When Jiang Yi returned to the United Military-Political Academy of Ringstar, it was already deep into the night.
The semester had yet to begin, and only a handful of students were permitted to move about the campus. As a result, the vast, opulent grounds lay silent under the darkness, like an uninhabited fortress. His car sped unimpeded through a series of security checkpoints before finally coming to a stop in the Military-Political Department zone.
A signal light flickered above an empty parking spot.
Jiang Yi turned the wheel, activating the automated parking system on the dashboard, which displayed an array of data. As he unbuckled his seatbelt, a mechanical arm extended to drape his coat over his shoulders. Before he could even straighten up, however, a sudden impact jolted the car, causing it to sway slightly. A few strands of his meticulously styled black hair fell across his forehead.
"Warning: Rear collision detected."
An error code flashed before his eyes.
The rearview display flickered to life, revealing a low-slung, extravagantly designed car that had recklessly swerved into his parking space, its tail end slamming into his vehicle with a sharp scrape.
That car… and that license plate.
Jiang Yi’s expression darkened as he grabbed his coat and flung the car door open.
Coincidentally, the other driver was leisurely stepping out as well. Dressed in a silver-black uniform with a sword at his waist, he was tall and powerfully built. Beneath his short, curly platinum-blond hair, his eyebrows arched high, and his gray-blue eyes gleamed with a fragmented light. Even in the dim surroundings, the brilliance of his smile—almost malicious—was unmistakable.
Luwixi Van Tarn.
The son of the Minister of Defense.
The Tarn family and the Jiang family both belonged to the military faction, but their allegiances diverged. The power struggle had carried over from their parents' generation into the Academy, and the two of them were notorious rivals within the Military-Political Department. Now that Luwixi had provoked him, Jiang Yi had no intention of letting it slide.
Jiang Yi strode over, leaving his car door ajar, and within a few steps, he seized Luwixi by the collar and swung a punch straight at his face.
"Thud—"
Luwixi was knocked back, his body slamming into the car. But in the next instant, he pushed himself up, gripping Jiang Yi’s shoulder and driving a knee into his abdomen.
Jiang Yi coughed from the impact, his eyes dark with fury. He twisted Luwixi’s arm and flipped him over in a brutal throw.
Luwixi hit the ground hard, blood immediately welling from a gash on his forehead. Yet he reacted swiftly, using the momentum to sweep Jiang Yi’s legs out from under him. In one fluid motion, he flicked out a dagger and plunged it into Jiang Yi’s arm.
In seconds, both of them were bleeding, yet their fighting spirits only burned brighter.
But before their brawl could escalate further, a shrill alarm blared through the parking zone.
Fighting was strictly prohibited within the Academy, but students of the Military-Political Department were known for their explosive tempers—any minor friction could ignite a full-blown battle. As a result, security measures were stringent, and the moment an alarm was triggered, the security team would rush to the scene.
Though Jiang Yi and Luwixi were locked in a vicious struggle, neither wanted to face disciplinary action—it would be too humiliating. Reluctantly, they released each other, though their expressions remained thunderous.
Clearly, this fight wasn’t over—just postponed.
Luwixi casually wiped the blood from his forehead, smearing it into his golden hair. Drops of crimson stained his lashes as he sneered, "Did it feel good, sneaking in that cheap shot? How about now?"
His crude words clashed starkly with his godlike, sculpted features.
Jiang Yi yanked the dagger from his arm and smirked coldly. "Better to use my brain than my fists like some brute."
"I’ll settle this with you sooner or later," Luwixi spat before turning toward his car.
Jiang Yi replied coolly, "Worry about your own grades first. I’m not the one still struggling to earn credits."
Luwixi paused, glancing back with a raised brow. "Doesn’t matter if my grades are shit. My father will still be the one giving orders to honor students like you."
The military fell under the jurisdiction of the Cabinet’s Defense Ministry, and while the current power balance was precarious, there was no denying the administrative hierarchy.
Jiang Yi’s lips curled in mockery. "Then I hope your father keeps it in his pants. Wouldn’t want a surprise half-sibling showing up."
The taunt nearly sent Luwixi lunging at him again, but the approaching security team forced him to hold back. His diamond brow piercing glinted dangerously as he narrowed his eyes. Jiang Yi, equally furious but pressed for time, turned on his heel and strode away.
The security officers didn’t dare interfere—both Jiang Yi and Luwixi were far from ordinary students.
Most students in the Military-Political Department completed a rigorous six-year program. However, a select few entered with pre-existing military or political ranks, receiving advanced, specialized training. These individuals often finished their credits early and spent the remaining years focusing on their careers, rarely setting foot on campus.
The only reason they’d crossed paths now was the annual opening ceremony, where Military-Political students were required to participate in drills and ceremonial performances.
By the time Jiang Yi reached the training grounds, he was already late. He hurriedly changed into his Academy uniform, strapped on his sword, and hastily wrapped a bandage around his wounded arm. The training itself wasn’t difficult, but the routine involved extensive swordplay, and his injury kept tearing open, blood dripping steadily down his arm.
By the time the hour-long session ended, his temper was at its limit. He stormed into the locker room, slamming the door behind him before tearing off his coat and unbuttoning his shirt to reapply the bandages.
Why hadn’t he smashed that idiot’s teeth in earlier?
His face was as cold as a parent ordering a child to defrost dinner—frozen in perpetual displeasure.
His terminal assistant activated, automatically relaying several unread messages:
[Search completed.]
[Nothing found.]
[Evidence chain incomplete.]
[Subject released per protocol.]
Jiang Yi’s hand twitched, aggravating his wound. His expression turned even grimmer.
Useless. It was right there on the inner arm.
How could they miss it?
His fury mounting, he pulled up the search footage sent to him.
The angle of the recording made the image slightly blurred.
Lin Zhiyan stood motionless while two officers conducted the search—one holding her shoulder, the other running hands along her legs before moving upward.
When they reached her inner arm, their movements slowed.
They exchanged a glance.
One of them produced a pair of scissors.
The interrogation room was frigid, the air thick with tension.
The cold blades slid along her sleeve, the sharp snips echoing ominously. Her arms were lifted like a puppet’s, adjusted without resistance. She watched their actions with downcast eyes, docile as a lamb submitting to shearing.
Soon, the fabric fell away, revealing her bare skin—until the scissors reached her upper arm. She raised her wrist, exposing a sleek black armband secured around her bicep. But the attached pouch, meant to hold items… was empty.
Lin Zhiyan’s lashes cast shadows over the teardrop mole at the corner of her eye. After a beat, she lifted her gaze toward the surveillance camera, her clear eyes meeting Jiang Yi’s as if she could see him through the screen.
"Would you like to keep searching?"
The question was a whisper of defiance—subtle yet deliberate.
Jiang Yi simultaneously admired her cunning and seethed at the provocation. His patience evaporated. Abandoning the half-finished bandage, he buttoned his shirt and strode out, his footsteps sharp with barely contained rage.
He was determined to get to the bottom of how the so-called evidence had vanished right under the noses of those useless subordinates. Something he could crush with a single finger, yet they had let her turn the tables on them.
Jiang Yi strode to the door, roughly yanking his coat off the hanger. Unexpectedly, something tumbled out of the pocket with a clatter.
He bent down to pick it up, examining it for a few seconds—a palm-sized retractable protective device.
Jiang Yi: "..."
It took him a moment to process. The fury that had simmered all night suddenly flared up, scorching his mind like oilpaper set ablaze.
What the hell kind of sick joke was this?
Jiang Yi suddenly laughed.
Out of sheer rage.
"BANG—"
The sound of the door slamming shook the walls.
The United Military-Political Academy of Ringstar lay submerged in the ink-black night, its silence briefly shattered by the roar of a speeding car with a damaged rear before quiet settled again.
The night deepened.
Lin Zhiyan dragged her luggage out of the car and hurried toward the inn, her footsteps light and carefree. Freshly released, she had immediately fled to another suburban area, terrified Jiang Yi might storm in at midnight to exact vengeance.
After so many transfers, she was finally nearing her new lodging.
With every step, Lin Zhiyan felt lighter, as if she might float away—elated at her escape, yet still uneasy about having crossed Jiang Yi. But by the time she reached the inn, exhaustion had overtaken her.
She’d figure it out after some sleep. She always did.
Outside the window, the darkness gradually faded as dawn arrived.
Two cycles of the sun and moon later, it was the first day of the semester.
Lin Zhiyan woke early and headed to the academy.
The opening ceremony of the United Military-Political Academy of Ringstar was grand, with several main roads blocked off. All sorts of airships and nuclear-powered balloons hovered like swallows in the sky, their surfaces plastered with advertisements.
Bizarre vehicles streamed in endlessly—every third person seemed to be the heir of some conglomerate, every fifth a scion of a family of doctors or professors. Each wore a smile so perfectly rehearsed it looked like they were posing for a camera. Students lounged on the grass or under trees, laughing exaggeratedly at the most mundane things as if starring in a magazine shoot.
Along the pathways, clubs flaunted their wealth in flashy recruitment tactics. Some even competed, stuffing their promotional pamphlets with cash, gemstones, or shopping vouchers and scattering them via drones, clogging the wide walkways with eager crowds.
Teachers guiding the freshmen struggled to maintain order as the privileged young masters and misses behind them complained incessantly—some griping that their families shouldn’t have funded the club buildings, others sneering at the "cheap" vouchers or the "provincial" poverty around them.
Lin Zhiyan listened in shock, half-convinced she hadn’t come from another district but another planet. How had the nation advanced to this extent without informing her?
"Alright, this is the Military-Political Department’s zone," the teacher announced, pointing toward the sprawling academic complex in the distance. Unlike the crowded areas elsewhere, the department’s buildings stood in solemn silence.
She added, "Be aware—this department is different. It’s a military-restricted zone, off-limits to students from other departments. Don’t linger around here."
The moment she finished speaking, the group erupted into shrill complaints.
Clearly, they hadn’t yet adjusted to the fact that they weren’t the sole wielders of power.
Unfazed, the teacher led them through the Wealth Management Department, the Science and Technology Department, the Arts and Athletics Department, and the Medical Department… Among these, the Wealth Management Department’s lavish buildings, teeming with heirs of financial dynasties, outshone the others.
As the tour progressed, students peeled off one by one. By the time they reached the Cultural Studies Department, only the teacher and Lin Zhiyan remained. The department’s campus was the smallest—elegant but austere, exuding a quiet desolation.
Lin Zhiyan wasn’t surprised. The Cultural Studies Department was the only one that admitted students from all sixteen districts based solely on academic merit. Established just a few years prior, its programs leaned toward niche scholarly fields, making its lack of prestige inevitable.
Still, the reality stung. She couldn’t help feeling like an underpaid, overworked contract employee—someone with a pink-collar job, scraping by on meager wages.
Lin Zhiyan rubbed her neck, half-expecting to find a pink collar sprouting there.
By afternoon, the opening ceremony was about to begin.
The academy’s open-air auditorium was vast, resembling a stadium. Towering, ornate pillars supported a grand stage, beneath which students had already taken their assigned seats by department and class. The lengthy speeches from administrators were soporific. At first, Lin Zhiyan chatted with her neighbors, trying to network, but eventually, even she dozed off.
"Wake up! Pay attention!"
Someone yanked her sleeve sharply.
Lin Zhiyan jolted awake and turned to see Ai Wen, a classmate she’d just met from her program.
"Are you awake now?" Ai Wen had a lively, slightly shrill voice and talked nonstop. "It’s the Military-Political Department’s honor guard performance. Don’t miss it—people actually buy tickets just to watch this. We’re getting it for free!"
Lin Zhiyan looked toward the stage. Sure enough, a squad of broad-shouldered, long-legged young men in uniform marched in perfect formation, their movements crisp and commanding as horns and orchestral music swelled together.
Ai Wen was alright. A solid ally.
She made a mental note.
The honor guard assembled, raising their sabers in unison. Then, one figure stepped forward—apparently their leader. His saber lifted with precision, his demeanor icy and aloof. A cold glint flashed in his dark eyes as he surveyed the crowd with detached arrogance.
Lin Zhiyan: "..."
Jiang Yi?!
Her heart lurched.
This was bad. The man radiated unapproachable intensity, wrapped in pride and stubbornness.
Would he come after her for that interrogation incident? No, no—someone like him, high-ranking and undoubtedly swamped with responsibilities, wouldn’t bother holding a grudge against her.
Surely not.
Surely.
Even as she thought it, she knew he absolutely would.
Sure enough, during a break when she slipped backstage to prepare for her speech as the freshman representative, she hadn’t taken five steps before hands seized her, dragging her into a lounge.
The room was spacious, bathed in light, with a messy table strewn with playing cards, an ashtray, and a half-finished chess game. A figure stood by the window, fresh from a shower, toweling his hair. His shirt hung loosely, belt undone.
—Of course, it was Jiang Yi, the living embodiment of trouble.
Two men forced Lin Zhiyan onto the couch.
Jiang Yi didn’t speak. His military boots sank soundlessly into the plush carpet as he took a seat opposite her. His gaze was frigid, dripping with menace. Water trailed down his jaw, slipping past his half-fastened collar into unseen depths.
If this was an interrogation, did he have to make it so… suggestive?
Lin Zhiyan’s brain short-circuited.
Then she felt something cold press against her skin. Turning, she saw one man pinning her wrists while another held a pair of scissors.
"Since you managed to escape, I won’t pursue the matter further, nor will I make things difficult for you." Jiang Yi leaned down, his dark eyes intense, as if delivering an imperial decree. "But you’ll have to demonstrate it again—show me how you moved it right under my nose."
He tossed the arm restraints and self-defense device in front of her.
No recordings had been activated at the time, and he was curious about the exact moment she had diverted his attention, allowing her to succeed.
He continued, "Once you’ve demonstrated, I’ll let you go."
As if it were some grand favor.
Playing emperor in this shabby breakroom.
Lin Zhiyan seethed inwardly.
But then, remembering the identity she’d looked up on the star-net, she felt her anger soften instantly, light as whipped cream—sweet and utterly harmless.
Still, the art of being human lay in resilience.
Lin Zhiyan lifted her chin and met his gaze. "If humiliating me satisfies you, fine. But at least pay for my shirt. This is the second one."
Jiang Yi studied her again.
Lin Zhiyan was practically forced into a kneeling position, her hair disheveled, strands clinging to her face and neck, even spilling over the hands of the person restraining her. She looked like a fragile flower, petals trembling in the wind, roots stubbornly anchored underground.
Jiang Yi’s throat moved slightly.
A few seconds later, he said, "Fine."
