Qin Xinshi did not need to go to the library.

His mother was beyond wealthy. She was cultivator wealthy, the sort of wealth that one only got from growing up beneath the aegis of the Bloody Saffron Sect and not just inheriting the wealth of their clan, but building on it. Anything he needed, he got. The Qin clan’s personal library was probably twice again as valuable as their precinct’s public one— and if he’d really needed anything, his mother would have arranged for a tutor to teach him. No, there was no need for him to ever go there. Were it not for the need to get accepted into the university— and eventually, the sect— there wouldn’t have been any reason to leave the compound at all.

Yet, his feet carried him there regardless.

Nobody stopped him. Who would dare? Through his mother, he practically owned the ground they walked on— only her most trusted servants would have any reason to demand he stay put, and even then, they had no reason to. He’d completed all his work, and then some; none of the curriculum would give him any challenge.

Not even Mingtian’s. He’d had to pay through the nose to get anyone willing to teach him even the basics of formations. His mother, strangely, hadn’t supported him in his endeavors in the slightest… which was suspicious. So, under the guise of a normal walk, he strode down the street and past the parks, and stepped into the library.

“I didn’t expect to see you here.” He tried his best not to startle at the instructor’s appearance— and failed, obviously. How had the man managed to sneak up on him? He was just a mortal, and Xinshi was in Shedding— that should have been impossible…

Then again, so much about Mingtian was impossible. “I came to see you.”

“I could tell.” The man turned his back on him almost dismissively, beckoning to follow him. “If you have questions about the curriculum, I can give you a few words of advice. Or if you’re struggling with anything, or… you know, whatever.”

He frowned. “Why?”

Halfway up the stairs to the top floor, the blonde-haired man paused and turned, and stared at him, his gaze so very, very heavy. He couldn’t help but shiver beneath the weight of those piercing eyes. “You’re one of those, aren’t you?” Then Mingtian shook his head just as fast, not giving him any time to think over what that could’ve possibly met. “As for why… you’re my student. Even if your principal more or less strongarmed me into the position, it would be beyond petty for me to hold that grudge against you. Or rather, to hold that grudge against your futures. I’m not your master, but I am your teacher.”

It was a logical answer.

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It was a lie.

Xinshi knew better than to push his luck. Mortal or not, someone who drew the attention of sect cultivators and strode through the mire of politics like an island through waves, as dreadnought parting cloudy skies, was not to be trifled with lightly. Lest they found themselves cast aground and shattered, and broken…

He frowned. His mother had said that by the winter break’s end, he wouldn’t have to worry about instructor Mingtian. Except here he stood, just as distantly polite as ever, a day before the semester started up again. If he was charitable, he imagined his mother had cut some sort of deal with the man to ensure their mutual interests.

If he wasn’t— and he had learned not to be, growing up in the Qin clan compound— it meant that Mingtian had survived whatever his the Councillor had thrown at him. A terrifying thought.

He barely even noticed as Mingtian led him into his office— but when he did, he almost took a step back in shock. Perhaps the mortals of the precinct wouldn’t know, and perhaps the cat was too much of a savage to recognize, but… the room was perfect. Almost too perfect. The qi flows were smooth, everything gleaming freshly in his spiritual sight… even the houseplants

burned with a lively vigor that reminded him more of natural treasures than the little potted things they were. He tried to steel his expression… but given Mingtian’s faint smirk, he imagined he failed at that, too.

“Where did you learn this?”

Mingtian’s wry smile turned… not strained, but somber, nostalgic almost. The sunlight seemed to catch on him, in that moment, wan winter’s washed-out luminescence flowing over his skin and hair and lighting it all aglow. Just for a moment. “Here, and there, near, and far, a long, long time ago.” It had a cadence to it, strangely off-kilter with the words themselves. “Enough about me, though. How has your break been.”

“Productive.”

“Good.” The librarian crossed his arms together, leaning against the windowsill. “Very good. You’re remarkably strong for a young cultivator in this city— though I’m led to understand that most cultivators here aren’t the combative sort. That’s good, in a sense. The art of violence is the surest route to the heavens. No sword sharper than the Saint’s.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Mingtian was silent for a second. “It’s strange, to look at enemies and see how close they really are, isn’t it?”

Xinshi furrowed his brows. “What?”

“Be thoughtful. Also maybe keep an eye out on geopolitics. Wouldn’t do to be blindsided and attacked by three rival sects holding blood feuds with you over that thing with the cake.”

“What?”

Mingtian chuckled, and Xinshi couldn’t help but realize… he didn’t understand his instructor at all. He’d thought he’d known, but in reality… clearly, he’d been a frog in a well. “Just keep in mind that not all enemies are enemies, and not all friends are friends. And that you’re totally going to get beat up in the end-of-year exams.”

“Hm.” He huffed. “We’ll see about that.” As he stalked out of the room, though… he could not help but— in the center of his heart— doubt.

………

Mintian grinned as the kid walked out of his office. Another win for the mysteriously mysterious hidden master. Yup…