A Brief Respite

Jiang Chen exhaled, rolling his shoulders, shaking off an unseen burden. The system's glow faded from his vision, but the knowledge it had granted him remained—like an unsheathed blade resting against his back, heavy, ever-present, impossible to ignore.

The White Dragon Courtyard pulsed with restless energy. Whispers of the night's battle drifted through the temple walls, carried by the wind like the murmurs of unsettled spirits.

Jiang Chen watched in quiet fascination as his sword dissolved into pure qi, golden threads unraveling and flowing into the ancient, glowing text etched into his right arm. His lips parted slightly, but after everything that had happened tonight, true surprise felt almost distant.

"Crazy to think all of that happened in just one night, don't you think?" he mused.

Juan Lei chuckled. "You're handling the sword's fusion better than I expected. Not bad."

Before Jiang Chen could respond, another voice, rough with exhaustion, cut through the night. "You get used to it when you've lived as long as I have."

The rustling of leaves broke the uneasy silence. A figure stepped out from the forest's shadow, moving with the weariness of a man who had seen too much in a single night. Jiang Chen's breath hitched as the moonlight revealed Instructor Yuan—his robes disheveled, his usually neat hair tangled, and dark circles heavy beneath his eyes. He wasn't the firm, commanding instructor they all knew. Tonight, he looked like a warrior who had barely survived. Instead, he resembled a battle-worn martial artist burdened with responsibilities beyond his station.

Jiang Chen blinked. "Are you… really Instructor Yuan?"

Yuan chuckled dryly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yes, yes… just tired."

He stepped closer, his gaze unreadable. "You should head back for the night. I assume you disciples had a rough day?" His tone was almost casual, as if oblivious to the deadly encounter in the forest.

Then, just as abruptly, he turned to leave. "I'm here if you need anything." The remark felt strangely detached from the conversation, as if his mind lingered elsewhere.

Jiang Chen watched him disappear into the distance.

"That was… interesting," Juan Lei remarked, arms crossed.

"It's obvious he knows," he added with a chuckle, his usual tension from the demonic cultist's attack now absent. "He's just playing it casual."

Jiang Chen's eyes narrowed. "Did you sense it too, Master?"

"Of course. Any self-respecting martial artist would," Juan Lei said with a smirk. "There were traces of demonic qi on him. Either he fought them too, or…" His voice trailed off, the implications hanging heavy in the air.

Jiang Chen's stomach tightened. "Or something much more sinister."

"But the former is more likely, so don't worry about it," Juan Lei reassured him. "It makes more sense anyway."

Jiang Chen opened his mouth to question him but stopped mid-sentence as realization struck. "I see… that's why the Veiled Sentinels and Instructor Yuan didn't intervene sooner. They must have been fighting off another wave."

Juan Lei grinned. "Spot on, young Jiang. You're getting sharper—much sharper than that dull boy I met a few days ago."

Jiang Chen smiled at the compliment but quickly crossed his arms, his expression turning skeptical. "And how can you be so sure that's the real reason for Instructor Yuan's… well, state?"

Juan Lei chuckled. "Oh, come on, it's obvious. He knows this place inside and out—something I confirmed when I pried into your memories." He smirked. "If he were involved with the demonic cult, Wudang would have fallen years ago."

Jiang Chen hesitated, but before he could argue, Juan Lei shook his head with a playful grin.

"Guess you're not as sharp as I thought, young Jiang." His tone was teasing, more lighthearted jab than true criticism.

"Whatever, Master," Jiang Chen said with a laugh, shaking his head. Despite the teasing, their bond had grown deeper.

As he turned to leave, he gave Haoyu a casual wave. The senior disciple was busy taking a headcount of the tired and bruised disciples.

Haoyu scoffed. "Don't get too chummy with me just because I'm treating you nicer, Chen," he muttered, though his tone was noticeably softer than before.

Jiang Chen smirked, but his thoughts quickly returned to the injured. He glanced toward the medicine hall, where dim lanterns still flickered, casting elongated shadows against the temple walls. The scent of herbal medicine lingered in the night air.

"I hope Yujin is alright," he murmured.

The exhaustion in his limbs caught up with him as he turned toward the living quarters. The soft murmur of weary disciples filled the halls, their voices hushed yet tinged with curiosity. As he stepped inside, the air shifted. Eyes turned to him—some filled with recognition, others with unease.

A disciple stepped forward, his expression clouded with doubt and resentment. "How'd you do it?" he asked, his voice edged with frustration.

"How did you suddenly surpass all of us? We've been training nonstop while you slacked off, always using 'no talent' as an excuse."

Another disciple muttered, "He's right. We all saw it—Chen was weak before, now he's not. That doesn't just happen overnight."

Jiang Chen clenched his fists. "I trained. I—"

"We all trained," the first disciple snapped. "But we didn't suddenly gain unnatural strength."

Before Jiang Chen could respond again, another disciple stepped in, shoving the first one back. "Back off, man," he said firmly. "Think about it—Elder Zhang personally chose him as a student, and even Instructor Yuan seems to favor him. Clearly, he had hidden potential we just didn't see until now."

Jiang Chen exhaled, relieved. He hadn't expected anyone to defend him—let alone with a reasonable explanation. It wasn't the truth, but it was close enough.

"Tsk… fine then. Be as accepting as you want, but mark my words—Chen will be the downfall of this sect one day." The disciple spat his words before turning on his heel and stomping off to his bunk.

"What a sore loser," the other disciple scoffed, shaking his head. "I get being jealous of your progress, but as a martial artist, shouldn't he be happier that you finally grew a spine?" He watched the retreating figure slump away before turning back to Jiang Chen. "Don't let it get to you. You deserve rest as much as the rest of us."

Jiang Chen nodded. "Thanks… but I don't deserve your kindness, not as a martial artist."

Even with his newfound strength, even with the satisfaction of growth, doubt coiled in his gut like an unwelcome serpent. This power—this system—had handed him an advantage no one else had, but at what cost? He glanced down at his hands, flexing his fingers as if expecting the strength to vanish. Had he earned this, or had it been forced upon him? If he had taken a shortcut, could he still call himself a true martial artist?

Jiang Chen recalled a time when Instructor Yuan had easily deflected a dozen strikes from the senior disciples without breaking a sweat. He used to seem invincible, Jiang thought. But tonight, he looked… mortal. Worn. It was unsettling.

Then, the system's voice echoed within him:

[This is your fate, unwavering and true—let not doubt cast shadows upon your path.]

The words brought a flicker of reassurance. Whatever advantage had been given to him, it was not without purpose. He clenched his fist, his gaze steady. He had no right to wallow in uncertainty—not when he had vowed to change.

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