“The Director requests your presence.” The administrator’s voice was stiff, his face devoid of expression.
Shen Moxin had just returned the last manuscript to its place; upon hearing his words, her movements paused for a second.
She nodded, asking no questions.
The corridor was long and dimly lit.
Footsteps echoed in the empty hall, sounding somewhat muffled.
Holding her leather notebook, Shen Moxin absently ran her fingers along the edge of its cover.
Her heart was beating slightly fast.
It wasn’t out of fear.
It was that familiar, suffocating tightness—the feeling of being reined in by an invisible rope.
The wooden door was thick and dark brown.
She raised her hand and knocked three times.
“Enter.” She pushed the door open.
The room was spacious but crammed full.
Bookshelves stretched from floor to ceiling, and ancient paper texts were piled like small mountains on a broad wooden desk.
The air smelled of old paper, ink, and aged medicinal herbs.
Ning Zhishou sat behind the desk.
He was looking down at a manuscript, a pair of thick crystal spectacles resting on the bridge of his nose.
Hearing the movement, he didn’t immediately look up.
Instead, his withered fingers pushed the frames up, and he read a few more lines before slowly shifting his gaze over.
“Assistant Shen.” His voice was flat.
“Sit.” Shen Moxin sat down on the hardwood chair, her back straight.
She rested the notebook on her knees, placing her hands neatly over it.
Ning Zhishou took off his glasses and wiped them leisurely with his sleeve.
Only after putting them back on did he raise his eyes to measure her for a few seconds.
The look was akin to inspecting a piece of merchandise for flaws.
“This afternoon,” he spoke slowly, enunciating each word clearly, “you stayed in the library’s inner area for nearly an hour.” “Yes,” Shen Moxin replied steadily.
“I was consulting old manuscripts regarding low-tier abnormal soul force fluctuations to prepare for next month’s lessons.” “Preparing lessons.” Ning Zhishou repeated the phrase, the corners of his mouth turning down.
“A very valid reason.
However…” He paused, tapping his fingers lightly on the desk.
“I heard some rather non-compliant rumors.” His gaze turned sharp.
“Someone said you brought a youth who is neither a student of this academy nor even an official Spirit Master into the inner area.
You even allowed him to read research materials.
Is this true?” Here it came.
Shen Moxin drew in a breath.
“It is true.
But there were special circumstances.
That youth demonstrated an extraordinary interest in and foundational understanding of soul force theory.
Supplementary Clause Seven of the *Academy Library Management Regulations* states that assistant teachers and above may, according to teaching or research needs, exercise discretion to sponsor temporary readers for single visits not exceeding half an hour.
I did not exceed the time limit.” Her tone was neither fast nor slow, her arguments clear and logical.
Ning Zhishou listened without a change in expression.
He leaned back into his chair, lacing his fingers together over his stomach.
“The regulations.
You are very familiar with the regulations,” he said sluggishly.
“Then you should be even clearer that ‘sponsoring at discretion’ refers to visitors with a recognized academic background or formal backing from an academy instructor.
It does not refer to…” He paused.
“…an origin-less, shabbily dressed country child who cannot even prove his identity as a Spirit Master.” Shen Moxin’s fingers tightened.
“Director, background and attire should not be the standard by which we judge a person’s right to seek knowledge.” “Rules are rules.” Ning Zhishou’s voice suddenly grew heavy, carrying an unquestionable tone of authority.
“The Nuoding Academy Library is not a charity house.
Many of the texts stored here are unique copies—the life’s work of generations of researchers.
If they are damaged, who takes responsibility?
You?” He stared at Shen Moxin, his eyes bulging slightly behind his thick lenses.
“Furthermore,” his tone softened a bit, though it carried an even deeper implication, “Assistant Shen, you ought to know your own situation.
That ‘Basic Soul Force Perception Reinforcement Course’ you proposed has stirred great controversy in the academy.
Quite a few voices consider it overly theoretical, divorced from actual combat, and a threat to traditional teaching foundations.
Your annual assistant teacher evaluation begins next month.” Shen Moxin’s face paled slightly.
Of course she knew.
That curriculum proposal was the product of two years of her hard work, yet it had been criticized as utterly worthless at the faculty seminar and shelved immediately.
Being assigned to manage the old archive area was itself a clear sign of marginalization.
Ning Zhishou looked at the change in her expression, seemingly satisfied.
“At a crucial juncture like this,” he continued, his voice returning to its flat tone, “you ought to be prudent in speech and action, abiding by every single rule and regulation of the academy.
Rather than…
challenging established rules for the sake of an inexplicably strange child, leaving others with the impression that you are ‘undisciplined’ and ‘gullible.’ That will affect the evaluation committee’s judgment of you.” Silence fell over the room, broken only by the distant, muffled shouts of students training on the far courtyard field outside the window.
Shen Moxin felt a cold surge of anger rise from deep within her, but it was quickly suppressed by a deeper sense of powerlessness.
She wanted to say that the boy was different—that the model flaw he had casually pointed out concealed a revolutionary level of insight…
But she said nothing.
She understood Ning Zhishou too well.
In his eyes, “insight” unvalidated by authority was no different from wild fantasy.
“Director,” she finally said, her voice a bit dry, “I understand.
I was reckless this time; I will be careful in the future.” Ning Zhishou nodded, a nearly benevolent expression gracing his face, though his eyes remained cold.
“Good that you understand.
You are still young, and having drive is a good thing, but it must be directed properly.
Put more energy into organizing the collection and familiarizing yourself with the classics; that is the proper path.
As for that child…” He waved his hand.
“Someone has already gone to escort him off the premises.
In the future, do not let anything similar happen again.” *** When Lu Yuan exited the side door of the library, the afternoon sunlight was somewhat piercing.
He narrowed his eyes, standing in the shade beneath the eaves.
The crumpled piece of scrap paper in his tunic pressed against his chest.
He walked back along the path he had come from, his mind still spinning around that dual-variable model.
Crossing the small plaza in front of the academy, he noticed two young men in academy uniforms with duty badges on their sleeves standing near the main steps of the library, their eyes scanning the flow of people coming and going.
One of them glanced in his direction.
Lu Yuan didn’t stop.
Lowering his head, he quickened his pace and turned into a small side path leading toward the outer perimeter of the academy.
The path was quiet, lined on both sides by tall trees.
The slight thread of luck he had held onto slowly sank.
Trouble had indeed arrived.
Reaching the end of the path, the outer fence of the academy lay just ahead.
Just as he was about to find a spot to climb out, hurried footsteps sounded behind him.
“Wait!” It was Shen Moxin’s voice.
Lu Yuan stopped and turned around.
Shen Moxin stepped quickly out from the shade of the trees, her breathing somewhat rushed, fine beads of sweat dotting her forehead.
She had clearly run all the way to catch up with him, and the hem of her plain green robe was dusted with dirt.
She looked left and right, and after confirming no one was nearby, she walked up to Lu Yuan briskly.
Her eyes behind her glasses were slightly bloodshot, but her gaze was bright—searingly bright.
“You…” She caught her breath, speaking rapidly.
“You need to leave the academy grounds immediately.
And…
don’t come back to the library for now.” Lu Yuan nodded.
“I’ve brought you trouble.” Shen Moxin shook her head, ignoring the remark.
She pressed her lips together, appearing to make a firm decision.
Then, she swiftly pulled a small cloth bundle from her robes and drew out a neatly cut slip of paper.
Using a charcoal pencil, she rapidly wrote a few lines of text on it before shoving both the paper and the bundle into Lu Yuan’s hands.
Her movements were swift, carrying a sense of absolute resolve.
“This address is in the Old Quarter on the west side of the city.
It’s a bit hard to find, but tomorrow afternoon around two, you should be able to find me there,” she said at a breakneck speed, keeping her voice low.
“Inside the cloth bundle are several hand-copied notes of mine on basic soul force models and martial soul energy structures, as well as…
a map.
Some things aren’t in the library; perhaps…
they will be of use to you.” She looked at Lu Yuan with a complex gaze—there was apology and worry, but even more so, a desperate resolve like someone burning their bridges.
“This is as much as I can do,” she said.
“The rest of the path, you’ll have to walk yourself.” Without waiting for Lu Yuan to respond, she gave him a deep look, turned, and left.
Her green-robed figure quickly disappeared around the corner of the tree-lined path.
Lu Yuan stood where he was, holding the paper slip and the cloth bundle, which still retained her body heat.
He unfolded the paper.
The handwriting was neat and clear, specifying a precise street name and door number.
On the back was another line of small characters written in fresh ink: *Do not linger near the academy.
Be careful.* He stowed the paper and squeezed the small cloth bundle.
It wasn’t thick, but he could feel the texture of the paper inside.
Looking up through the gaps in the branches and leaves, he could see the library’s high dome reflecting a cold, aloof sheen in the sunlight.
Rules were a wall.
Yet there were always those unwilling to simply stand outside it.
Gripping the bundle tightly, he turned and walked toward the broader, noisier Old Quarter beyond the academy fence.
His steps were steady, and faster than when he had arrived.