Chapter Six: Offending the Goddess

Late June, 2027. Dusk. West outskirts of Hanjing, capital of the Chakna Republic. By the Swallow Lake at Hanjing University.

The last rays of sunlight had already melted beneath the earth, and darkness began to settle in. The winding surface of the lake, once sparkling, was now barely visible. This place was famed throughout the republic, a scenic landmark—and more than that, it was the lovers’ sanctuary for Hanjing University students. At this hour, the lakeside belonged to young couples, hand in hand strolling among towers and reflections, or sitting face to face on pebbles that glimmered like jade, whispering secrets, or entwined in embrace beneath the thick woods on the hill beside the water.

Yet tonight, countless eyes surreptitiously stole glances toward the stone path by the lake, drawn irresistibly to a graceful figure. The men looked on with admiration; the women, not with jealousy, but with fervor and envy.

Quietly, gracefully, An Jing walked along the lakeside path. Her ankle-length skirt swayed gently, and her slender feet in elegant mid-heeled sandals clicked softly on the stones. A breeze stirred, lifting her jet-black hair. She raised her right hand, slender and fair, gathering her hair with delicate fingers, then instinctively tightened her hold on the books cradled in her arms.

Her demeanor was tranquil, her movements graceful, imbued with a charm difficult to express in words.

She was a legend at Hanjing University. Enrolled at thirteen, completed her undergraduate credits by fifteen. Her thesis on literature during the Great Upheaval had won high praise in academic circles, hailed as “breaking a forbidden ground, filling a research void,” and the university’s academic committee had granted her special admission to the doctoral program, under the tutelage of a renowned professor. Now seventeen, she had nearly finished her doctoral thesis and would soon become the youngest PhD in the 129-year history of Hanjing University, the republic’s first modern university.

Such brilliance paired with beauty beyond compare, and the gentle air about her—it was no wonder the entire campus was mad for her.

An Jing could feel the gaze from all around, but she walked on, neither startled nor shy, her eyes serene, her smile gentle. She greeted familiar teachers and classmates with a nod, her clean, lovely features and gentle smile making her seem as if she had stepped out from the mist above the lake, a classical lady in harmony with the landscape, so natural, so peaceful, that no one dared harbor even the faintest disrespect.

But this harmonious scene was about to be disrupted.

Just as An Jing rounded the bend by the Spoon Garden, a figure suddenly emerged from a side path, colliding squarely with her shoulder.

“Ouch!” An Jing felt as though she had run into a wall, stumbling back several steps. The books in her arms tumbled to the ground.

The person stopped, muttered a quick “Sorry”—his voice tinged with youth. An Jing instinctively replied, “It’s nothing,” then looked up, stunned.

The young man before her was neither tall nor short, dressed in a camouflage t-shirt and baggy shorts, skin delicate and pale, almost glowing like jade, his hair cropped in sharp lines. His face still carried a hint of youth, but his features were hard-edged.

Most striking were the eyes beneath thick, slanting brows—black and bright, shining with an unusual light, as if possessed of a strange magic that could draw in one’s soul. Yet now, his expression was vacant, his gaze sharp but utterly unfocused, empty. He muttered an absent-minded “Oh,” stepped around An Jing, and walked off along the lakeside path in the opposite direction.

An Jing gathered up her fallen books and stood to leave, but those eyes lingered unexpectedly in her mind. She turned and raised her hand to call after him, only to find he had already covered dozens of meters in the blink of an eye, his heavy steps somehow swift.

She shook her head and strode away with elegance.

Though An Jing made no fuss, the students who witnessed everything were not as calm.

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“How could he be like that?”

“Right? Runs into her and doesn’t even apologize, just walks off?”

“No manners. Morally bankrupt—”

The chatter reached the ears of the young man who had caused the commotion. He seemed to snap awake, uttered an “Ah,” and spun around, as if wanting to apologize again. But the graceful figure had already vanished down a shaded path.

He glanced at the surrounding students, his gaze still empty, unfocused. And yet, for reasons unknown, everyone he looked at felt a chill run down their spine, as if those eyes harbored an immense danger.

This young man was Lei Dong.

He had spent the entire day wandering the streets.

After more than ten days of adjustment, Lei Dong’s expression was no longer so heavy—but that was only on the surface. Deep inside, he could not escape the torment: “Am I a born killer?” The question gnawed at him, making him doubt his heart, his everything. Yet, the war zone’s physiological and psychological reports were clear—this soldier had no issues.

Seeing his condition unchanged, Zhang He had no choice but to submit a report. Battalion Commander Cui Chaohhe, with a stroke of his pen, granted twenty days of family leave—“Let his father deal with it!”

Zhang He had no idea what Cui actually thought, nor what sort of man Lei Dong’s father was, but orders were orders. He could only pat Lei Dong’s shoulder helplessly: “Go home. Think it through…”

The republic’s railways were now extremely advanced; a high-speed train brought Lei Dong to Hanjing in less than three hours. But standing on the grand plaza of the newly expanded station, Lei Dong looked around in confusion, not knowing where to go.

Home? Don’t make him laugh. The father who had sent him to the training grounds at age three, who for fifteen years cared about nothing but his training, obsessed with forging him into an unparalleled soldier—he’d probably scold him to oblivion.

Seek out the old mystic? Even if he could find the elusive master who claimed to teach him cultivation but only ever imparted a single “Chaos Formula” and vanished without a trace, reappearing like a ghost—could he help Lei Dong unravel this knot? Not likely!

Look for old friends, the little brothers and hangers-on? How could he explain—he’d been frightened by his own madness? Besides, who knew where they were now, and his experiences were classified anyway.

…

All day, Lei Dong wandered the streets in a daze, walking for hours, not knowing how far he’d gone, until, following the flow of people, he found himself at the gates of Hanjing University.

This had once been Lei Dong’s sacred dream; if not for being shipped off to the 140th Army by his father a year ago, he would have been studying here now.

Here was beauty, towers and lake; the best professors in the country; the republic’s brightest students; and most of all, the richest cultural heritage—perhaps, here, he might find the answer he sought?

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With this hope, Lei Dong wandered through the west gate, down to Swallow Lake. He hadn’t gone far when, lost in thought, he bumped into someone.

Watching that graceful figure vanish into the trees, Lei Dong shook his head with a bitter smile, his mood lifting for no reason.

A sudden roar of engines came from behind. Lei Dong spun around. A red Warhammer 2 heavy off-road vehicle, over six meters long, thundered toward him, scattering students with curses and shouts, barreling straight at him with no sign of slowing.

Moments ago, Lei Dong had seemed lost, but now, as the vehicle rushed at him, he changed in an instant. His feet planted firmly, unmoving, eyes cold and sharp, locked onto the speeding red Warhammer 2.

With a screech, the vehicle slammed to a halt. Its massive front bumper stopped less than an inch from Lei Dong’s chest.

The window rolled down, revealing a pale, almost neurotic face, with a thick cigar between lips. He leisurely blew out a smoke ring, lips curling in a strange arc, and called out exaggeratedly, “Hey, isn’t that Master Lei? Heard your old man sent you to the army for a makeover. What, got kicked out? Serves you right!” The rear windows dropped, and several spoiled youths in designer shirts poked their heads out, shouting, “Serves you right!”

Lei Dong recognized the car and its owner—Lin Tianyi, notorious playboy, infamous scion of the “Inner Circle,” the famed rake of the city.

At the memory of this punk’s antics, Lei Dong’s anger flared, his shoulders tensed. But then he relaxed, shook his head, and stepped aside to let the Warhammer 2 pass, eyes fixed on the car, gaze piercing through the last window of dark glass.

“Drive!” A commanding voice barked from the back seat.

Lin Tianyi’s face froze, then slipped back into his careless, contemptuous grin. He jabbed his cigar at Lei Dong. “Lei Dong, you’d best stay out of my sight. Next time, I won’t hit the brakes!”

Lei Dong waved his hand impatiently, as if shooing a bothersome fly, saying nothing.

“Pathetic!” Lin Tianyi spat outside, and, amid boisterous laughter, the Warhammer 2 roared off.

Night had fallen; amber streetlights flickered on, and Swallow Lake was shrouded in a misty haze. Watching the enchanting water, surveying couples scattered about, Lei Dong took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, as if the weight in his heart had left with it.

Suddenly, Lei Dong halted, his ears twitching as if listening, his thick brows shooting upright, hair bristling like a thousand blades. He stomped the ground, shattering the stone beneath his feet. A surge of murderous intent boiled around him. With a thunderous shout, “Bastard!” his body shot forward like a shell, vanishing in a flash beyond the flower beds, gone in an instant.