Chapter Thirty-One: Why Not Wander by Candlelight?

After all the commotion, Yu Lang found himself quite familiar with his roommates. Apart from Yu Lang, there were five others: thirteen-year-old Xie Zhiqian, a scion of an aristocratic family who entered through a reserved slot; fourteen-year-old Xue Wenyang, skilled in medicine; sixteen-year-old Zhang Chengxing, whose family had served in the military for generations. The other two, like Yu Lang, had been admitted through the grand selection: Dai Yang, who excelled in agility, and Yang Xu, quiet and unassuming.

Reserved admission did not mean weak abilities. Take Zhang Chengxing, for example: his cultivation had reached the pinnacle of the Hundred Refines, and his bearing suggested true experience in bloody combat—he was certainly no mere showpiece. Even the sharp-tongued, proud Xie Zhiqian possessed mid-level Hundred Refines cultivation, making him a standout among his peers. Their families simply considered participating in the entrance competition beneath them, preferring the prestige of reserved slots.

The seventh bed remained vacant, its occupant yet to appear. All six were curious about him. They had reviewed the dossiers of their dorm mates, but his information was conspicuously absent. He seemed neither a reserved admission nor a participant in the selection.

Not a reserved admission, nor a competitor—Yu Lang immediately guessed he must be one of the forty-one exceptions, someone who earned his place through some ostentatious act on the eve of the competition: Li Dahu.

Li Dahu arrived late, apologizing to everyone: "I caught a pickpocket on the way, so I was delayed and missed the ceremony. Sorry to trouble you, classmates."

Li Dahu looked mature, seemingly seventeen or eighteen—the oldest in their group. Yet, despite his mature appearance, he seemed flamboyant and careless at heart; otherwise, he would not have made such a spectacle on the academy's open day.

Yu Lang was intrigued by him. "I suppose that little thief must have been quite skilled, if you had to exert yourself so much to catch him?"

Li Dahu waved it off. "It's not that he's skilled, it's that I'm terrible—I haven't even opened my dantian. Chasing him wore me out."

Zhang Chengxing, as he arranged his books by his pillow, was skeptical. Suddenly, he swept his elbow horizontally toward Li Dahu's head—a move intended only to brush Li Dahu’s hair, not harm him, purely to test his abilities.

Unexpectedly, Li Dahu bounced in place almost simultaneously; he was about to collide with the elbow, prompting Zhang Chengxing to hastily withdraw his strike. The abrupt motion sent his blood surging, forcing him to bend over, struggling with the discomfort in his chest. Li Dahu remained unperturbed. "What’s the matter, Zhang? Why such a grand gesture?"

Yu Lang thought to himself, "Zhang Chengxing has courage, but his strikes are too straightforward; he doesn’t know how to set up for future moves." When Yu Chaoran taught Yu Lang martial skills, he repeatedly emphasized the words 'restraint and release,' which, he claimed, were passed down from the Sword Saint Pei Wen in his youth.

"You—!" Zhang Chengxing was furious, unsure whether Li Dahu's sudden bounce was deliberate or merely accidental due to his lack of cultivation, and didn’t know how to respond.

Xue Wenyang, unamused by being toyed with, sneered. "Why did you leap up just now, Li?"

Li Dahu raised his foot innocently, revealing a dead cockroach beneath.

Xue Wenyang burst out laughing. "Anyone admitted to Washing Moon Academy is bound to be interesting. Are you really not versed in cultivation, Li?"

Li Dahu shook his head. "Not only am I ignorant of cultivation, I’m not even proficient in martial arts. I lose nine out of ten street fights."

"Will you participate in the final round of the entrance competition three days from now?" Xue Wenyang pressed.

"Of course, I have to. For those of us whose dantian isn’t open, we desperately want that spot for cleansing and marrow refinement. Don’t you agree, Yu Lang? And stop calling me 'Li'—it sounds awkward. Just call me Tiger. We’ll get used to each other soon." Li Dahu spoke of the competition without a hint of fear, even hinting at vying for first place, making it impossible for the others to gauge his depth.

That night, Yu Lang lay on his couch bed, unable to sleep. The bed was meant for sitting or lounging, rarely for sleeping—even with a mattress, it wasn’t comfortable.

He peeked around: apart from Xie Zhiqian, whose sleep was graceful and silent, the others were so restless it was almost chaotic—especially Li Dahu, sprawled out with thunderous snores.

Unable to sleep, why not stroll by candlelight?

Yu Lang got up quietly. The wooden floor was delicate, groaning with every step. His agility was not the best, so he could only inch his way outside slowly.

Though the academy strictly forbade leaving the dorm after dusk, Self-Reflection Hall had no sentries, and Yu Lang exited unimpeded.

In front of Self-Reflection Hall lay a clearing with a Heart-Cleansing Pavilion, beside a narrow artificial lake called Jade-Belt River, said to connect with the outside canal. Speaking of the Grand Canal, when Emperor Yang of Sui had it dug, the people complained bitterly, but as Yangzhou benefited, its citizens remembered the fallen emperor fondly. Yu Lang mused that while Washing Moon Academy’s gates were strict, an outsider with good swimming skills could easily enter via Jade-Belt River; even if there were a wire mesh at the entrance, it wouldn’t pose much trouble.

As he sat in the Heart-Cleansing Pavilion, lost in these idle thoughts, someone actually emerged from Jade-Belt River. Dressed in black, the figure leaped out of the water with remarkable agility.

Yu Lang gripped his short dagger, on full alert. If this person wasn’t targeting him, he wouldn’t draw attention to himself—there were plenty of capable people in the academy. But if the intruder did approach him, Yu Lang would show no mercy.

The figure carried no weapon, glanced about, and headed east.

Yu Lang breathed a sigh of relief, but as he lowered his head, the figure suddenly appeared before him.

The movement was almost instantaneous; Yu Lang was deeply shaken. If the intruder had a weapon, he would not survive even ten times over.

The dark-eyed figure scrutinized Yu Lang, then removed her headscarf and mask, revealing a strikingly handsome woman.

She raised her chin, smirking with a hint of mockery. "So this is the caliber of Washing Moon students? If I were a villain, I could kill you all with a wave of my hand."

Yu Lang thought, if you truly meant harm, someone capable would have dealt with you long ago. He had researched the academy thoroughly and trusted its security. Yet his words were different: "Seeing your skill, I find Washing Moon Academy rather dull. Its reputation far exceeds reality. Perhaps I should defect and learn agility from you?"

"You’re quick-tongued—just like Li Dahu. That scoundrel tricked me into stealing, and when I failed and got caught, he ran away without a second thought. Wouldn’t you say someone like that is—"

"A scoundrel!" Yu Lang interjected.

"Exactly! That’s the word. When I find him, I’ll toss that scoundrel into the Yangtze to feed the fish!"

"No, no, the fish in the Yangtze are too small—not worthy of me. If you must throw me into the water, send me to the South Seas instead." Li Dahu, completely unfazed, strolled out of Self-Reflection Hall.

Li Dahu cheerfully patted Yu Lang’s shoulder. "I quite like the word 'scoundrel.'"