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✦𝓐𝓽𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓽 𝓐𝓴𝓲𝓻𝓪 𝓭𝓸𝓮𝓼'𝓽
𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻𝔂𝓽𝓱𝓾𝓷𝓰...✦

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The day had been going fine until Huan found himself heading to his next class alone. Marcus had walked with him to Aerodynamics earlier but then left for his own lecture. Huan had promised Akira he wouldn't roam the halls by himself—especially not with the Chen Clan lurking around—but it was broad daylight. Students were everywhere. There was no way they'd try something now... right?

Yet, unease gnawed at him. Zixin's smug face flashed through his mind, and worse, the memory of Xian at the lab. That kiss—if you could even call it that—left him feeling violated and sick. His skin crawled at the memory of Xian pressing against him. Huan's stomach twisted, and he fought the urge to gag.

"You seem distressed," a voice pulled him back to reality.

Huan turned, immediately recognizing the monk, this time in an SSE uniform, though. He was a third-year.

Great. Just what he needed.

Huan frowned, trying to shake off his discomfort. "I'm fine... just waiting for a friend."

As he spoke, he quickly pulled out his phone and sent a message to Akira using Synapse, SSE's texting app. He'd asked Akira if he had HoloNet, a holographic communication app, but apparently, Akira didn't use it. So, Synapse it was. Hopefully, Akira would get there soon.

The monk tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "You feel lighter."

Huan shot him a sideways glance. The hall was crowded, full of students bustling between classes. Surely, no one would overhear them.

"So, you've told someone," the monk said, voice soft.

Huan stiffened, feeling the need to leave. Where was Akira? Why was he taking so long?

Before the silence stretched too far, a familiar voice cut in, saving him.

"Huan?" Akira called, making his way over.

Relief washed over Huan as he came into view, immediately making things feel a bit more normal.

As Akira approached, he glanced at the monk and smiled, offering a small bow of respect. "Senior- Ōuyáng YanMing, its a pleasure to meet you again."

Huan blinked. YanMing? As in a head family member of the Ōuyáng monastery

The monk—Ōuyáng YanMing, apparently—returned the bow, a slight smile on his lips. "Akira, it's been a while. I trust you've been well?"

Akira nodded. "Yes. I have been busy with classes. You know how it is."

Huan stood there, trying to wrap his head around it. Ōuyáng YanMing? A third-year and part of the Ōuyáng clan? It all clicked now, the monk's calm, almost eerie presence made sense. He wasn't just some monk; he was from a major cultivation family.

YanMing's gaze flicked to Huan for a second before he spoke again. "I'll leave you two to it. I have a meeting to get to. Take care."

With that, he walked off, his uniform blending into the crowd as he disappeared down the hall. Huan exhaled, tension slowly easing from his shoulders.

"You know him?" Huan asked, glancing at Akira.

"Yeah," Akira replied with a shrug. "Me and my grandfather had visted the Ōuyáng monastery." He pursed his lips. "He's... observant, to say the least."

Huan just nodded, "Were is that again?"

"Hm...Henan province." He replied, then nudged him slightly. "Come on, let's go. We've got Cultural Arts."

Huan followed, feeling more at ease with Akira beside him. The whole thing with YanMing still left him uneasy, but for now, he was just glad the day was starting to feel a little more normal again. But let's see how long that lasts.

The classroom was lively when they arrived, the noise of students filling the air as they settled into their seats. Huan slipped into his usual spot next to Eddie, while Akira took a seat directly in front of him. The rows were filling up quickly, and it didn't take long for Huan to notice that all the higher-status cultural students were gravitating toward Akira's row.

Zhan and Sanji soon entered, Jin-woo followed not long after, sliding into his spot next to Zhan. The group quickly started a conversation, the air around them buzzing with the latest news—news about Yin creatures, to be exact.

Yuna, sat down across from Huan, her brow furrowed in thought. "Is it just me, or are the attacks getting more frequent?" she asked.

Zhan, ever the thoughtful one, leaned back in his chair, his expression serious. "It's not just the frequency," he replied. "The number of Yin creatures appearing in forests, rivers, and even the oceans is increasing. They're spreading."

"That's not good," Jin-woo muttered under his breath, crossing his arms.

For a moment, the conversation lulled. Then, Akira, who had been quiet, spoke up. "There's been an increase in Yin creatures in Aokigahara..."

Sanji perked up, his eyes widening. "You mean the Dead Forest?"

Akira gave a short nod, his face darkened. "Yeah. It's been getting worse...According to my family reports."

The mention of Aokigahara seemed to send a ripple through the group. The Dead Forest was notorious, not only for its eerie reputation but for being a hotspot for Yin activity. If things were escalating there, it was a sign of much bigger problems ahead.

From the far end of the row, a quiet voice chimed in. "There have been attacks in Panchmarhi as well," said a Siddha who always sat near Jin-woo, he had a soft-spoken tone. "Specifically near the temple of Chamunda Devi."

Jin-woo's eyebrows shot up in shock. "Seriously, Shiva? They attacked a temple?"

Shiva nodded solemnly. "Just shows how strong they've gotten. Even places of divine protection aren't safe anymore."

From what Huan knew, Shiva was likely part of the Rajput sect's head family—a sect known for its deep spiritual roots and legendary warriors. But then again, what important clan or sect wasn't? They all carried their part in history and tradition, legacies forged through centuries of bloodlines, rituals, and combat. If even sacred temples were falling under attack, the scale of the threat was definitely serious.

The Yin creature problem really had to worsen the moment I joined here, huh?

With a quiet sigh, Huan slummed back in his seat, pulling out his tablet as the lecturer stepped into the room. She began to speak, but his focus drifted almost immediately. His fingers lazily scrolled on the screen, but his mind was far away, lost in memories he tried not to visit often. Clan life was a maze, complicated and unforgiving. The rules, the pressure to be perfect. It never ended.

Back when he was still Chen Huan, the expectation had been crushing. He remembered the hours spent practicing forms, the ache in his legs as he repeated stances over and over. One tiny mistake—a foot out of place, a missed beat in his movement—and his punishment would be to climb the mountain fifty times. Fifty times, back and forth, the steps endless beneath his feet. And he was only eight. That was what it took to survive in the Chen Clan. But at least they fed him well. That was the only real comfort he could recall, the only good thing they ever offered him.

He let out a bitter breath as the memories deepened, pulling him back to when he was eleven. That year had been the hardest. Everything had changed so fast. The food, the language, the strange faces around him—nothing felt right anymore. He'd been torn away from whatever familiarity he had and thrown into something colder, darker.

Then there was the brothel, that filthy place his mother had forced him into. He still remembered the stink of it, the dim lighting, and the terror that lived in his gut, twisting every time someone came too close. It wasn't the place and environment that was the worst—no, it was the things he endured, the things that scarred him in ways no blade ever could. He'd try not to think about it, but the memory lingered. It always did.

Through all that misery, there was only one thing he ever really wanted—a hot bowl of vegetable noodle soup. Simple, comforting. It was the taste of home, or what little of it he could cling to. In his lowest moments, that was the only image that kept him going—the steam rising from the broth, the soft chewy noodles. Warmth. Peace. A dream of something better.

The lecture droned on in the background, the professor's voice speaking about food and how it shaped culture, how it could reflect the very soul of people. Huan glanced up briefly, his head still heavy with memory. Food. Yeah, it told stories. It carried history.

He laid his head down on his folded arms, the tiredness pulling at him. He would never, ever go back to China. He was sure of that. But Buddha, did he miss the food—the warmth, the simplicity, the feeling of home it once gave him. No matter how far he ran from his past, some part of it would always stay with him.

That ache for something familiar, something he could never truly have again.

"Alright, class, I have a small assignment for you," the lecturer announced, breaking his reverie.

A chorus of groans rippled through the room, but the professor continued with a bright smile. "Your assignment is calligraphy."

Calligraphy? Huan straightened in his seat, confused. Out of all things, why calligraphy?

"It's quite simple," she explained. "Each of you will be assigned a random language, and you'll have to write it using traditional materials from that culture. Don't worry if you don't have the resources; we'll provide everything you need."

Huan sighed, glancing at his tablet, dreading whatever language might be assigned to him.

"Oh, sweet! I got Greek," Eddie said excitedly, looking at his own screen.

"I got Bangla," Jake chimed in, a little less enthusiastic. "What about you?"

"Mandarin," Huan muttered, his tone flat.

Jake raised an eyebrow. "Fitting."

Huan glared at him. "Isn't there a way to change it?"

Eddie laughed. "Why would you want to? At least you get to write with a brush. I have to find a wax tablet and a stylus."

"And I need a dry palm leaf," Jake added.

Huan slumped in his seat. "Great. Do I need silk or paper?"

Before he could get an answer, the lecturer moved on, catching their attention once more. "Next class, we'll be diving into how different clans and sects handled outside affairs, particularly during events like world wars."

Sanji leaned over, nudging Akira. "We'll probably be learning about your great-grandfather," he remarked teasingly.

Akira didn't respond immediately, his eyes focused elsewhere. Huan's stomach twisted at the thought. Akira, related to that kind of person? The idea was horrifying. Akira, who wouldn't hurt a insect—literally. Just last week, he had rescued a spider from their dorm, carefully placing it outside. Huan found him so ridiculously adorable sometimes, so gentle, and the thought of him being linked to someone who had committed such atrocities didn't sit right.

Finally, Akira shrugged. "I didn't choose to be related to him..."

Yuna leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms as she spoke. "The actual problem right now is the Chen Clan. They're the real villains of our time."

Huan stiffened at her words. His heart raced. She wasn't talking about the past—she was talking about now. His stomach twisted, an uneasy feeling settling in his gut.

Zhan nodded in agreement, his voice grim. "She's right. The Chen Clan today is worse than ever."

Tsang Chung, sitting a few seats away, chimed in, his tone dark. "Yeah, they're still pulling all kinds of shady stuff. Did you hear about Chen Xinyue's brother? The guy was caught doing... well, disgusting things. He was found with a minor."

The group buzzed with shock and disgust, murmurs spreading quickly.

A girl with a fan beside Chung shot him a warning glare before lightly hitting his arm with her fan. "Be careful talking about that stuff in public, especially when it involves the Chen Clan. You know how dangerous they are. You could get yourself in serious trouble."

Zhan's face turned serious as he leaned forward. "She's right. The Chen Clan's reach is far. You don't want to mess with them—people have gone missing for saying less."

Huan's blood ran cold. Chen Xinyue, leader of the Chen Clan, and Father to Zixin. His brother... Chen Zheng. His thoughts spiraled. That name—that man—was a nightmare in his life. He swallowed hard, feeling bile rise in his throat. Memories he didn't want to recall came flooding back, memories of a man who had caused him unimaginable pain.

He wanted to run, to disappear from this conversation. He hated Chen Zheng with every ounce of his being. The mere mention of his name made Huan's stomach churn, his body tense. It wasn't just the fear—it was the rage, the helplessness that came with being trapped under that man's control.

Huan's hands gripped the edge of his desk as his heart pounded in his chest. He glanced over at Akira, who seemed detached from the conversation, but Huan couldn't help but think—Akira doesn't know that I...that Chen Zheng...

The room felt suffocating, his past pressing down on him. He tried to breathe, tried to steady himself, but the shadows of his past were closing in, and he didn't know how much longer he could hold them back.

At least Akira doesn't know everything...

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