In this world’s technology, fingerprints were hardly novel. In Shen City, every resident’s ID bore a fingerprint record, noting the whorls and loops of both hands. But in Forty-Nine City, where warlords clashed, such details were ignored.

Xiangzi had learned of fingerprints from Uncle Jie and Master Liu, during a drinking session after Liu solved a case. A telegraph machine was stolen from a mid-city academy, and Liu used the “trendy” method to crack it in a day. Liu’s smugness left an impression on Xiangzi, who tucked the idea away.

Seeing the silver dollar, the thought struck him instantly.

—

Twilight deepened, Baolin Martial Hall ablaze with lights. Gray-roofed pavilions glowed under the hazy sunset. From the apprentice courtyard to the Miscellaneous Courtyard, every place Lu Qi had been in the past month was guarded. All apprentices and seniors were ordered to stay put, awaiting police summons.

At a wooden table, gloved officers worked with nervous expressions—never imagining they’d scrutinize the lofty martial artists of Baolin Hall. Even some disciples felt a stir of unease. Rumor had it the rigid Martial Transmission Courtyard Master confronted Xi Ruoyu, demanding answers—after all, the apprentice courtyard was under his disciples’ watch. What the two former sect brothers discussed in Wind Justice’s locked courtyard was unknown, but someone saw the Martial Transmission Master leave with a bruised forehead.

No one dared question further. The old hall master had declared Xi Ruoyu acting hall master, with a whispered addendum known only to the five courtyard masters: If I don’t return from Shen City, Xi Ruoyu is the next hall master.

—

In the third-class courtyard, tension reigned. Over a hundred apprentices lined up silently. A hulking fatty was dragged out, stumbling, his fleshy face indignant. “Why check my… what’s it called, fingerprints? Do you know who I am? My brother’s Chen Hai!”

Despite his protests, Chen Jiang followed the Wind Justice disciple obediently.

In the corner’s shadows, Xiangzi sighed. “Not him. If Chen Jiang did it, he wouldn’t be so calm.” Prioritizing those closest to Lu Qi was common sense, no matter the world. But besides Chen Jiang, who else was close to him?

Xiangzi glanced at Jiang Wangshui and Xu Xiaoliu—impossible, no motive. Then who?

His eyes froze, and he blurted, “One more person!” In an instant, his figure shot forward, covering several yards.

The round-faced Wind Justice disciple beside him gaped—a new ninth-grader with such speed? He followed, leaving afterimages in the dusk. Jiang Wangshui and Xu Xiaoliu, mere Blood Energy Barrier cultivators, exhausted from a sleepless night, struggled to keep up, growing more alarmed. Why head to the first-class apprentice courtyard?

—

In the first-class courtyard, apprentices gathered, confused. After the morning’s muscle-and-bone trial and a rare half-day break from their stern instructor, they’d been resting. Being summoned irritated them, but Zhao Mu’s cold gaze silenced their complaints.

Zhao Mu scanned the crowd, relieved all were present. “Please wait patiently and don’t leave the courtyard.”

The apprentices exchanged puzzled looks. When stern Wind Justice disciples entered, sharper ones sensed something amiss. “Heard about Li Xiang? He passed the Bone-Strengthening Broth trial and grasped Bright Force right at ninth grade,” one whispered.

“That beast of a man passing the ninth-grade trial? No surprise. But Bright Force? Why does he get all the luck?” another grumbled.

Amid complex emotions, Qi Ruiliang yawned, smiling. “Having such a figure among us is good news. If a monster like him couldn’t pass the trial, what chance do we have?”

His humor eased tensions. Someone approached, clasping fists. “Congratulations, Young Master Qi, for passing the muscle-and-bone trial. You’ll soon qualify for the ninth-grade trial.”

Qi Ruiliang smiled, exchanging pleasantries, but his gaze settled on a chubby youth. Sensing it, Chen Jiashang sauntered over, grinning.

The crowd parted, eyes tinged with awe. Since Xiangzi’s departure, only Chen Jiashang rivaled Qi Ruiliang in the first-class courtyard. In today’s trial, Chen’s muscle-and-bone progress had surged to minor success. Soon, both he and Qi Ruiliang would likely enter the ninth-grade trial, two young prodigies from the first-class courtyard.

Chen’s smile was proud, his eyes blazing unmasked ambition. At sixteen, on the cusp of ninth grade, only Xiangzi’s monstrous talent overshadowed him. But as he chatted with Qi Ruiliang, his expression froze.

In the corner’s shadows, a black-robed disciple, newly arrived with a Wind Justice senior, made a strange gesture. His right hand clenched, a red cloth strip dangled from his fingers, swaying thrice in the evening breeze before vanishing into his sleeve.

The black-robed disciple passed Chen Jiashang, expressionless. “The organization orders: leave immediately via the back gate. An opportunity awaits.”

The whispered words hit Chen like a death knell. His smile held, but his heart felt hammered. All his hopes and dreams shattered at the sight of that red strip. He’d thought he’d never see it—not before ninth grade.

His hand, hidden in his sleeve, clenched, veins bulging. In the flickering lamplight, he lowered his head, hiding the burning resentment and anger in his eyes.