Gu Minghui considered Yao Xian's words.
Stick with an elder.
The strategy had merit. Elders answered to the Eminence, but unlike servants, they had standing. An elder vouching for a divine existence carried weight—enough, perhaps, to secure protection if the realm's instability erupted into something worse.
But vouching was a risk.
Elders didn't take on liabilities without reason. They needed to see value.
What made Yao so confident she could secure such an alliance?
He studied her across the table—her composed expression, her unhurried eating, the certainty in her voice when she'd said leave that to me.
She was a mystery.
As always.
Gu Minghui sighed and pushed back from the table.
"I'll trust your judgment," he said, rising.
Yao Xian didn't look up from her meal.
He left without another word.
---
✦
The training room had become their regular gathering place.
Chen Yè stood at the edge, watching his team move through exercises. Six months had passed since the guidance sessions began. Of the two hundred children sorted into their group, one hundred and seventy-eight had evolved to Resonance stage.
Twenty-two had failed.
Chen Yè was one of them.
He still walked with his team. Still attended sessions. Still contributed observations, tactical suggestions, strategic thinking that had made him valuable.
But he did it wearing a mask.
The covering was simple—dark fabric wrapped around his lower face, secured behind his head. Improvised from training room supplies. Not elegant. Just functional.
It served its purpose.
He couldn't withstand the pressure of their presence. The crushing weight of ten evolved existences radiating power they didn't realize they possessed. Every moment in their company pushed him closer to the edge of consciousness.
He had to stay in control.
So he covered his face.
Let the mask hide what his expression would betray.
---
In the center of the training space, two team members faced each other.
Kiran Xu stood with feet planted, grey eyes focused. Across from him, Vera Lin circled slowly, tracking his every movement.
Void against Command.
Kiran moved first.
His hand extended toward the space between them. The air shimmered—subtle, barely perceptible. A zone of silence bloomed into existence.
Small. Perhaps two meters across. But absolute.
All ambient sound simply ceased within its boundaries.
Kiran stepped into his own zone.
Sound voided, Chen Yè noted. Eliminated one aspect of reality within a defined area.
Vera adjusted immediately.
She couldn't hear him now. Couldn't track his movement by sound. But she didn't need to.
She opened her mouth.
"Stop."
The word carried weight.
Chen Yè felt it even from the edge of the room—a pulse pressing against his consciousness, demanding obedience. Kiran staggered. His forward momentum died mid-step, body freezing as the command fought his will.
Only for a fraction.
He pushed through, jaw clenching, and continued moving.
She imbues a single word with conceptual power, Chen Yè observed. Target must be within hearing range. Command must be physically possible. Can momentarily compel someone of similar level.
Only momentarily.
Kiran closed the distance while Vera recovered. His hand swept toward her—another zone manifesting. This one voiding light instead of sound.
Darkness swallowed her.
Localized. Absolute. A sphere perhaps a meter across, centered on her position. She vanished completely.
"Trip."
Her voice emerged from the darkness—another command, another pulse.
Kiran's foot caught on nothing. He stumbled forward, balance compromised. The void zone flickered as his concentration broke. Light rushed back.
Vera was no longer there.
She'd moved the moment darkness gave her cover, circling behind him while he fought her command. Now she stood at his flank, one hand raised.
"Drop."
Kiran's knees buckled. His body crumpled. The command caught him mid-recovery, before he could brace.
He hit the ground with a grunt.
The darkness dissolved completely.
"Yield," Vera said, standing over him.
Kiran laughed—short, breathless—and raised his hands in surrender.
---
Chen Yè watched them reset.
After a few uses, they tire out.
It was consistent. Every sparring session showed the same pattern—conceptual abilities weakening with repeated use, wielders growing visibly fatigued despite no physical exertion.
But the lectures had never explained why.
Elder Pei Leng had spoken of concepts. Of representations. Of understanding and evolution. He'd never once mentioned an energy source.
Concept use doesn't require energy, Chen Yè thought. That's what they told us. So why do they get drained?
If concepts were expressions of fundamental truths—if wielding them was simply understanding and will—there should be no limit. No fatigue. No cost beyond mental effort.
And yet.
Kiran was breathing harder now, sweat beading on his forehead. The void zones had taken something from him—something that needed time to replenish.
What fuels it?
The question had given Chen Yè sleepless nights. If he could understand how concepts worked—truly understand—he could find weaknesses. Develop strategies. Maybe find a path to evolution that didn't require the same journey everyone else had taken.
But the knowledge was beyond his reach.
---
The pressure hit again.
It came in waves—the cumulative presence of ten evolved existences, each radiating power they didn't consciously control. Chen Yè felt it press against his skull, squeeze his chest, drag at his consciousness.
He remained still.
His expression—hidden beneath the mask—contorted with strain he refused to let show in his posture. His hands, folded behind his back, clenched until his nails broke skin.
Appear calm.
Always appear calm.
The wave passed.
He breathed slowly through the fabric, letting oxygen flow into lungs that felt too tight.
---
Another bout was starting.
Maya Chen faced Quinn Liu—Illusion against Exchange. Maya's form shimmered, an afterimage appearing to her left while she stepped right. Quinn's eyes tracked the illusion for a crucial second before realizing the deception.
By then, Maya had closed the distance.
But Quinn caught her reaching hand and held on.
A moment of contact. A flicker of concentration.
Maya gasped and stumbled back, looking down at her body in confusion. Something had changed—some property shifted. Her movements were slower now, heavier, as if weight had been added to her limbs.
Quinn moved with unnatural lightness, dancing forward with borrowed grace.
Exchange, Chen Yè noted. Touched Maya and swapped a physical property. Agility, perhaps. Or density.
The fight continued, but his thoughts had already moved elsewhere.
---
Six months.
The guidance was complete.
Elder Pei Leng had fulfilled his obligation. Which meant separation was coming.
Chen Yè could feel it in the subtle shifts he'd been tracking. The guards moving differently. The elders appearing in unexpected places. The atmosphere tightening like a spring being compressed.
Maybe tomorrow.
Maybe at the end of the month.
But soon.
The evolved would move on—practical application, scenario training, preparation for missions. They would learn to use their concepts in real situations, under real pressure, against real threats.
And the unevolved?
Chen Yè's heart beat faster.
He remembered the first day. The guards who'd beaten him. The testing. The dawning horror of realizing he'd been drafted into a system that saw him as material to be processed.
What fate awaited those who couldn't evolve?
He didn't know.
Didn't want to know.
If gods exist...
The thought surfaced unbidden.
He didn't believe in gods. Never had. The divine existences that ruled this world were powerful, yes—but they weren't gods. Just beings who had accumulated enough strength to impose their will.
But if they did exist...
He couldn't hope for his situation to improve. That was foolish.
Let it not get worse.
That was all he asked.
If it's not too bad, I can handle it.
I've handled worse.
I can handle this.
Chen Yè stood at the edge of the training room, watching his team exchange moves with excited energy, lost in thoughts none of them would ever know.
The mask hid his face.
It couldn't hide his fear.
---
End of Chapter 30
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