Chapter Eight: The Silver-Haired Maiden

If you’ve caused a major calamity, there's bound to be an uproar around you. Usually, some unfamiliar faces will appear before you. If, after the mishap, you don’t get to meet a few new faces, it often means the trouble you caused wasn’t quite big enough.

When Hua Sheng opened his eyes, he found himself lying in bed. The room was small, resembling an infirmary. It was still daylight outside the window, so he couldn’t have been unconscious for long.

“You’re finally awake.” As Hua Sheng’s mind drifted in a haze, the voice of Lord Taishang rang by his ear.

Hearing a familiar voice put Hua Sheng somewhat at ease. The explosion at the Thinking Immortal Pavilion was still fresh in his memory—he could recall every detail vividly.

“How long was I out?” Hua Sheng asked.

“Just over an hour,” Lord Taishang replied. “Earlier, you coughed up blood. Are you feeling unwell anywhere?”

Hua Sheng touched his chest, feeling as if he’d been struck by a heavy hammer. “Just a pain in my chest. Maybe it’s an old injury flaring up from before I came here.”

Lord Taishang said, “I heard you took a Ninefold Rebirth Pill before coming. By rights, even if you were seriously injured, you should’ve recovered by now.”

“That’s odd. Since arriving at Saint Pingning, I’ve been staying at the Academy of the Mystic Arts. I shouldn’t have had the chance to get hurt,” Hua Sheng mused. Only then did he notice that the silver-haired girl he’d seen before fainting was also in the room.

Looking more closely now, he saw that the girl’s features were delicate and refined, surpassingly beautiful. Her eyes, bright brown and as clear as a child’s, seemed to reflect the purest light.

She gazed at Hua Sheng, a flicker of doubt crossing her eyes. “Are you new here?” she asked.

Her voice was like the ringing of silver bells, quickening one’s heartbeat.

“Yes… that’s right…”

Hua Sheng found his tongue tying itself into knots. He tried to sit up and said, “I’m terribly sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused.”

Lord Taishang folded his hands across his chest and said, “Her name is Weiyu. She’s the Deputy Registrar of the Student Council at the Academy of the Mystic Arts. Fortunately, she happened to be passing by the Thinking Immortal Pavilion and intervened in time. If not, the falling debris would have caused serious damage to the surrounding buildings.”

The girl named Weiyu asked, “How did you manage to conjure the True Fire of Samadhi?”

Hua Sheng didn’t know how to answer. “I was practicing fire control techniques, and somehow, the bundle of leaves just exploded.”

“Did you study this before coming to Saint Pingning?” Lord Taishang asked.

“I’m not sure; there are parts of my memory I’ve lost.”

“Can’t recall anything at all?” Weiyu pressed.

“That’s right. Even now, I only know the barest basics of immortal arts,” Hua Sheng replied.

Weiyu’s expression suggested she was somewhat skeptical.

At that moment, Master Yuran entered the room. Seeing Hua Sheng, he said, “You’re awake?”

“I just regained consciousness,” Hua Sheng replied.

Master Yuran smiled wryly. “This pupil of mine claims no knowledge of immortal arts, yet nearly burned down the Thinking Immortal Pavilion with a single fire. Young, but with quite the temper.”

Hua Sheng flushed red, uncertain if it was from the Master’s words or embarrassment at being seen by the girl.

“I’m truly sorry. I don’t know what happened. Was anyone hurt?”

Master Yuran replied, “Fortunately, most of the academy’s disciples know immortal arts and evaded in time. No harm done, just a fright.”

“That’s a relief.”

Hua Sheng let out a sigh. His greatest fear was that someone had been hurt—he would never have been able to face them afterward.

Master Yuran reassured him, “This disaster wasn’t your doing on purpose. The Thinking Immortal Pavilion has stood for centuries without calamity—perhaps it was simply fate for this to happen. The academy will handle repairs. As for you, your spirit has been overtaxed; you’ll need a period of good rest.”

“If repairs are needed, please include me as well,” Lord Taishang said.

“It’s rare to see such kindness, Lord Taishang. As your teacher, I’ll make arrangements. You’re quite skilled in immortal arts and will be a great help.” Master Yuran then turned to Hua Sheng, “However, concerning your incident, the academy will need to conduct an inquiry. An Accident Investigation Committee will be formed, and you’ll need to cooperate.”

“No problem. Since I caused the trouble, assisting with the investigation is my duty. And I want to understand the cause myself,” Hua Sheng replied.

“Perhaps Hua Sheng is simply gifted, a natural for immortal arts, and today was an extraordinary performance,” Lord Taishang joked.

At that, Weiyu bowed and said, “If there’s nothing else, I have another class. I’ll take my leave.”

She saluted Master Yuran and, before stepping out, cast another glance at Hua Sheng.

Hua Sheng watched Weiyu’s slender figure as she left the room, a trace of disappointment stirring in his heart. He suddenly felt an intense desire to know more about this girl. Yet, recalling her display of immortal arts in the air, he had no idea how deep her abilities truly ran. Moreover, as Lord Taishang had said, she was the Deputy Registrar of the Student Council—an outstanding pupil even among the Academy’s elite. For someone as unremarkable as Hua Sheng, it would be hard to say whether she’d even consider befriending him. The way she moved so effortlessly in the air, her mastery of immortal arts, suggested she might not be human at all—perhaps a descendant of the immortals.

The distance between them was not just great—it was insurmountable.

That thought filled Hua Sheng with a sense of inferiority.

Never mind, he thought. There was still the academy’s investigation to face, and no doubt it would be a hassle, costing him much energy. His body had only just recovered, and now, for unknown reasons, he’d coughed blood again; his health was a real concern. Perhaps he’d barely escaped death to arrive in this immortal realm of Saint Pingning, only to become a short-lived invalid. How could he possibly have time to make friends with a transcendent girl like Weiyu?

In the days following the incident, Hua Sheng didn’t notice any lingering effects on his body, but he was kept busy shuttling between various academy departments, answering questions. Yet, no one could explain why a mortal freshman had managed to unleash the True Fire of Samadhi.

He once tried, in secret, to recite the fire-controlling incantation again, but could only summon tiny sparks—barely able to produce a fist-sized flame, much less manipulate the True Fire of Samadhi again.

Nonetheless, the people at the academy regarded him differently, as if he’d become famous overnight. Whether self-studying in the library or eating in the refectory, people would secretly take his picture, gossiping as they watched him. This made Hua Sheng very uncomfortable; after all, he was the arsonist who’d set fire to the Thinking Immortal Pavilion—not exactly a badge of honor.

As for the True Fire of Samadhi, Hua Sheng knew little about its true significance. According to Lord Taishang, it was a divine fire—a higher-level immortal art even in Saint Pingning.

Within Saint Pingning, immortal arts were divided into four ranks: from lowest to highest, they were the Illusory, the Profound, the Soaring, and the Boundless.

The Illusory level was the most basic, mainly involving minor tricks to deceive the senses—changing the appearance of an object to resemble another, for example, with little practical effect.

The Profound level was the second rank, involving the rearrangement and transfer of matter on a molecular level to create new things. For instance, the “transmute stone into gold” art decomposes calcium carbonate and silicon dioxide in stone, substituting gold molecules from another location. In essence, it’s a kind of instant transference. Techniques like passing through walls, clairvoyance, or riding clouds all belong to the Profound level.

The Soaring level is the third rank, where the difficulty of learning and using such arts rises sharply. Among mortals, few can wield them; great cultivation is required. The True Fire of Samadhi that Hua Sheng unleashed was one such Soaring-level art.

Objects ignited by the True Fire of Samadhi cannot be extinguished by ordinary water. At the time of the incident, the flames exploded upward, setting only part of the pavilion’s roof alight, and several nearby masters combined to use the Ten-Thousand-Year Profound Ice technique to extinguish them. Had the fire spread, the academy would have been in dire trouble.

Among these three levels, most academy graduates only manage to master arts up to the Profound level. Exceptional pupils might learn a few Soaring-level arts. That a mortal like Hua Sheng, newly arrived at Saint Pingning, could unleash a Soaring-level spell left the entire academy astounded.

Typically, immortals or spirits who have mastered the Soaring level are proficient in the lower two levels as well. It was unheard of to see someone like Hua Sheng, able to cast the True Fire of Samadhi, yet unable to perform even basic Illusory or Profound arts. It was as if a national athlete could compete in the 200-meter Olympic sprint, yet couldn’t even match a high schooler’s time in the 100 meters—a glaring contradiction. That was the peculiar situation Hua Sheng now faced.

Beyond the Soaring level lay the fourth and highest rank: the Boundless.

Boundless arts are said to be beyond the reach of mortals or spirits. They include world-altering techniques, such as those that can reshape heaven and earth, or seize the workings of fate—like the Supreme Celestial Formula that transcends reincarnation. It was a Boundless spell that once concealed the Saint Pingning Immortal Realm within the Bodhisattva Guanyin’s Tear. The realm’s very existence is maintained by Boundless arts, which are the supreme incantations. Lord Taishang said he’d only heard stories from his grandfather, as Saint Pingning had known peace and prosperity for nearly a century, without occasion to witness such wonders.

These days, Hua Sheng often found himself thinking of the silver-haired girl. Though their meeting was brief, her hair, tinged with silver and gray, kept appearing in his mind, as did her eyes, which seemed eerily familiar. The feeling was subtle—unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Each time her face appeared in his thoughts, his cheeks would burn and his heart would flutter.

Whatever the reason, he hoped for another chance to see her.

The more he wished to meet her, the more reluctant he was to approach.

So, Hua Sheng began, almost unconsciously, to ask Lord Taishang about the Student Council of the Academy of the Mystic Arts. He learned that Weiyu, like himself, was a new student. She had quickly been chosen as a student representative and appointed Deputy Registrar, thanks to her natural talent and effortless mastery of immortal arts.

“What does the Student Council usually do?” Hua Sheng asked.

“Its function is to organize activities for the academy’s disciples,” Lord Taishang replied. “Most members are exceptionally gifted. Some core members have special permissions, allowing them to interact with the academy’s senior administrators and access areas off-limits to ordinary students.”

“There are places in the academy where students can’t go?”

“Of course. For example, some key departments. Because council members are involved in important events, they’re granted access for convenience.” Lord Taishang thought for a moment and added, “There’s also the Lingyan Tower, which is related to the annual festival. Only senior immortals and core council members can enter.”

“With your background, how come you’re not an officer in the Student Council?” Hua Sheng asked.

“I’m used to a carefree life,” Lord Taishang said, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear with two fingers. “I desire nothing. Office is well and good, but nothing compares to a life of freedom.”

With that, Lord Taishang struck a pose of untrammeled nonchalance, as if he stood outside the Five Elements, beyond the Three Realms.

Despite knowing the distance between them, Hua Sheng couldn’t shake the hope of getting to know Weiyu.

Some thoughts are like seeds; when you finally try to pull them out, you find they’ve already grown deep roots in your heart.

Fortunately, if you truly wish to do something, the chance will come.

Not long after, a performance poster appeared on the academy’s bulletin board: the Pear Garden Music Center would be hosting a concert by “Music Hawk.” Hua Sheng soon learned that the Pear Garden Center was located by the lake next to the academy, along a ten-mile embankment. Built over the water, its Liyin Theater could seat twenty thousand people—a grand venue for music and opera.

The “Music Hawk” band was the hottest group in all of Saint Pingning, made up of six male spirit-fox idols, each named for a different color: White, Red, Purple, Yellow, Blue, and Black. Known for blending traditional opera with electronic music, they’d shot to fame among the young and released over a dozen albums. Tickets for their shows were always hard to come by.

Scarcity drove prices up—meaning anyone who wanted to go had to “bleed” a little. Hua Sheng reflected that he’d just coughed up blood, and now he’d have to “bleed” again to buy a ticket.

The academy had several ticket outlets. For ten minutes, Hua Sheng paced back and forth outside one.

He’d spent most of the past six months on campus. The shadowy Yun had told him that each month, the realm deposited a living stipend into his account. Hua Sheng was frugal, and had saved about five thousand Saint Realm coins.

He finally mustered his courage and walked into the ticket office.

“I’d like two tickets to the Music Hawk show. Are there any left?”

“What seats do you want? Let me check.” The attendant, a spirit-being with eyes shining like a monkey’s, looked up.

“What options are there?”

“This time, it’s a mobile grandstand—no inner circle, just different levels.”

“Mobile grandstand?”

“That’s right—floating, mobile seating. Very impressive. There are second, third, fourth, and fifth floors. Which would you like?”

“Which is the best?” Hua Sheng asked.

“Second floor, front section, of course.”

“How much is that?”

“Two thousand coins per ticket.”

Hua Sheng’s heart sank. He had only five thousand in his account, and these two tickets would eat up eighty percent of his savings.

“The two-thousand-coin seats might be sold out. Let me see—oh! Just a minute ago, two seats in the middle of the second row opened up. Someone must’ve returned them—great view. If you buy now, you’re in luck! Want me to reserve them for you?”

Clutching the two concert tickets as he left the office, Hua Sheng didn’t care whether they were truly returned a moment ago or if it was just a sales tactic. His heart was pounding—this was his first time trying to ask a girl out, even though they’d only met once.

It felt like a wild gamble: spending almost all his money to invite a girl he barely knew to a concert.

If they ended up having a nice meal, that would be his food budget for the next month.

Even so, Hua Sheng, like many young men, didn’t bother thinking about anything else.

What mattered now was finding the courage to ask.