He's got all the 'highs'—blood pressure, cholesterol, sugar… and that kick…" he muttered, more to himself than anyone.
In the stark white examination room, the contrast between their youthful vitality and Uncle Li's fragile mortality was painfully clear. Yao Xuan observed the efficiency of the nurses, the soft beep of the soul-monitoring device. It was another facet of this world, far removed from spirit rings and martial souls. When Xie Xie quietly arranged for the payment, leaving his contact information, Yao Xuan felt a swell of respect for his friend. The brash assassin-type had a loyal heart.
It was deep night when they finally approached the familiar gates of Donghai Academy. The colossal structure was a silhouette against the star-speckled sky, its windows mostly dark.
"Brother Xuan," Tang Wulin said, breaking the long silence as they crossed the deserted plaza. "Should we report what happened to Teacher Wu?"
Yao Xuan considered it. Wu Zhangkong was not just a teacher of combat; he was a link to a larger world of rules and consequences. "We should," he concluded. "Transparency is better. And Guanglong mentioned a 'brother.' There may be repercussions we haven't seen yet."
They reached the fork in the path where the girls' dormitory diverged. Gu Yue had been silent for most of the return journey, a quiet, thoughtful presence. Now, she paused. The moonlight seemed to favor her, casting her in a silvery halo, deepening the purple hues in her hair until they looked like twilight captured in silk.
"I will see you tomorrow for training," she said, her voice like clear water over smooth stones. Her eyes met Yao Xuan's, and for a fleeting moment, the usual cool distance softened into something akin to approval. A faint, almost invisible smile touched her lips—not a girlish grin, but the subtle, knowing curve of someone who had seen a confirmed hypothesis. It was breathtaking not for any romantic allure, but for its sheer, elegant truth. She was the Silver Dragon King, and she had just witnessed the Ancestral Dragon act as a guardian of a territory. It resonated.
"See you tomorrow, Gu Yue," Yao Xuan replied, his tone matching her quiet sincerity. "Rest well."
She nodded once, then turned and walked away, her figure soon swallowed by the shadows leading to her dormitory.
Even after she was gone, the image lingered in Yao Xuan's mind—not with longing, but with a sense of profound alignment. Her silent acknowledgment was worth more than any crowd's cheers.
The knock on Wu Zhangkong's door echoed in the silent faculty hallway. When the door opened, their teacher stood framed in the warm light of his Spartan living space. He was in simple training clothes, a book on advanced spirit theory lying open on a desk. His blue eyes swept over them, missing nothing—the faint dust on Yao Xuan's uniform, the slight protective hunch in Tang Wulin's shoulders, the residual tension in Xie Xie's frame.
"It's late," Wu Zhangkong stated, his voice its usual controlled chill. He stepped aside, allowing them entry.
Yao Xuan recounted the events with clinical precision: the celebration, the confrontation, Xie Xie's intervention and defeat, his own measured response, the handling of the henchmen, and the hospital visit. He omitted nothing, including Guanglong's muttered threat about his brother.
Wu Zhangkong listened, his expression an impassive mask. When Yao Xuan finished, a long silence stretched, filled only by the faint hum of the spirit-powered lamp.
"You exercised restraint," Wu Zhangkong finally said, the words a sharp punctuation. "You used appropriate force to neutralize a threat, protected civilians, and avoided violating Federation statutes regarding non-awakened citizens. Your tactical and legal judgment was correct."
The praise was delivered like a weather report, but coming from him, it was monumental. Then, his eyes narrowed, the temperature in the room seeming to drop a few degrees. "The trouble, however, may not be over. Corruption that brazen often has roots. A 'brother' in the shadows implies a network, or at least a protector with some authority."
He stood, walking to the window and looking out at the sleeping campus. His back was straight, a blade sheathed in humility. "Remember this," he said, his voice low but carrying absolute clarity. "You are my students. You acted with honor within the bounds of your power. If the consequences of that honor come seeking you, they will find me first."
He turned back, his gaze icy yet fiercely protective. "As the saying goes, when the sky falls, the tall ones hold it up. My shoulders are broader than yours. For now. Your only task is to prepare for your next match. Leave the political shadows to me. Rest assured."
The words settled over the three boys, a mantle of security woven from cold steel. It wasn't warm comfort; it was the unshakeable promise of a fortress at their backs.
"Thank you, Teacher Wu," they said in near unison, the gratitude deep and genuine.
As they filed out into the cool night air, the weight of the day's violence finally lifted, replaced by the lighter, purposeful weight of a teacher's pledge. The path ahead was still fraught with challenge, but for tonight, under the watch of a stern, principled guardian, they could truly rest. Yao Xuan felt the two Gold Evolution Points hum within him, one earned by strength, the other by compassion. Both, he realized, were essential to the path of a true dragon—a being of supreme power and profound responsibility.