A ripple of gasps spread through the courtyard.
Students recoiled, their perfect lines disrupted. A few sneered in disgust. Others merely stared, unsure whether to look away or gape longer at the hunched, shaking figure on the stone path.
Wang Shaoling didn't move.
His red robes stood out like blood spilled on porcelain, his expression unreadable.
The girl wiped her mouth with the back of her sleeve, her body trembling from weakness, humiliation coursing hot under her skin. She wanted the ground to split and swallow her. But even that would be too kind.
"Who is this intruder?" someone said behind the rows. "A low-born?"
The word lingered like a curse.
An elder stepped forward — a narrow-faced man with thin lips and long ink-black hair tied in a single cord down his back. He moved slowly, each step deliberate, as though a wolf circling his prey.
"He reeks of fear," he said flatly. "And something else."
Another, older one — the bearded man in silver — nodded solemnly. "Something slumbers within him. I can feel it. Dormant, wild. Half-born."
"He is no noble," spat the third. "No seal. No badge. Look at his robes — torn rags."
The girl's eyes snapped up at that.
She staggered back as if struck.
"I'm not—" She gritted her teeth, forcing her voice steady. "I'm not from there anymore."
"You dare speak?" the black-haired elder hissed.
"I didn't come to steal anything," she stammered, voice cracking. "I just— I didn't know— I didn't even know this was—"
Her words spilled over themselves — jumbled, too fast, almost childlike in their panic. She could barely look up.
"I wasn't trying to cause trouble," she added quickly. "I was just looking for a place to spend the night… maybe something to eat. That's all. I didn't mean to—"
She broke off, breath hitching. Her hands were trembling.
The elders stared at her like she was filth on the marble.
"You didn't know where you were?" one of them sneered.
Wang Shaoling's voice cut through hers like a blade.
"Your name."
She flinched.
"I… I don't have one."
"Lies."
"I swear—!"
"I'm not lying—" Her voice trembled again, and she couldn't continue her sentence.
"You are lying," Shaoling said coldly. "But badly."
He took a step forward.
She took a step back.
"You climbed this far," he said coldly. "Snuck into Longwei. During the imperial induction. In front of every noble house. Either you're insane—"
"I had nowhere else to go!" she burst out.
Her voice cracked — high, panicked.
"—Or you thought you'd be mistaken for someone worth keeping."
The words landed like a slap.
She straightened slowly, despite her shaking knees.
"You don't know anything about me," she said hoarsely.
His eyes raked over her again — her face, her posture, the faint flicker of pride burning stubborn in her gaze.
"I will ask once more," Shaoling said, voice low, deadly. "Name. Origin."
The girl shook her head.
The wind howled behind her.
Her voice came out small. "I won't tell you."
Shaoling's face darkened. "Because you know we'll kill you."
Silence.
Then—
"Insolent dog."
Shaoling moved.
Too fast for her to react.
One moment he stood rooted like a blade in stone — the next, he lunged. His fingers caught her by the collar of her ragged robe as she turned to run. She gasped, tried to twist away — but he yanked hard.
Riiip.
The fabric tore with a brutal sound.
Cold air rushed in.
The front of her robe came apart — split wide from shoulder to hip. Linen bindings, stained and worn, flattened tightly over the shape of a chest that should not have been there.
The courtyard fell into dead silence.
Even the wind had stopped.
Her arms flew up too late, clutching the torn and dirty fabric to her body, eyes wide in shock.
Gasps rippled outward like shockwaves. Uniformed boys stiffened in their rows. Elders leaned forward. Mouths fell open.
"…She—?"
"No—"
"Is that—"
"A girl?"
another voice murmured. "Look at her face—"
"The color of her eyes—"
"She's not just a girl. She's mutt-blooded."
Shaoling's hand still held a shred of cloth. His sword remained sheathed, but his expression had shifted — not to fury, but something colder. More calculating. His eyes swept down her now-exposed form, lingering not with lust, but the tension of a swordsman reassessing an opponent.
He let go of the torn fabric, face unreadable, jaw clenched.
The elders stepped in closer now, one after another. As if pulled by scent. By blood.
Her legs backed into the steps behind her. She was cornered — nowhere to run.
"She's half barbarian," someone said in a low, venomous tone. "The lower clans. The kind that mix with pigs and call it survival."
Another spat on the stone. "The gall. To come here. To breathe this air."
"She has no right to stand here."
"No right to exist."
The silver-bearded elder turned toward Shaoling. "Put her down. Now. The Emperor will not suffer her kind within these walls."
Shaoling didn't move.
He looked at her.
Just looked.
She didn't speak. Didn't move either. Her chest rose and fell. Her grip on the cloth was white-knuckled. Shame and fear churned in her eyes. No tears — but her throat moved like she was choking on something.
An elder stepped forward, voice thick with disgust. "Barbarian filth. She snuck into the sacred grounds of Longwei — disguised as a boy. As if she belonged."
"She dared to speak," another hissed. "She stood among noble sons."
"Her aura," a third muttered. "There's something… off. Like something half-awake."
"She has power," he said, voice lower now.
The elder in silver turned sharply. "You felt it?"
"I felt something," he said. "It stirred when I touched her."
"Then kill her before it wakes," the robed elder snapped.
Shaoling didn't respond. His eyes hadn't left her.
She stood trembling, half-exposed, lips parted like she might vomit again.
For a long breath, no one moved.
Then Shaoling's hand dropped to the hilt of his sword.
The steel began to slide free — whispering out with a hiss like drawn breath.
The girl froze again, chest rising, throat bobbing.
She was too scared to speak.
Too scared to cry.
Too scared to beg.
She simply stood — half-covered, filthy, bruised, her shame and terror laid bare under a hundred noble eyes.
Then he drew his sword.
The whisper of steel sliding from its sheath made the students flinch.
She froze.
The blade gleamed in the cold light — sharp, ceremonial, etched with symbols only nobles were permitted to bear. A sword of judgment. Of law.
And he pointed it at her.
She didn't move.
Not out of courage.
But because her legs had forgotten how.
The certainty that death was about to fall — it pressed in from every direction, suffocating her like a shroud.
"Then by imperial order," Shaoling said, voice like ice, "as heir to the House of Wang and Captain of the Crimson Court — I sentence this intruder to be removed by force."
The world seemed to narrow to the edge of his sword.
The girl took a breath.
And ran.
Like a flash of wild wind, she turned and fled up the steps, barefoot, robe flapping like wings behind her. Students shouted. Elders called for guards.
Shaoling gave chase, sword still drawn, crimson trailing behind him.
But as the chase began, the silver-bearded elder's voice rang out:
"Let her run."
Silence followed.
"She won't get far," he said grimly, eyes narrowed. "But I want to see how far that thing dares to go."