The path back to the academy was worn and familiar—stone steps shaped by decades of cultivators ascending and descending in pursuit of power. But today, the mountain air carried an edge of stillness.
Two figures emerged from the treeline.
Mel Long walked with an easy stride, robes windswept but clean, his presence steady. The weight on his shoulders was no longer arrogance but confidence—quiet, undeniable.
Beside him, Gu Jin moved with a more grounded step—relaxed but alert, like a blade sheathed but ready.
They didn't say a word as they passed under the stone archway marking the edge of academy grounds.
The whispers began almost immediately.
"Hey… is that—?"
"No way. I thought he ran off after embarrassing himself."
"Is that Gu Jin next to him? What's he doing walking with the Long brat?"
Students training in the courtyard paused, their stances faltering.
A few bold ones didn't bother to lower their voices.
One of them, a tall boy with a silk headband and a mocking smile, turned to his group. "Look at that. Long Young Master finally crawled back down the mountain. Think he spent the week crying into his robe?"
Laughter rippled through them.
Another girl chimed in. "Or maybe he was begging some elder for mercy. He probably realized he had no shot against Guo Chen."
More laughter.
Mel and Gu Jin walked straight past them.
Not even a glance.
Not even a flicker of acknowledgement.
That silence?
That unnerved them more than any comeback would have.
They continued through the courtyard. Each step they took was met with sideways glances, hushed mutters, stiffened postures.
Mel noticed every reaction—but he didn't slow down.
Let them talk.
It wasn't until they reached the central square—where the training platforms overlooked the main halls—that the silence deepened.
Here, the more serious cultivators trained. And even they paused to look.
Because something was different.
Mel's gait wasn't lazy—it was balanced.
His aura wasn't unstable—it was contained.
His eyes didn't hold smugness—they held clarity.
And Gu Jin?
Gu Jin walked next to him like an equal. Not a servant. Not a follower.
An equal.
The silk-headband boy from earlier had followed them, emboldened by the crowd.
He stepped in front of them as they neared the main steps. "Oi, Long! Been a while. You out here for another nap in the garden?"
Mel stopped. Slowly turned. His expression calm.
Gu Jin, arms crossed, gave a small shake of his head.
Not worth it.
But Mel… smiled.
"Actually," he said, voice low and even, "I thought I'd stop by and see if the flies were still buzzing around."
The crowd snickered.
The boy's face darkened. "What did you just say?"
Mel stepped a little closer—not threatening, but with presence.
"I said," he repeated, "I've already wasted enough time. You can keep buzzing. Or you can move."
The boy hesitated. Just long enough.
And when he stepped aside?
That was the moment the crowd shifted.
The academy's central square was rarely quiet. Between sparring sessions, lectures, and gossip, it buzzed with energy.
But after Mel Long and Gu Jin's return, the noise shifted.
It wasn't louder. It was tighter. Sharper. Charged.
As Mel and Gu Jin walked past the main sparring platforms, a wave of silence followed them—not reverent silence, but uncertain. Calculated.
In the past, Mel would have basked in the attention, cracking jokes, making a show of his presence. But now?
He didn't even pause.
They were nearly past the courtyard when a voice cut through the air.
"Hey! Long!"
Mel stopped. He recognized the voice before he turned.
Wei Ping.
Not important enough to be remembered in his past life—but loud enough to always hang around those who mattered.
Wei Ping stepped up onto one of the open dueling platforms, spinning his staff lazily in his hand. His tone was mocking, but his eyes were sharp.
"You've been hiding out in the mountains for a week. You come back with your tail tucked between your legs and think you can just walk around like you own the place?"
A few chuckles rippled through the crowd.
Gu Jin scoffed under his breath. "You don't owe him anything."
Mel looked up at Wei Ping, studying the way he grinned like a hyena—hungry for attention.
But there was more behind it.
Fear. Insecurity. Pressure.
Someone had probably put him up to this. Someone who didn't like the way things were changing.
Mel stepped forward.
He didn't speak. He didn't posture.
He simply stepped onto the platform.
Gasps whispered through the watching students.
Wei Ping's smirk faltered, just for a second.
Mel dropped into a low stance. One hand forward, the other held behind him—a flowing, minimal form. His Qi didn't flare. He didn't try to intimidate.
But every cultivator in the crowd could feel it.
He was different.
Wei Ping let out a forced laugh. "Trying to look cool won't help you when you're on the ground."
Then he rushed forward, his staff spinning toward Mel's side.
Mel didn't block.
He stepped aside.
Just one step.
Wei Ping's strike missed entirely, the momentum carrying him past.
Mel turned. Fast. Efficient. His leg swept behind Wei Ping's footing.
The boy tumbled to the ground.
It was over in one exchange.
Silence, Then a Shift
For a moment, no one moved.
Then came the murmurs.
"He didn't even draw Qi."
"Was that movement refinement?"
"He's… calm."
Wei Ping scrambled up, red-faced, but Mel had already turned away.
He stepped off the platform and walked back to Gu Jin, who waited with a knowing smirk.
Gu Jin leaned close, muttering just loud enough: "You were holding back."
Mel didn't deny it.
"I didn't need more."
And the crowd?
They didn't cheer. They didn't mock.
They watched.
And that was the beginning.