Tiantai

“Send the students?”

There was a hint of displeasure in Long Ao’s voice. “What about their own people?”

Yin Chen shrugged. “The front line was already short on ability users. Now that the rifts have expanded, the defensive perimeter has grown longer, and there aren’t many mobile forces left to deploy. The academy happens to have a group of high-level students with extensive combat experience.”

“Put plainly, they’re short on manpower. What experience do rookies like us have?”

Long Ao snorted.

“More or less.”

Yin Chen didn’t deny it. Although those of them who had been named were stronger than some of the upperclassmen, rookies were still rookies. This was no different from exploiting them.

But they were out of options. Most of the people on the front line were low-level soldiers carrying conventional weapons—or ordinary civilians. They simply couldn’t hold out any longer.

An Changqing lifted his gaze from the map and looked at Su Yuehe. “Besides us, who else is on the list?”

“There’s also Liu Feiyu.”

The moment that name was mentioned, Long Ao stopped chewing.

Yin Chen raised an eyebrow.

An Changqing’s expression didn’t change. He merely asked, “What condition is he in now?”

“Not sure.”

Chen Guan replied, “At the theater just now, he said he was fine. But you know what that kind of ‘fine’ means.”

Yin Chen leaned back in his chair, relaxed yet elegant. “His own brother just burned to ash right in front of him, and now they want to send him on a mission. Isn’t the command center being a little…”

“The list was drawn up before the Liu Xiao incident,” Su Yuehe explained. “Nothing had happened at the time.”

“And now? They’re still sending him?”

Su Yuehe shook her head. “That depends on the academy and the Liu family. It’s not something we can decide.”

Chen Guan didn’t join the discussion. His thoughts were still caught on what Baal had said earlier.

Astaroth’s ritual had just been disrupted, and the rifts had immediately begun to fluctuate.

Coincidence?

Baal had said it might be a coincidence, but his tone had clearly implied otherwise.

“Chen Guan.”

An Changqing’s voice pulled him back.

“Hmm?”

“What are you thinking about?”

Chen Guan considered his words. “The timing of the rifts’ expansion and what happened with Liu Xiao line up too perfectly.”

An Changqing’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Yin Chen sat up straight. “Are you saying the rift fluctuations are connected to Astaroth?”

“I’m not sure, but it’s worth considering.”

Su Yuehe frowned. “If there really is a connection, then entering the rift won’t just be an exploration mission. We may run into trouble related to demons.”

Long Ao’s voice was muffled. “We’ve barely finished one fight, and now there’s another.”

An Changqing looked over the location of Rift Four on the map once more, then lightly tapped the red dot twice with his finger.

“Regardless of whether there’s a connection, the mission itself is already extremely dangerous. The disappearance of the second exploration team is proof enough.”

He raised his head and swept his gaze across everyone present.

“You have three days. Heal your injuries, replenish whatever supplies you need, and get some rest. We’ll make the specific arrangements after we reach the Northern Frontier.”

No one objected.

Su Yuehe folded the map, put it back into her ring, and glanced at Chen Guan as she stood.

“Don’t strain that arm over the next three days.”

“The doctor just said the same thing.”

“Are you going to listen?”

“Yes.” Chen Guan put on an obedient expression. “I trust the medical advice.”

Su Yuehe studied him for a moment. Her expression made it clear that she didn’t quite believe him, but she said nothing more.

Chen Guan leaned against the doorframe and watched the others’ backs gradually disappear into the distance.

Baal’s voice rose again.

“Your friends are pretty interesting.”

Chen Guan ignored him.

“Especially that Long Ao. He’s injured too, but he’s still worried about you. Tsk, tsk.”

“What exactly are you trying to say?”

“Nothing.”

There was laughter in Baal’s voice. “I’m just reminding you that if the rift in the Northern Frontier really is connected to Astaroth, the mark in your palm will react once you enter.”

Chen Guan lowered his head and looked at the silent black mark in the center of his right palm.

“What kind of reaction?”

“You’ll know when the time comes.”

“Can’t you just finish what you’re saying for once?”

“Kehehehe, no. That would take all the fun out of it.”

Baal laughed wildly.

…

There were no lights on the rooftop.

Liu Feiyu stood by the railing, the night wind whipping his coat so hard that it snapped in the air.

The iron door behind him opened, its hinges groaning harshly.

The footsteps were heavy and widely spaced—Liu Chengjun’s stride.

Liu Feiyu didn’t turn around.

“How did you know I was here?”

“You’ve liked going to high places since you were a child.”

Liu Chengjun stopped two steps away and placed both hands on the railing, his gaze settling on the plaza below, which was filled with parked police cars.

“Big Brother, you didn’t come here to reminisce.”

Liu Chengjun said nothing. His eyes remained fixed on the distant skyline. The afterglow left behind by the pillar of light still lingered there, like a pale scar.

“It’s about the Azure Dragon Token.”

Liu Feiyu’s fingers stopped moving. He turned his head and looked directly at Liu Chengjun’s profile for the first time, trying to read his intentions from those sharply defined features.

“What do you want to say?”

“I’m withdrawing.”

Three words—clean and decisive, without a trace of preamble.

Liu Feiyu’s brows drew together. The fountain pen he had been turning between his fingers slipped free, caught by the wind, and tumbled into the darkness below.

“What did you say?”

“I’m no longer competing for the Azure Dragon position.”

Liu Chengjun’s tone was flat, as if he were merely stating a decision he had made long ago.

Liu Feiyu turned around completely, facing Liu Chengjun with his back against the metal railing.

“Big Brother, did that pillar of light just now fry your brain?”

“No.”

“Then explain what you mean by ‘no longer competing.’”

Liu Feiyu’s voice rose slightly. That was simply the kind of person he was. If he took something for himself, he felt perfectly at ease. But if someone else—especially his elder brother—offered it to him willingly, he became uneasy instead.

Liu Chengjun turned and leaned against the railing, facing Liu Feiyu.

The darkness made his expression difficult to see, but Liu Feiyu could sense that his brother’s eyes were different from before.

Something was missing from them.

“Feiyu, do you know why I wanted the Azure Dragon Token in the first place?”

“Power, status, and the right to inherit the Liu family.”

Liu Feiyu answered without hesitation.

“No.”

Liu Chengjun shook his head, the curve of his lips tinged with self-mockery.

“I just wanted to stay alive.”

Liu Feiyu’s mouth opened, then closed again.

The words sounded painfully familiar.

“The Liu family’s eldest son—the target of everyone’s hostility.”

Liu Chengjun repeated what Liu Xiao had said in his final moments.

“Second Brother was right. We’re all the same. If he’d been born a few years earlier, he would have become another me.”

The wind poured through the space between them, wailing softly.

“When I was five, Third Uncle had someone put a slow-acting poison in my tea. I discovered it myself and told no one. From that moment on, I understood one thing.”

Liu Chengjun raised his right hand and stared at his palm.

“In the Liu family, if you don’t rise to the very top, all you can do is wait to die.”

Liu Feiyu remained silent for a long time. Everything Liu Chengjun had said was true.

He had always known that his brother’s position was difficult, but he had never heard him say any of this aloud. In fact, there had even been times when he had taken pleasure in it.