The sun rose over the central plaza of the Celestial Academy, casting light on towering halls and floating pavilions wreathed in mist.
It was the day of the Welcome Assembly—where the year's new initiates were formally introduced before the faculty, elders, noble guests, and the entire student body. The grand plaza had been converted into a vast reception arena, its center surrounded by tiers of marble seating and crimson banners bearing the crests of each major magical house.
Sheung had spent the last month learning the basics of the Taoist system, secluded in the grouds of the sect. His only companions had been his strict teachers Elder Hua, Fei and Longyin, who had done their best to train him up. It still couldn't compare with the lifetimes of training the other new initiates had recieved from their magical families. Soon he would be attending lectures in the main campus of the Academy. Elder Hua said it would be a good opportunity for him to learn more about the rest of the magical world, and maybe make some friends.
For now, Sheung stood at the edge of the staging platform, stiff in his formal grey Taoist robes. Elder Hua had personally smoothed his collar before leaving him.
"Be still like a mountain," she had said. "Let them laugh. The wind is loudest before it falls."
He clutched the only item he had been permitted to bring: his grandfather's brush.
In front of him, each new student was announced in turn.
"Lin Yasheng, of the Azure Flame Pavilion. Ranked Second-tier Flame Weaving Prodigy. Heir to the Lin family."
Cheers erupted. A handsome youth in flame-trimmed robes stepped forward, holding a gleaming crimson orb.
"Princess Ru Lian of the Verdant Spring Court. Natural Water Affinity, Crowned Ice Dancer of the Fifth Flow."
Gasps and flowers from thin air greeted her entrance. She curtsied elegantly.
One by one, golden children of elite lineages took the stage, flanked by family members and magic-summoned banners bearing their house crests. Rare artifacts gleamed. Talents were boasted. Applause echoed.
Then came the pause.
The announcer cleared his throat, uncertain.
"Sheung Longyao… of the… Taoist Dragonblood Sect."
A beat of silence.
Then an explosion of laughter.
"Wait, that's still a thing?"
"Did someone dig that up from the archive?"
"Is that… a calligraphy brush?"
Sheung walked forward, eyes steady, head high, ignoring the jeers. His robes were plain. His brush old. No grand spells, no family retinue. Just him.
On a balcony above, a group of elders and teachers watched. A few turned away, uninterested. Others snickered.
But one figure—Principal Shen—narrowed his eyes, watching carefully.
As Sheung stepped down to take his place with the other students, he felt the sting of mockery burn in his ears.
But he also heard Elder Hua's voice in his mind, clear as a bell:
"Let them underestimate you. That is their first mistake."