Chapter 78: SWIFT AS WIND

Chapter 78 — THE WEIGHT OF A NAME

Morning at Vermillion Phoenix Academy was a very pleasant this day.

It asserted itself.

Heat bled into the air long before the sun fully cleared the horizon, warming stone walkways and igniting the veins of crimson crystal embedded throughout the academy grounds. The great arena stood awake already, its formations humming softly, its vast circular floor clean and empty—waiting.

Today was not Draw Day.

Today was performance time.

Ling Yifan stood alone at the edge of the eastern promenade, spear resting upright beside him.

The academy was loud behind him—teams moving, instructors giving final reminders, spectators filtering toward the stands—but here, near the flame gardens, there was a pocket of quiet.

He breathed in slowly.

Then out.

His mind was clear.

Too clear.

That was when the air shifted.

Not violently.

Not aggressively.

Just… politely.

Ling Yifan’s fingers tightened around the shaft of his spear as a presence stepped into the space beside him without disturbing a single leaf.

“Young Master.”

The voice was calm. Deep. Familiar.

Ling Yifan froze.

He turned slowly.

The man standing there looked old.

But not fragile.

His hair was silver-white, neatly combed back, his face lined with age but composed, sharp-eyed, dignified. He wore a simple black suit-like robe tailored perfectly to his frame, gloves folded neatly behind his back. His posture was straight—impeccable—as if time itself had failed to bend him.

Elegant.

Restrained.

A man who had served power his entire life and never needed to announce it.

For a brief, unguarded moment—

Ling Yifan’s eyes widened.

“…Uncle Jian,” he said quietly.

The old man inclined his head just a fraction.

“It has been many years,” Jian replied.

He was strong.

Ling Yifan could feel it instantly.

Not loud strength.

Not oppressive aura.

But something coiled and disciplined.

A SEMI GRAND MASTER.

The kind that did not need to prove it.

The kind that only appeared when something serious was about to be said.

They stood there in silence for a moment.

Then Jian spoke.

“I am here,” he said calmly, “on the Ling Patriarch’s orders.”

Ling Yifan’s shoulders tightened.

“…I see.”

Jian’s gaze softened—just slightly.

“You are to be reminded,” he continued evenly, “that as the future heir of the Ling clan, your actions are not solely your own.”

Ling Yifan said nothing.

“The Patriarch has observed your recent associations,” Jian went on. “Specifically—your closeness to the Bai clan’s daughter.”

The words landed heavily.

Jian’s voice remained neutral.

“You are ordered to cease all visible contact with her.”

Ling Yifan’s jaw clenched.

“If you do not,” Jian continued, “you will be formally removed from the line of succession.”

The air felt heavier.

Warmer.

Ling Yifan laughed softly.

Not amused.

Not bitter.

Just… tired.

“So,” he said quietly, “after all this time…”

He looked at the man who had once carried him on his shoulders, who had taught him how to hold a spear before he could read.

“…Instead of asking how I am—”

“…He only cares whether the heir looks the way he wants.”

The words were not shouted.

They were worse.

They were honest.

Jian’s eyes flickered.

Just once.

Regret.

“…Young Master,” he said softly, “I did not come here because I wanted to deliver this message.”

Ling Yifan looked at him.

Jian sighed.

“I came,” he admitted, “because I wanted to see you.”

He straightened slightly.

“To see how you’ve grown. To see whether you were still standing.”

Ling Yifan swallowed.

“…Then why say it at all?”

“Because I must,” Jian replied. “I am bound by the clan’s code.”

He paused.

“And because if I did not warn you, the consequences would be… harsher.”

Ling Yifan closed his eyes briefly.

“…I understand.”

Jian studied him.

“You have changed,” he said quietly.

“Yes,” Ling Yifan replied. “I have.”

Ling Yifan took a breath.

“Come,” he said suddenly. “Meet my team.”

Jian blinked.

“They are the reason I’m still here,” Ling Yifan continued. “And… I’d like you to meet her.”

For the first time—

Jian hesitated.

Then he shook his head slowly.

“I cannot.”

Ling Yifan frowned. “Why?”

“It would violate the Ling clan’s code of conduct,” Jian replied. “I cannot be seen associating with a Bai.”

The words were calm.

Absolute.

Ling Yifan stared at him.

“…Even now?”

Jian looked away.

“…Especially now.”

Silence stretched between them.

The distance felt greater than the years that had passed.

Jian stepped back.

“You have become strong,” he said quietly. “Stronger than the boy I once knew.”

He bowed—deeply this time.

“Forgive me.”

The air rippled.

And then—

He was gone.

No sound.

No trace.

As if he had never been there at all.

Ling Yifan stood alone.

The flame gardens crackled softly around him.

His grip on the spear loosened.

Then tightened again.

“…So that’s how it is,” he murmured.

He did not cry.

He did not rage.

He simply stood there—

Feeling the weight of a name he had not chosen.

A resonant announcement echoed across the academy grounds.

“FORMAT THREE MATCH—”

The voice carried easily.

“AZURE DRAGON ACADEMY—”

A pause.

“VERSUS—CRIMSON SABER IMPERIAL SCHOOL.”

The arena erupted.

Chen Wulian cracked his neck and stepped forward, chest out, grin wide.

“Alright,” he said loudly. “Let’s get this over with. I’ll go first—”

A hand landed on his shoulder.

Firm.

Steady.

Chen froze.

Ling Yifan stood behind him.

He did not speak.

He simply stepped past.

Ling Yifan entered the arena alone.

No announcement.

No flourish.

The noise dulled slightly as eyes followed him.

Bai Qianlan’s breath caught.

Mei Ying noticed the tension in his shoulders.

Long Hao watched closely.

Ling Yifan stopped at the center of the arena.

He planted his spear into the ground.

Straight.

Unyielding.

Across from him, the first Crimson Saber combatant stepped forward, formation marks already glowing faintly.

Ling Yifan lifted his gaze.

Calm.

Focused.

But beneath it—

Resolve hardened by loss.

By choice.

By a name that demanded obedience he no longer wished to give.

He did not look back.

He did not hesitate.

The chain had begun.

And Ling Yifan would fight—

Not as an heir.

Not as a pawn.

But as himself.

[Chapter ENDS]

SIDE POV — QIN SHUO’S “TACTICAL ERROR”

Qin Shuo adjusted his glasses calmly, eyes scanning the audience with the same focus he used on battle formations.

“…Interesting,” he murmured.

Beside him, Han Duwei leaned casually against the railing, arms crossed, expression bored.

“What,” Han said flatly, “are you calculating now.”

Qin Shuo tapped his chin.

“Statistically speaking,” he said, “Vermillion Academy’s audience composition shows a female-to-male ratio of approximately seven to three.”

Han glanced at him. “…And?”

“And morale,” Qin continued evenly, “is a battlefield variable.”

Han turned slowly.

“You’re trying to flirt.”

“I am,” Qin confirmed calmly, “attempting a controlled social mixer.”

Han stared.

“…During a tournament.”

“Yes.”

“…While Ling Yifan is having a clan tragedy.”

Qin nodded. “Correct.”

Han sighed and looked away.

“You’re unbelievable.”

Qin raised his hand politely toward the audience.

Three girls noticed immediately.

One waved.

One giggled.

One whispered something to her friend.

Qin smiled faintly.

“See?” he said. “Positive response rate.”

Han squinted.

“…Wait.”

He leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing.

“That one in red is Li Xinyue. Third-year auxiliary formation specialist. Likes sour candy. Number ends in 287.”

Qin paused.

“…You know her?”

Han shrugged. “She asked me about spear maintenance once.”

Qin blinked.

Han pointed again. “Blue ribbon. Zhou Lian. Second-year. Illusion minor. Allergic to lotus tea.”

Qin’s pen froze mid-note.

“And,” Han added casually, “green sash. Lin Meiqi. Fire affinity. Laughs too loud. Already dating someone.”

Qin slowly lowered his notebook.

“…Why do you know all this.”

Han glanced at him.

“Awareness,” he said. “You should try it.”

Qin adjusted his glasses.

“…This was supposed to be my moment.”

Han smirked faintly. “You’re welcome.”

Qin sighed, then looked back at the audience.

“Well,” he said calmly, “at least I can eliminate invalid targets.”

Han snorted.

“Idiot.”

Somewhere in the stands, three girls waved again.

Han added, without looking—

“Also, red sash in the corner? Don’t try.”

Qin hesitated. “…Why.”

“She’s terrifying.”

Qin immediately crossed her off the list.

“Tactical retreat,” he muttered.

Han nodded approvingly.

“Good call.”

[SIDE POV ENDS]

SIDE POV — BAI QIANLAN’S “VERY SERIOUS” PLAN

Bai Qianlan sat with her chin resting lightly on her palm, eyes unfocused.

“…A date,” she murmured.

The word felt strange.

Not unpleasant.

Just unfamiliar.

Across from her, Jin Ruolan, Zhao Ming, and Ouyang Xue’er had gathered with the unmistakable air of people who were about to be deeply unhelpful.

Jin Ruolan leaned forward first, violet hair tied back, expression perfectly serious.

“You should give him a bouquet,” she said.

Bai Qianlan nodded slowly. “Flowers?”

Jin shook her head. “Swords.”

“…What.”

“A bouquet of swords,” Jin clarified. “Short blades. Balanced. Symbolic. He’ll understand.”

Bai Qianlan stared at her.

“…He’s not attending a funeral.”

Jin frowned. “Exactly. Subversion.”

Zhao Ming, lounging sideways on her chair, raised a finger. “No, no, listen. Flowers are temporary. Swords are eternal.”

“That’s not romantic,” Bai said calmly.

Ouyang Xue’er snorted. “It is if you’re terrifying.”

Jin brightened. “See? She gets it.”

Bai Qianlan pinched the bridge of her nose.

“…I was thinking something simple. Tea. Walking. Conversation.”

Zhao waved dismissively. “Boring.”

Ouyang tilted her head. “Effective, though.”

Jin tapped her chin thoughtfully. “What if you do tea—but the cups are enchanted to hum battle hymns when lifted?”

Bai’s illusion petals flickered once.

“…No.”

Zhao leaned closer, eyes gleaming. “Alright. New idea. You challenge him to a spar, then lose on purpose.”

Bai Qianlan looked up sharply. “I don’t lose on purpose.”

“Then accidentally,” Zhao corrected.

“That’s worse.”

Ouyang crossed her arms. “You’re all missing the point.”

They looked at her.

She shrugged. “Just ask him. He’s not complicated.”

Silence followed.

Bai Qianlan blinked.

“…That’s it?”

Ouyang nodded. “Yes.”

Jin and Zhao stared at her like she’d suggested fighting unarmed.

“That’s reckless,” Jin said.

“That’s vulnerable,” Zhao added.

Bai Qianlan considered this.

Her expression softened slightly.

“…I can do vulnerable.”

Jin sighed dramatically. “Fine. But if it goes wrong, I’m still bringing the swords.”

Bai smiled faintly.

“…I’ll keep that in mind.”

Somewhere nearby, Ling Yifan sneezed.

He did not know why.

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