I was starting to lose all sense of time.

  The past hour: a successful fight with demons in a train carriage, narrowly avoiding death on the ptform, Mendoza, Hou… All of it felt like it had dragged on for weeks.

  I realised burnout was kicking in. The stimunts, adrenaline, and whatever other hormones had been keeping me upright were starting to wear off, and all I wanted now was to lie down.

  The fatigue wasn’t even that physical, it was mental. My brain was still running on emergency power. I still had Thousand Sparks and Parallelisation running, both actively draining my reserves. Both physical and energetic.

  My core no longer burned like a brilliant star, it felt more like a red-hot ball of cast iron.

  And yes, it came with matching side effects. At least the weight part. The cast iron sensation was still metaphorical, but the way it threw off my bance was painfully real. Just standing upright was difficult, which is why I was now leaning against the column Master Hou had so politely assigned me to.

  In this state, I couldn’t help but wonder: what if I’d chosen Dantian instead of the Sor Plexus? Would it have been easier… or would my bdder be boiling by now? The burn in my chest, for what it’s worth, was tolerable.

  And yet, instead of being stuck in a dark metro with a bunch of powerful cultivators, I’d much rather be in my own room — bed or chair, window view of the evening mountains, and a mug of that nasty marigold tea. Tastes like week-old socks, but it’s great for energy recovery and completely soothes any core backsh.

  Unfortunately, tea wasn’t on the menu. I was stuck watching an endless parade of empty trains. Apparently, when Hou invited Master Chen here, he didn’t bother to tell him it was urgent.

  Train after train came and went. All empty.

  I even nodded off under that column… and nearly missed him.

  The entire aura of the pce shifted in an instant. None of my companions moved much, but every single one of them went from cautious waiting to full combat readiness.

  The reason?

  A short, wiry old Asian man in a standard-issue brown jumpsuit.

  He gave off a strange vibe: not quite an old master, not quite a retired soldier, not quite a corporate executive. Three deep lines ran across his forehead. His hair was pure white, cropped short and neat, and his chin was clean-shaven — the kind of look that says discipline never left me, even if the body’s starting to go.

  There was a slight stoop in his posture, age catching up, but his gaze was sharp and cold, and his stride… smooth and confident.

  His eyes scanned the ptform in a fraction of a second.

  He took a step and the foot that stepped onto the marble tiles was already encased in a yellow-green armoured boot. The very space around it shifted slightly, barely perceptible, like air shimmering above hot asphalt.

  Within that warped zone, the contours of his armour began to emerge and gradually solidify. By the time his second foot touched the ptform, the armour had fully taken shape, enclosing the old man completely from the world around him.

  It was stylish, sure! But more importantly, it demonstrated extraordinary mastery over Space Qi.

  I couldn’t do that.

  Moving while locking in individual segments of armour into pce? Not a chance.

  When I pull something from the pocket, it’s always a sharp motion, and the object always has a fixed shape. That’s why I have to jump to equip my armour. I need to clear space around my body and match my form as closely as possible to the shape of the armour.

  What the old man had just done, that was high-tier move, the kind you earn not through raw talent but through decades of experience.

  He carried himself like it, too. And, just like with Novak, my interface said nothing about him. No tags, no readings.

  “You said I was needed to help resolve a conflict, young Ben,” the old man said. “Why do I get the feeling you’ve left quite a few things out?”

  Hou, who, half an hour ago, had tried to act like the undisputed alpha, let the ‘young Ben’ comment slide right past him. He pretended to skip straight to the point.

  “Zhou Xiangyun was a demon.”

  The old man froze.

  The words hung in the air as if someone had cut off all sound. Only the cleaning drones tapped their multi-jointed limbs against the marble, crawling into train carriages.

  One second.

  Two.

  Three.

  Chen’s head began to move. Through the helmet it was hard to say where exactly he was looking, but clearly, he’d judged the situation dangerous well before this. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have equipped his armour so visibly and deliberately. Now, he was clearly inspecting the bodies.

  The seconds dragged on.

  Five.

  I thought he paused on Zhou, the sword still embedded in her forehead.

  Six.

  The train doors closed behind him, and it began to move.

  I felt my nerves go taut while waiting for his answer. After all… I was the one who’d killed her.

  “No,” Chen said at st. “She wasn’t.”

  His voice was quiet, steady, without anger or doubt. It was terrifying.

  He looked around the ptform again, letting his gaze pass over each of us.

  “The evidence says otherwise,” Hou insisted.

  “You want to know what the evidence says to me?” Chen asked, just as calmly.

  “Very much so,” Hou admitted.

  Still perfectly measured, not a flicker of emotion, Chen continued: “It says someone screwed up. Someone killed her. And now they’re looking for a way to cover their arse.”

  Chen slowly turned his head toward Mendoza.

  “Who?” he asked her.

  “Does the name Jake Sullivan mean anything to you?” she asked.

  I nearly pissed myself. What the hell kind of setup is this?!

  I instinctively took a step back.

  Chen’s eyes, and everyone else’s, locked onto little old me.

  “Him? Are you joking?!” he said, spinning back toward Mendoza with the first trace of emotion in his voice.

  “I didn’t say he killed her,” Mendoza replied. “I just asked if you recognise the name. That’s all.

  “Please,” she added, pressing the point. “Give us a full answer.”

  Gods damn it, a warning would’ve been nice! Some of us have hearts, you know!

  Chen gave me another short gnce, then looked back at Mendoza.

  “If you try to drag my grandson into this…”

  There was no mistaking the anger in his voice now.

  “And what if I do?” Mendoza snapped, cutting him off.

  Chen responded by releasing his aura — sharp and sudden, slicing through me like a bde. It felt like someone had cut open my chest, reached in, and clenched my heart in their fist.

  Ma countered immediately with her own aura. It crashed down from above, flooding me with weakness so intense I nearly dropped to my knees.

  “Behave yourself, old man!” Ma snapped.

  “She was involved in the murder of my disciple, and now she has the audacity…” Chen began. His voice was calm, but it cshed hard with the crushing weight of his aura.

  “Yes, she does,” Hou barked, apparently not that bothered by Chen’s pressure. “And she also has proof that girl was a demon.

  “So drop the aura. You’re not scaring anyone here. Now answer the damned question, old man. That’s an order!”

  Chen gave Hou a wounded look, as if he couldn’t believe the man had dared speak to him like that.

  Probably because of the ‘young Ben’ comment.

  But under the combined pressure, Chen relented. He looked at me and said: “My foolish grandson insulted this young man. For that, I offer my apologies.”

  He even gave a shallow bow as he said it.

  Can’t wait to see what he does when he finds out I’m the one who offed Zhou.

  “Did you order your grandson to apologise?” Mendoza asked.

  “What does that have to do…”

  “Save us the time and answer the damn question!” Hou cut in. “You think I’d be making this kind of scene if it didn’t?”

  Apparently, that worked. Hou might talk too much for my taste, but it seemed he had a reputation for being all business.

  “Of course I did,” Chen said.

  “And did he obey?” Mendoza asked.

  Strangely, that one caught him off guard. He needed a few seconds. He turned to me again, this time holding the stare.

  “To my knowledge, the insult wasn’t that serious. No injuries were involved, so I didn’t give it much attention.

  “But I apologise once again, if Tao Dao failed to deliver the apology.”

  “Now we’re getting somewhere, don’t we?” Mendoza said, her voice all cheerful malice. She was looking straight at Hou as she said it.

  He turned away from her completely, folding his arms in a huff.

  “I still don’t see where this is going,” Chen said.

  “Just to be sure,” Mendoza said. “You didn’t send Tao under Zhou’s supervision to apologise to Sullivan? Didn’t send him any tea as a gift?”

  “No,” Chen replied, now visibly more interested in the conversation.

  “Well then,” Mendoza said. “We need to determine whether that Tao was the real one. I’m not ruling out a swap, but we installed a protection system on Sullivan that’s capable of detecting Chameleons. Call him. Ask if he delivered the tea.”

  Chen didn’t argue. He did exactly what she said, made the call. And got confirmation from his grandson. It didn’t seem to shock him much, but there were still doubts on his face.

  “And how does that prove Zhou was a demon?” he asked. “She could’ve been used without knowing it.”

  “To deliver tea?” Mendoza repeated. “Absolutely. But the tea was followed by a kidnapping attempt. They gave Sullivan trash on purpose, knowing we’d check it. My guess is they wanted it to look suspicious, so that he’d come running to talk to me,” she added. “Just a theory, of course.”

  Chen looked at me again. This time, he pointed at me quite rudely.

  “Why are demons so interested in this young man?” he asked.

  “Oh, that’s it,” Hou said. “That’s confirmation enough for me. Zhou Xiangyun was a demon.” He turned to Chen. “Until the investigation is complete, there’s no need for you to know more than that.”

  Chen straightened a little, as if about to protest, but then his shoulders sagged, and his voice finally sounded… human again. Mostly bitter.

  “Sounds like you suspect me of something.”

  “I’m showing the caution you should’ve shown, old man.”

  “She was my disciple, Ben,” Chen said. “I trusted her. I have the right to clear her name. If there’s even a chance she was simply used…”

  “Then what?” Hou asked. “You going to get revenge?

  “On whom?

  “Mendoza? Sullivan? Maybe me?”

  “You know I wouldn’t,” the old man replied.

  “That’s irrelevant,” Hou said, shaking his head. “Also, I want Ma Yen to accompany you for the time being.”

  Chen’s back went rigid. His shoulders squared, and his hands clenched into fists.

  Yeah. That hit him where it hurt. Hou’s move wasn’t just about caution, it was a deliberate insult. A textbook powerpy. He was cleaning up demons and clearing out rivals inside the Order Hall at the same time.

  Suddenly, it made perfect sense why he, not someone stronger, was the one in charge.

  Chen boarded the next train with a firm step, but the way he moved, it felt like someone had just spat in his back.

  Still, you could call this a successful outcome. At the very least — I was alive. Which was no small thing.

  A bunch of angry Fifth Stage cultivators had just managed to hold their pride in check. No one blew up the station. No one brought down a few thousand tonnes of rock on our heads.

  And Chen still didn’t know I was the one who killed his disciple.

  Though that probably wouldn’t st. Even if no one told him anything, the old man had solid deductive skills. And now that he’d figured out I was more important than I looked…

  Yeah.

  Just one more reason, one more very good reason, to get better with the Bde and get the hell back home.

  MaksymPachesiuk