Chapter 37: The Marked

The training facility buzzed faintly with the hum of energy, flickering holograms casting eerie teal shadows across the sleek black floor. Xuan Jing moved with precision, his strikes fluid and deliberate. His fitted sleeveless training vest hugged his torso, emphasizing his lean build, while his slim black combat pants, equipped with multiple adjustable straps, allowed for unrestricted movement. Black tactical boots, matte with reinforced soles, grounded his every motion as he flowed seamlessly through a series of complex forms. His focus was absolute, his expression unreadable as ever.

Yíng Yǐng sat cross-legged on the floor nearby, his head tilted in amusement. Clad in identical attire to his master, his shadowy figure that flickered once in a while looked oddly human, though the mischievous glint in his silver eyes gave him away. "Jing Jing," he chirped, "you're looking particularly intense today. Is that a new move, or are you just showing off?"

Xuan Jing didn't respond, his focus unbroken. Yíng Yǐng sighed dramatically, resting his chin on his palm.

Beside him, Wei Lin was perched on the edge of a bench, his garnet eyes fixed on Xuan Jing with a mix of irritation and begrudging admiration. His red hair was also tied up messily, mirroring Xuan Jing's style. "Yíng Yǐng, shut up before I throw you out," he muttered, his voice low with a smile but edged with irritation.

Yíng Yǐng smirked, unfazed. "Oh, someone's grumpy today. Did you not get enough sleep, Lin Lin?"

Wei Lin shot him a glare. "Call me that again, and you won't get a chance to regenerate."

Before Yíng Yǐng could retort, the slide door hissed open. The atmosphere shifted instantly. Wei Lin's eyes snapped to the figure entering, his expression hardening, though he remained seated. Yíng Yǐng's neck turned at an unnervingly slow angle, his silver eyes narrowing in curiosity.

Xuan Jing, for his part, continued as though nothing had happened, delivering a final, sharp strike that sent a holographic projection shattering into flickering shards.

The intruder was a boy, tall and firm in his posture despite the evident weariness in his purple doe eyes. His dark green hair fell to his shoulders, framing a face that, while handsome, carried the weight of responsibility. He wore the Crimson Spire Academy uniform with the kind of pride that could only come from bearing the legacy of a big clan.

Wei Lin's brow furrowed, and he tilted his head slightly, his gaze sharpening. "Young Master Jing," he said softly, his tone respectful but laced with curiosity, "it seems we have company."

Xuan Jing finally turned, his expression as calm and detached as ever. His Pastel teal eyes swept over the intruder, pausing briefly at the insignia on his uniform. "State your purpose," he said coolly, his voice carrying an air of quiet command.

The boy stepped forward, his movements deliberate. "My name is Lǚ Zhīqiáng," he said, bowing slightly. His surname, Lǚ (吕), was one of the most well-known among the big clans—a family renowned for their expertise in strategic combat and shadow manipulation. "I come on behalf of the Council of Shadows to inform you of a formal training exchange between students."

Xuan Jing raised a brow but said nothing, prompting Lǚ Zhīqiáng to continue. "The exchange will be observed by the Marked that's apart of the Elite's Council."

At that, Wei Lin straightened, his garnet eyes narrowing. "The Marked?" he repeated, his tone skeptical. "The so-called chosen ones?"

"Yes," Zhīqiáng confirmed, his gaze steady despite Wei Lin's obvious distrust. "They will be present to observe and potentially recruit candidates who show… exceptional promise."

Yíng Yǐng's eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned closer to Zhīqiáng. "Exceptional, huh? Well, Jing Jing here is more than exceptional. Isn't that right?"

Zhīqiáng glanced at Xuan Jing, his expression unreadable. "That remains to be seen."

Wei Lin scoffed, his arms crossed. "And what makes you think Young Master Jing would be interested in participating in this exchange? He has no need for your Marked or their approval."

Zhīqiáng didn't flinch. "It's not about approval. It's about presence. The Marked are looking for more than skill—they're looking for those who can reshape the battlefield, redefine power. If Young Master Xuan Jing truly is as remarkable as his reputation suggests…" He paused, his purple eyes meeting Xuan Jing's unflinching teal gaze. "Then he will undoubtedly catch their attention."

Xuan Jing remained silent, his expression unreadable. Finally, he turned away, walking back to his starting position. "Tell the Council I'll consider it," he said curtly, lifting the Soul Lantern from its place on the floor.

Zhīqiáng nodded, his expression resolute. "Understood."

As he turned to leave, Yíng Yǐng called after him, "Hey, Lǚ Zhīqiáng! Don't let the Marked underestimate Jing Jing, or you'll regret it."

Zhīqiáng paused, glancing back with a faint smirk. "I doubt anyone could underestimate him," he said before the door slid shut behind him.

The room was silent for a moment before Wei Lin sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Marked, exchanges, and the Council meddling again. This is going to be a headache."

Yíng Yǐng chuckled. "Don't worry, Lin Lin. Jing Jing has it all under control."

"Don't call me that!" Wei Lin snapped, his voice rising.

Xuan Jing ignored the bickering, his gaze fixed on the Soul Lantern in his hand. "The Marked…" he murmured, his silver teal glinting with a rare spark of intrigue.