The first-class apprentice courtyard blazed with light. As two officers opened a wicker case, an array of unnamed reagents lined the table.

“Everyone, line up!” Zhao Mu’s stern gaze swept the crowd. His brows shot up. “Where’s Chen Jiashang?”

The apprentices froze. “He was just here,” one said. “Maybe the latrine?” another guessed.

Zhao Mu’s nose twitched—his ninth-grade peak senses caught a faint, acrid scent. Familiar. He’d handled it often lately. His expression hardened. Mineral powder.

As if confirming his fear, a spark flared at the edge of his vision. Flames roared skyward.

—

A tense air gripped the crowd. “Fire! Fire in the apprentice courtyard’s storage room!” Shouts rang out. “Put it out!”

Thick gray-black smoke pierced the dim twilight, forming a stark column. This trial was unlike others—five-colored mineral powder was heavily consumed, with over a hundred ore baskets arriving daily from the mines, stored in the courtyard’s vast storage room.

Zhao Mu’s heart sank. “No apprentice leaves the courtyard, or you’re expelled and punished by hall rules!” Some wanted to fight the fire, but his words froze them.

Sweat beaded on his forehead as he barked at the officers, “Keep checking fingerprints!” His form blurred, racing toward the blaze.

A burly Wind Justice disciple blocked him. “Junior Brother Zhao, Master Xi’s orders: no one leaves their post.”

The command was ironclad. Zhao Mu sighed, staring at the rising smoke. This fire was deliberate. Baolin’s centuries-long history had never seen such a bizarre event. Though unclear why, a chilling thought struck him: Chen Jiashang vanished during the fingerprint check. I might be implicated.

—

The moment before the smoke surged, Xiangzi sensed it—his miner’s nose and ninth-grade blood energy and skin sensitivity. The faint pressure of airborne mineral dust hit him instantly.

Behind him, the round-faced Wind Justice disciple and Jiang Wangshui halted. A boom—thick smoke erupted dozens of yards away at the courtyard gate, the shockwave nearly knocking them over.

Amid the chaos, Xiangzi squinted, peering into the flames. His sharp eyes caught a black-robed disciple’s silhouette flash by, obscured by smoke. Even his enhanced vision only glimpsed a vague outline.

He didn’t know what happened, but his startle-the-snake tactic had worked. Why, though? A mere poisoning case had spiraled—Lu Qi’s death, and now a ninth-grade outer disciple risking such a dangerous act. What was this fire hiding?

He didn’t know, but he knew no one risked danger without purpose. They’re planning something.

“There’s something off. Someone’s using the fire to slip away!” The round-faced disciple snorted, starting to move, but Xiangzi grabbed his sleeve.

“Senior Brother, it’s empty there!” Xiangzi said.

The disciple froze—a ninth-grade peak like me can’t see clearly, but this new ninth-grader is so sure? “The fire’s at the front courtyard. Let’s check the back!”

Xiangzi didn’t explain, his steps flashing toward the rear courtyard. The disciple’s expression tightened, following.

—

Baolin Martial Hall sat at East City’s edge, spanning Yellow Birch District, backed by Green Bright Mountain. The apprentice courtyard nestled at its base. With the front courtyard’s fire drawing eyes, the rear was eerily silent.

Amid rustling steps, Xiangzi’s group navigated the back courtyard. The usually serene mountain and water became treacherous in the moonless night. Even the round-faced disciple grumbled, but Xiangzi remained unfazed, his formidable vision unhindered by darkness, leading the way.

He stopped, pulling out a copper tube Wan Yuxuan had given him. With a twist, golden smoke burst forth, a signal flare blooming into a radiant firework, illuminating the night.

At the edge of their vision, a stumbling figure appeared. As the flare lit up, the figure turned, revealing a familiar chubby face—panicked, wretched.

Seeing the tall figure on a boulder, Chen Jiashang’s small eyes narrowed, the warmth gone, replaced by venomous intensity.

—

“Chen Jiashang! It was you—you poisoned Brother Xiang!” Xu Xiaoliu gasped, stunned. That smiling, squinting classmate—a ruthless villain?

Jiang Wangshui froze. The golden flare hung in the air, casting dim light on Chen Jiashang. Knowing escape was futile, he turned, his eyes like ancient ice.

“Lu Qi? That useless rabbit couldn’t even poison right. Deserved to die,” Chen sneered, his gaze locking on Xiangzi with a bitter smile. “I thought myself clever, but who’d guess someone could withstand the Five Ores Powder?”

His voice turned shrill. “Why? Why could you endure it? I’ve suffered that poison since ten, and even I couldn’t survive it. Who are you, Li Xiang, to pull it off?”