Feng Zhiming strode down the dimly lit corridors of the academy, his steps echoing off the stone walls. The students were all engaged in lectures, leaving the hallways eerily quiet. He had been summoned by the headmistress to discuss a decision made by the Sect leader—a decision that was, no doubt, discussed among the upper echelon of the Sect.

{Tormenting the child, are you? You’re far more heartless than I initially imagined.}

A voice stirred within him, like a whisper from the shadows. Feng Zhiming’s eyes narrowed slightly.

"Aren’t you the very one who tried to deceive me into that accursed agreement? Scholar of Black, don’t feign righteousness now. You’ve never held any qualms about manipulation."

{Morals? They’re but fleeting notions—sometimes they surge within you, other times they bind you in chains. The question is, what will you do next? Kill him? Steal his fate or perhaps…}

Feng’s pace never faltered, though his thoughts turned cold. The old scholar was always testing him, probing for weaknesses like a predator. He shook his head slightly.

"It’s always a game of riddles with you, old man. But yes, killing him now seems like a waste of potential."

{Ah, bait... or perhaps a shield? You plan to use the boy as a pawn, I see. You’ve spent all this time cultivating his trust.}

“…”

Feng Zhiming’s silence was telling, but the Scholar of Black always managed to see through him. His deductions were sharper than Feng had anticipated.

{But don’t forget, the one the child trusts is not Feng Zhiming—the man who slaughtered his Sect and shattered his pride. He trusts Ryes, your fabricated persona.}

The reminder struck deep, but Feng remained composed. Of course, he knew this already.

The heavy wooden door at the end of the hall creaked open, and Feng stepped inside. Headmistress Iyana sat behind her desk, slowly twirling a feathered quill between her fingers. Her presence was as cold and calculated as ever.

“Ah, Instructor Ryes,” she greeted him, her voice soft but commanding. “Thank you for coming so promptly.”

Feng inclined his head slightly and took a seat opposite her.

"Such is the duty of instructors, Headmistress."

She studied him, her sharp eyes narrowing as if she could read the layers of deception beneath his skin. The silence between them stretched, a delicate tension hanging in the air. Feng knew better than to break it first—this was her game, and he understood the value of silence in negotiations.

"So, Ryes," Iyana finally spoke, her tone laced with curiosity. "What was it you took from the Sect’s treasury? A weapon, perhaps?"

“...”

Feng Zhiming’s expression remained impassive. Rather than addressing her question directly, he deflected with practiced ease.

“Surely you didn’t summon me here to discuss my personal gains from a mere bet.”

Iyana chuckled, a soft, knowing sound, before she leaned back slightly.

"No, I did not. The Sect leader has received a request for aid from the Wildlands."

Feng’s mind sharpened, his attention fully drawn to her words. This was the moment he had been waiting for. An invisible smirk tugged at the corners of his thoughts, though his face betrayed nothing.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

"So, you wish for me to go?" His tone was neutral, calculated, careful not to reveal any eagerness.

Iyana raised an eyebrow, her smile fading as her voice took on a more serious edge.

"Heavens, no. The Sect Master has no such intentions. In fact, he plans to lock down the Sect. His growing paranoia about the world’s shifting power dynamics is clouding his judgment."

For the first time, Feng Zhiming felt a flicker of surprise, though he kept it hidden beneath layers of calm. The Sect Master had always been cautious, but a full lockdown? He inhaled quietly, letting the information settle.

"This is... unexpected," he thought to himself. He maintained his composed exterior as he asked, "Why are you telling me this before informing the others?"

Iyana’s gaze darkened, her voice dropping to a near whisper.

“No reason in particular. Just take it as a personal favor. Or can you think of another reason?”

Feng Zhiming’s eyes narrowed slightly as he studied Iyana. There was something off about her words, something too casual for a matter of this magnitude. He had spent years honing his instincts, and now those same instincts whispered that she was playing a game of her own.

As much as he had his own schemes, it seemed the headmistress was weaving one of her own. She wanted something from him—something she hadn’t yet revealed. But what?

"You don't expect me to believe that, do you?" he thought, his mind racing through possibilities. Was this an attempt to gauge his loyalties? A subtle test to see how far she could push him? Or perhaps there was something more sinister, a deeper motive hidden beneath her calm exterior.

Feng leaned back slightly in his chair, maintaining his composure, though his thoughts were already in motion. He would not fall into her trap so easily.

"I see," he replied coolly, his tone indifferent. "A personal favor, then. How generous of you to extend such a request."

Iyana smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. The air between them felt thick with unspoken tension, a silent battle of wills. Feng knew this game well, he had played it countless times before with others, manipulating and being manipulated in turn. But Iyana was different. Her moves were always subtle, never giving too much away.

"Surely you didn’t summon me for favors alone," he added, probing. "Is there something else on your mind, Headmistress?"

For a brief moment, something flickered in Iyana’s gaze, a hint of amusement, perhaps? Or maybe something darker? But just as quickly as it appeared, it vanished, leaving her expression as inscrutable as ever.

"Perhaps I simply enjoy your company, Ryes," she said softly, the words laced with an edge that left him unsettled.

Feng Zhiming felt the pull of the unspoken challenge. He was aware now—this wasn’t a simple conversation. She was fishing for something, but for what purpose? He couldn’t quite put his finger on it yet. But he knew one thing for certain: whatever she wanted, it was more than just a favor.

The headmistress had laid a trap, and now it was his move.

“I have no opinion of the matter, nor do I deign to pick and choose sides at this moment. But I will hold my tongue in neutrality,” Feng Zhiming said, his voice steady, betraying none of the calculation stirring within him. These were his final words as he rose from his chair, signaling the end of the conversation.

Iyana watched him closely, her gaze sharp and unwavering. But Feng had already decided not to linger. Without waiting for her to respond, he turned on his heel and left the room, the soft thud of the door closing behind him echoing in the still air.

As he walked through the empty corridors once more, his mind raced. The headmistress was playing a game—one he couldn’t yet see clearly. She had maneuvered carefully, trying to pull him into something that smelled of intrigue, but without the full picture, Feng Zhiming couldn’t make his next move.

His neutrality was a temporary shield, a way to buy time. Time to observe, to listen, and most importantly, to discover what lay beneath the surface. He knew better than to make alliances in the dark, not without understanding the stakes. And right now, the stakes were still hidden.

“Neutrality,” he thought to himself, “is just another weapon in a long game.”

Feng Zhiming’s steps quickened as he made his way through the academy, slipping into the shadows where he felt most at ease. He would bide his time and watch the pieces fall into place. Only then would he act.

His mouth was already curling into a faint smile, a subtle curve that barely touched his eyes. If this was truly a matter of pieces and moves, then he had no shortage of either.

Feng Zhiming thrived in games of strategy and deception. He had cultivated a reputation of patience, always letting others reveal their hands while he kept his cards close. He knew that in this world, every person could be used as a pawn, every situation a potential opportunity.

"Let them play their games," he thought, his smile deepening as the echo of his footsteps filled the empty corridor. "I am never without options."

The satisfaction of knowing he held unseen advantages coursed through him. Iyana, for all her cleverness, had underestimated him if she believed she could push him into a corner so easily. This game had only just begun, and Feng Zhiming had yet to make his move.

He would wait, watch as others scrambled to adjust their strategies, and when the time was right, he would act decisively. Until then, his neutrality would serve as both a shield and a weapon.

"In the end," he mused, "I always control my own board."