The mountain path reeked of frostbitten pine needles and nervous sweat. Lin Hao’s enhanced hearing tracked the mob’s approach—boots crunching gravel at 2.3 steps per second, heartbeats spiking with voyeuristic anticipation. Four Treabytes’ talons tightened on his shoulder, injecting a mild sedative that neutralized the crowd’s ultrasonic heckling frequencies.

  “Lin Hao! Did you really claim first rank?” A first-year’s voice cracked mid-sentence, his breath steaming in patterns mimicking the academy’s emergency runes.

  Lin Hao’s augmented nostrils flared—scenting ambition, envy, and the burnt-plastic stench of recording talismans. “See for yourselves.” His reply carried the metallic resonance of Fourth Meridian’s energy vibrating through vocal cords. The crowd recoiled as he activated Dragon Steps, his afterimage dissolving into ozone-scented mist.

  Three Minutes Later – Ranking Monolith

  The mob’s collective gasp frosted the air into temporary ice sculptures. Crimson glyphs pulsed at the monolith’s apex—Lin Hao—each stroke bleeding prismatic light that etched afterimages into retinas. A sophomore clawed at her eyes, screaming about “cursed illumination.”

  Instructor Wu Chi’s jade medallion grew warm against his chest, its embedded spirit beast purring at Lin Hao’s triumph. “A dragon among minnows,” he murmured, tasting the copper-penny tang of destiny. Nearby, a bald instructor’s data slate overheated, its screen warping to display Li Changfeng’s combat metrics—a five-star warrior smelling of sulfur and stolen opportunities.

  Dormitory Sector

  Lin Hao’s boots clicked against hallstones infused with centuries of student anxieties. The door creaked open to reveal empty bunks—Lei Meng’s straw mattress still indented with the shape of his mountain-village posture, Qin Yu’s side table littered with pheromone vials labeled Guaranteed Charm.

  The stasis field around his bed hummed a lullaby in forgotten machine code. Lin Hao’s ring flared—a violet spark that scorched the air with lavender and encryption algorithms. The burning talisman’s smoke coiled into Elder Ziye’s spectral face, her voice crackling like ice thawing under interrogation lamps.

  “Target: Minister Ma Shuo-liang. Third-tier official. Location: Minister Wang’s estate, three days hence. Bounty: Fifty million.”

  The transmission ended with a scent of singed bureaucracy. Lin Hao’s tongue found the suicide capsule again—its bitterness now layered with wintergreen anticipation. Outside, a frost falcon’s cry echoed the exact frequency of palace assassination codes.

  Faculty Lounge – Secret Annex

  Instructor Wu Chi’s hands trembled as he unlocked the heritage vault. The stench of mummified battle plans assaulted his nostrils. His prize glowed in the darkness—a jade slip containing the Nine Revolutions Dragon Tempering Art, its surface slick with condensation from centuries of desperate breaths.

  “Forge him into an unstoppable blade,” he whispered to the vault’s guardian statue. The stone golem’s eyes flickered with approval, its granite joints creaking out a warning in Old Imperial Morse: Beware the banquet’s third course.

  Royal Archives – Sublevel 9

  Minister Ma’s dossier glowed under ultraviolet scrutiny. Lin Hao’s fingers traced the biomantic ink—each stroke detailing bribes paid in star-metal ingots and orphaned spirit beasts. A pressed nightshade petal fell from page 47, releasing soporific pollen that made Four Treabytes’ gears stutter.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Crime: Diverting flood relief funds to Prince Yan Chen’s southern garrison.

  Weakness: Obsessive consumption of Snowpeak Oolong brewed with maiden’s breath.

  Lin Hao’s lips curved. Tea preferences made for elegant kill vectors.

  City Outskirts – Black Market Hub

  Gu Yunle haggled over a crate of resonance grenades, his breath reeking of pickled scorpion venom. “For my friend’s housewarming party,” he told the vendor, winking. “The kind of party where uninvited guests leave in floating coffins.”

  The merchant slid across a vial of delayed-action neurotoxin disguised as ceremonial perfume. “Compliments of the house. Tell your friend the cobra sends its regards.”

  Dormitory – 23:47

  Lin Hao lay motionless, parsing the ceiling’s energy currents. Fourth Meridian pulsed in time with the academy’s underground ley lines—a rhythm older than the first dynasty. Somewhere beneath the foundations, the ranking monolith’s blood-red glyphs began etching themselves into the bones of the mountain.

  Four Treabytes preened, its alloy feathers shedding nano-dust that formed temporary constellations on the floor—battlefield maps from wars yet to come.

  Fourth Prince Yan Chen

  The dormitory reeked of burnt wiring and anticipation. Lin Hao's nostrils flared at the ozone tang of overclocked evolution matrices as he locked the door. Four Treabytes perched on the windowsill, photoreceptors dimmed to avoid witnessing forbidden protocols.

  "System. Animal evolution."

  The command tasted of lithium batteries and frozen mercury.

  Ding.

  Holographic panels materialized behind Lin Hao's eyelids—vibrant with biometric data. The Kung Fu Fly's schematics glowed jade-green, its chitinous wings now edged with fractal patterns capable of slicing through tungsten. Below it, the Blackscale Arachnid's profile pulsed crimson, newly grown venom glands swelling with neurotoxins that smelled of burnt almonds.

  Lin Hao's fingers twitched through authentication gestures. Two billion credits evaporated from his account with the sizzle of frying neural pathways.

  Evolution Sequence Initiated.

  The room's temperature plummeted. Frost crawled up the walls as the Fire-Scale Tiger materialized—its blue flames casting cobalt shadows that writhed like living things. The beast's growl vibrated at 44Hz, resonating with the suicide capsule in Lin Hao's molar.

  "Magnificent." Lin Hao's breath crystallized mid-air. The tiger's flames burned cold enough to freeze plasma, its claws leaving smoking troughs in the reinforced floor tiles.

  Four Treabytes emitted an alarmed squawk. Warning: Thermal signature exceeds safe thresholds. Probability of structural collapse: 63.8%.

  The door handle rattled. Qin Yu's voice cut through the subsonic hum of evolving creatures—"Lin Hao! Got someone you need to meet!"

  Three Heartbeats Later

  Yan Chen's cologne announced him first—notes of glacial meltwater and star-metal ore. The fourth prince's pulse registered at precisely 60bpm despite the room's bone-chilling cold. His ocular implants whirred faintly as they analyzed the frost patterns on Lin Hao's boots.

  "Your performance in the Illusory Arena..." Yan Chen's smile carried the weight of dynasties. "Was either genius or heresy. The ministers can't decide which."

  Lin Hao's tongue found the capsule again. Through Four Treabytes' lenses, he saw quantum filaments of ancestral energy swirling around the prince—a living crown of dark matter.

  "Luck," Lin Hao lied smoothly. The taste of frozen lychees flooded his mouth—a psychosomatic tell he forced down.

  Yan Chen's laugh sounded like glacier calving. "Luck that melts three generations of combat algorithms? I'll need barrels of that variety." His fingers brushed the frost-encased bedframe, ancestral tattoos flaring briefly with void energy.

  Outside – Observation Post Z-9

  Instructor Wu Chi monitored the thermal bloom through infrared binoculars. His data slate chirped warnings about energy spikes matching forbidden evolution rituals.

  "Just student projects," he murmured to the surveillance golems, tossing dreamleaf pellets that bloomed into fractal smoke screens. "Nothing to warrant third-level audits."

  Dorm Interior

  The Kung Fu Fly materialized on Lin Hao's shoulder, its ice-edged wings humming with contained violence. Yan Chen's smile didn't waver, but his pupils dilated 0.3mm—a tell Four Treabytes logged for later analysis.

  "Remarkable specimen." The prince extended a hand, palm-up. A single snowflake crystallized above it—perfect hexagonal structure warping into imperial sigils. "But will it dance when the real music starts?"

  Lin Hao's reply froze in his throat as emergency klaxons blared. Through Four Treabytes' shared optics, he saw the ranking monolith erupting miles away—his name pulsing crimson in rhythms matching Yan Chen's breathing patterns.