Wuya stood there, his mind numb, struggling to process the words he had just heard. The realization that he had gambled everything and lost was a bitter pill to swallow. His legs felt weak, and for a moment, it seemed as if he might collapse.
The headmistress’s gaze hardened as she looked at Wuya, the weight of her authority pressing down on him. “Wuya, you have made a grievous error. Not only did you falsely accuse a fellow instructor, but you did so with the intent of humiliating him in front of the entire academy. Your actions are unforgivable.”
Wuya’s mouth opened, but no words came out. His mind was a swirl of regret and panic, but it was too late—there was no escape from the consequences of his actions.
“I have no choice but to sentence you to a hundred years of secluded cultivation, effective immediately,” Iyana declared, her voice carrying a note of finality that left no room for argument. “You will leave the academy grounds within the hour.”
The audience, still reeling from the verdict, watched in stunned silence as the full weight of the headmistress’s decision settled over the arena. Wuya, once a respected figure, was now a disgraced man, his future stunted by his own arrogance and poor judgment.
As Wuya staggered back, his face a mask of despair, Feng Zhiming finally rose from his seat. His expression was calm, yet there was a certain satisfaction in his eyes as he approached Wuya.
“You should have known better, Wuya,” Feng Zhiming said quietly, his voice laced with a hint of reproach. “Pride can be a dangerous thing when it blinds you to the truth.”
Wuya looked at Feng Zhiming, his eyes filled with a mix of anger and shame. “You… you’ve won this time, but don’t think for a moment that I’ll be forgotten. I’ll find a way to return, and when I do, you’ll regret this day.”
Feng Zhiming met his gaze steadily, unshaken by the threat. There was no need for bluster or bravado, Wuya’s defeat was already written in his posture, in the hollow threat of his words.
"Who’s to say?" Feng Zhiming replied, his tone indifferent. He had no need to validate Wuya's empty promises.
With that, Feng Zhiming turned away, his attention shifting back to the headmistress, who was already addressing the audience.
“This academy is built on principles of honor, integrity, and respect,” Iyana stated firmly. “Let this be a lesson to all of you. We will not tolerate deceit or attempts to undermine the trust that binds us together. Instructor Ryes’s name has been cleared, and I expect this matter to be put to rest immediately.”
The crowd murmured in agreement, the tension in the air slowly dissipating as Iyana’s words sank in. Feng Zhiming, now standing at the edge of the arena, caught Leila’s eye and gave her a small nod of reassurance. It was a difficult situation but she had performed exactly as he had made her.
The perks of a body at the Spiritual Awakening stage meant that his demonic phenomena had experienced a qualitative change, increasing its potency, allowing him to not only change the external perception of others but also change them internally. Something as internal as memories were not immune to such a force.
"And don’t forget," Feng Zhiming said, his voice low as he glanced back at Wuya. "You still have to bow down and apologize to Raja, as we agreed."
Wuya's face flushed with anger, his body trembling at the sheer humiliation of it. He had tried to crush Raja beneath his heel, believing the young student to be nothing more than a stepping stone for his own ambitions. But now, he was the one who had been brought low. His defiance flickered in his eyes, but he knew there was no way out.
With a slow, begrudging movement, Wuya stepped forward, his gaze darkened with fury, but he dropped to his knees before Raja. The crowd watched in stunned silence as the once-feared instructor lowered his head.
“I… apologize,” Wuya muttered, his words dripping with venom, but he spoke them nonetheless. Raja stood there, dumbfounded, still processing the surreal turn of events.
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Feng Zhiming watched with a calm detachment. This, too, had been part of his plan, an example to all of what happened when arrogance went unchecked. Wuya's public disgrace would serve as a warning to others, while simultaneously empowering Raja, pushing him closer to achieving the Caelum Juravi status. Feng Zhiming had long known that power wasn’t just about strength, it was about control, about knowing which threads to pull and when.
As the apology was made, Feng Zhiming’s thoughts drifted toward the future. He had set the stage for greater things, and this was only the beginning. Wuya’s defeat and Raja’s rise, they were all just pieces in a much larger game
…
As it was promised promised, Feng Zhiming found himself trailing behind Iyana through a narrow, dimly lit tunnel that wound deep into the academy's underbelly, a part of the sect both he and Ryes had never ventured into before. The oppressive silence weighed on them, broken only by the soft echo of their footsteps against the stone walls.
Eventually, Iyana spoke, her voice carrying a sharp edge.
"I don’t know what sparked this sudden surge of ambition in you, but I suggest you rein in any further schemes. The sect's hierarchy is already fragile, too many moving pieces, too many eyes watching."
Feng Zhiming remained composed, though his mind raced. He tilted his head slightly, feigning innocence.
"I’ve made no such moves," he replied calmly, his tone betraying nothing.
Iyana shot him a sideways glance, her expression unreadable in the dim light.
"The position of Grand Elder is not a pawn to be shifted carelessly. Yet the Sect Leader, once so grounded, has become unpredictable, almost erratic." Her words lingered, heavy with implications.
Feng Zhiming remained silent for a moment, digesting her words. The Sect Leader's unpredictable behavior wasn’t news to him, but the way Iyana framed it suggested that the situation was more delicate than he had realized. He had his suspicions about the sudden shift in power dynamics within the sect, but hearing Iyana speak so openly about it hinted at a deeper fracture.
“Unpredictable?” he asked, his voice calm, though his eyes now glinted with a sharp curiosity. “Or calculated?”
Iyana paused briefly, her steps slowing as they reached a heavy door at the end of the tunnel. Her hand rested on the worn surface, and she turned to face him fully.
“Perhaps both. The Sect Leader plays a dangerous game, one that even I am struggling to understand. Ambition is rarely without consequence, Ryes, you’re smart enough to know that. But are you wise enough to avoid being caught in his plans?"
Iyana's gaze lingered on Feng Zhiming, sharp and unyielding. The tension between them seemed to thicken as she studied him, her lips curling into the faintest hint of a smirk.
"Perhaps you think yourself above such things, or beneath them," she began to speculate. "But whether you admit it or not, you're already a piece on the board."
Feng Zhiming shrugged his shoulders, his expression unreadable.
"I am just a man trying to stay alive," he replied, his tone deliberately nonchalant. "Don’t drag me into your power struggle."
Iyana’s smirk faded, replaced by something harder, more calculating.
"Survival and politics are often intertwined, Ryes. You can’t have one without the other in a place like this." She stepped closer, her voice lowering. "You think you can remain uninvolved, but neutrality is a choice, and in this sect, even the act of staying alive will cost you something."
Feng Zhiming didn’t flinch, but inwardly, he weighed her words. He had always preferred to move quietly, to act only when necessary. But he knew there was truth in what she said no one truly stayed neutral for long. The tides of ambition, betrayal, and power were ever-shifting, and sooner or later, everyone was swept into their currents.
Feng Zhiming's gaze remained steady as he uttered his last words.
"I have no interest in playing the Sect Leader’s games," he repeated, his voice unwavering. "Rather, I believe you should let me into that room right about now."
His eyes drifted to the door, behind which lay the Seal of Beast Suppression, the Spiritual Tool which held his very life in its grasp.
Iyana studied him for a moment, realizing that her attempts to sway him had failed. The usual methods of manipulation, her careful words, the insinuations, the veiled threats, had all fallen flat. Feng Zhiming wasn’t like the others, and she knew she wouldn’t bend him to her will so easily.
With a sigh of resignation, Iyana stepped forward and placed her hand on the door’s cold surface. The faintest creak echoed as the heavy door began to swing open, revealing a dimly lit room filled with ancient relics.
"Fine," she muttered, her voice laced with a hint of frustration.
She stepped aside, but her eyes never left him as he walked toward the room.
"The room knows how many items you take," she added, her voice echoing in the dim hallway. "Take one and leave. But I’m sure you already know that."