Trembling Hands

Their footsteps echoed softly against the wooden boards, filling the quiet corridor.

Jiang's gaze swept across his surroundings as he walked. The senior disciples' quarters were arranged in a grand courtyard-style complex, each building adorned with curved rooftops and intricate carvings along the beams.

Farther ahead, morning light cut through gaps in the eaves, casting long, shifting shadows on the lacquered floor. Paper lanterns swayed in the breeze, their painted dragons flickering with each movement. The air carried the crisp scent of pine and distant lotus, tinged with a lingering coolness.

A stone pathway stretched before them, leading toward the Sect's main grounds. Grand pavilions and towering pagodas loomed beneath the vast sky.

Then, as he stepped beyond the corridor's shade—

—the sunlight struck like a blade.

Jiang instinctively narrowed his eyes, a sharp sting prickling his vision as his pupils adjusted. The world before him unfolded in full brilliance.

A vast courtyard stretched ahead, its stone paths winding elegantly around a jade-green lake. The water reflected the sky like a flawless mirror, disturbed only by the occasional ripple of passing koi. A small arched bridge of white stone crossed the lake, its railings carved with swirling clouds and coiling dragons.

Beyond the lake, tall bamboo groves swayed lazily, their rustling leaves harmonizing with the distant calls of spirit cranes perched atop the Sect's ancient rooftops.

This is… beautiful.

Even in the game, Divine Dragon Sect had been depicted as grand, but nothing compared to experiencing it firsthand—the scent of damp earth, the chill of the breeze, the distant hum of life all around him. It was overwhelming in a way a screen could never capture.

For the first time since waking up in this world, he felt truly alive—not just a player looking in, but someone who belonged within it.

Yet, as he took in the scenery, something else caught his attention.

The people.

Disciples clad in black robes with blue embroidery—the standard attire for junior disciples—moved with quiet efficiency. Some walked along the stone paths, others engaged in morning practice. But the moment they saw him, their movements subtly shifted.

Averted gazes. Quickened steps. Some even altered their path entirely, as if avoiding a predator's shadow.

Jiang's lips pressed into a thin line.

Tch. Aren't you too obvious?

The senior disciples were different. They wore black robes with red embroidery, marking their higher status within the Sect. Unlike the juniors, they didn't avoid him.

Instead, when they passed by, they bowed slightly.

Not out of respect.

Out of fear.

Jiang could see it in their posture—the slight tension in their shoulders, the careful control in their expressions. They weren't greeting him.

They were acknowledging him—a necessary act to avoid provoking his irritation.

This bastard really made everyone hate him.

Jiang had expected his reputation to be bad, but feeling it firsthand was different. He wasn't just avoided—he was despised. The looks, the stiffened shoulders, the hurried steps—everyone treated him like a plague, something vile they wanted nothing to do with.

But they couldn't say it outright.

The more they walked, the heavier that realization became.

Even if he gathered all the information he needed, even if he figured out what was happening in this timeline…

So what?

He was still Jiang Shen.

He had to deal with this mess.

Jiang let out a slow breath, adjusting his robes as they neared their destination.

The Instructor's Residence stood within a secluded area of the Sect, nestled among towering pine trees. Unlike the grand pagodas and opulent halls, this place was simpler—more refined. The buildings were constructed from dark wood, their slanted rooftops edged with bronze linings that gleamed under the sun.

The path leading to the main hall was lined with stone lanterns, their unlit wicks swaying in the morning breeze. A small pond rested near the entrance, its surface scattered with floating lotus leaves.

A few spirit fish swam beneath, their scales shimmering like molten gold.

Jiang's mind screeched to a halt.

Holy shit! Is that… a high-tier fish?! Those things are stupidly rare!

If I could just make a pill out of it… one night, and my qi would skyrocket to a Second-rate martial artist's level!

His fingers twitched slightly, his gamer instincts screaming at him to jump in and snatch the fish.

But outwardly, his expression remained calm.

To any onlooker, he simply looked like a moody villain pausing to admire nature's beauty.

Near the entrance, Jiang slowed his steps.

The female disciple who had led him here stopped before the doorway. She bowed slightly, keeping her posture rigid.

Jiang didn't ask anything.

He simply reached for the wooden door—

—and stepped inside.

At the center of the room, Hall Master Jiang Rumei sat behind a sturdy wooden desk, her brush moving with practiced ease as she filled out paperwork.

A single incense stick burned in the corner, its faint, calming scent mixing with the crisp air.

Jiang's eyes flickered around the room.

Neatly arranged scrolls. A rack of weapons near the wall. Windows slightly open, letting in the cool morning breeze.

His gaze hovered there for a moment, instinctively assessing his surroundings.

"Jiang Shen."

His attention snapped back to her.

She had already set her brush down, her sharp eyes locking onto him.

"Sit."

She gestured to the chair near her desk.

Jiang said nothing and obeyed, his movements careful.

The moment he sat, she let out a tired sigh and pressed a hand against her forehead.

Then, in a voice laced with frustration, she asked—

"Did you poison Chen Feng?"

Jiang flinched.

A sharp prickle crawled up his spine.

How does she know?

The room felt colder, heavier.

He had only learned about the poisoning this morning, yet Rumei already knew?

Has someone reported me? Does the Sect have an investigation system I'm not aware of?

His thoughts spun rapidly, but outwardly, he stayed silent.

Her gaze didn't waver.

She let out another sigh—this one heavier—before leaning forward, elbows resting on the desk.

"Young Master," she said, her voice dropping lower.

"Please… Please stop causing trouble."

She exhaled sharply, then stood up.

"If you continue like this, then even with your status as one of the heirs to the Jiang Clan—even with my intervention as a Senior Instructor—I won't be able to stop your expulsion."

Jiang clenched his hands slightly. He had been quiet since entering, simply listening, but now he felt the need to speak.

"I—"

But she interrupted him.

"Young Master..."

She hesitated. Then, her tone softened.

"Shen'er."

She stepped closer. Then, to Jiang's complete shock, she knelt before him.

Jiang stiffened.

His mind struggled to process what she was doing.

Then, she reached out and took his hand.

Her grip was firm yet trembling.

"Shen'er, you should know… people are already questioning my favoritism."

She inhaled shakily before continuing.

"Even though you never asked for it. Even though you outright refused an unfair advantage in the upcoming ranking competition."

Her voice wavered. "Even then—people pointed fingers."

Jiang's brows furrowed.

Then, her next words shattered everything.

"Forget about your mother."

Her voice barely carried, quiet enough to be mistaken for a whisper.

"Please… start a new life."

Jiang's breath caught.

Mother?

Rumei's grip on his hand tightened. Her shoulders trembled ever so slightly, her breath unsteady. She wasn't crying, but the cracks in her composure were unmistakable—like a dam on the verge of breaking, holding back a flood that had been pressing against it for far too long.

His mind blanked—not because he didn't understand, but because he had no idea how to respond.

He had braced for hostility. For veiled threats, calculated words, a test of his status.

But this?

This was something else entirely.