Chapter 4

With such a temperament, coupled with talent that was practically overflowing... Kamidar shook his head, as though trying to cast off a thought too astonishing to bear.

He had to tell someone about this. Immediately. At once.

Walking would take too long.

He raised his right hand and traced a circle through the air before him with his five fingers.

Orange-red sparks scattered along the path of his fingertips, stretching outward before instantly locking together into a spinning ring of light.

On the other side of the door came the familiar grain of wood and the faint scent of ink.

He stepped through.

It was always quiet here.

The air carried the slightly bitter, fresh scent unique to old paper, mingled with the steady fragrance of something like sandalwood.

Light slanted in through the narrow high windows, illuminating dust motes drifting slowly through the air.

The room was vast. Bookshelves stood against the walls like silent giants, crammed with scrolls and thick volumes of varying shades.

A figure sat behind a long desk in the depths of the room, nearly swallowed by mountains of books.

It was Wong.

At this time, he had yet to take charge of the library's keys. What rested on his shoulders was the burden of protecting all of Kamar-Taj.

Most of the time, just as he was now, he buried himself among old documents. Only when it was time to teach did he temporarily leave this fortress built from words.

Everyone who knew him understood that beneath that often-tense, sharply lined face lay an exceedingly gentle heart.

Still, those meeting him for the first time could hardly avoid being intimidated by his stern expression.

Kamidar's arrival came without warning.

Before the hinges could even creak, his figure had already burst into that tranquil pool of light.

The head behind the long desk snapped up.

At almost the exact same instant, Wong's hand had reached toward the side of the desk—where an unremarkable staff rested.

The movement was so fluid it had become instinct. Only when his gaze caught the newcomer's face did his tense shoulders relax almost imperceptibly.

His outstretched hand instead pressed down on the open pages, stopping them from curling.

"It's you."

Wong's voice was not loud, yet it rang clearly through the empty room.

He studied the other man, and his brows creased almost invisibly. "Not even knocking?"

The tea swirled in the porcelain cup as Wong's fingers froze in midair.

The cup's rim lightly struck the teapot, producing a faint, crisp sound.

He raised his eyes toward the mage across from him, whose breathing had yet to settle.

"Three days?"

Wong set the teapot back on the table, his movement half a beat slower than before.

Kamidar nodded, and the hair over his forehead trembled with the motion.

He accepted the cup of tea but did not drink. Instead, he cupped the warm porcelain in both hands. "Counting from the moment he first encountered a rune, exactly seventy-two hours.

"The outline of the shield can already be maintained for more than ten breaths."

The room fell silent for a moment.

Light slanted in from outside the window, revealing drifting dust.

Wong sat back down, his spine perfectly straight.

He had known this visiting mage for longer than many young apprentices had been alive.

Now, he carefully observed every trace of excitement hidden in the lines of the other man's face.

"Those chosen by the Ancient One have never been ordinary."

Wong's voice was steady, as if stating a fact repeated countless times. "You and I have both seen many gifted young people."

"It's different."

Kamidar set down his teacup, the porcelain striking the wooden table a little heavily. "He isn't imitating, Wong.

"He seems to be... dismantling those runes and putting them back together.

"By the afternoon of the second day, he had already begun adjusting the energy flow around the shield's edge to make it less demanding.

"I have never seen this kind of instinct in a beginner."

Wong did not answer at once.

He looked toward the leaves moving in the courtyard beyond the window and listened to the distant shouts of apprentices practicing.

Those sounds rang out every day, as regular as breathing.

"His name?"

he finally asked.

"Lin."

Kamidar still sounded incredulous as he spoke the syllable. "A quiet young man.

"He spends most of his time observing and rarely asks questions.

"But when he acts..."

The mage shook his head, seemingly unable to find the right words. "It is as if he has seen it ten million times already."

Wong lifted the teapot and refilled his own cup with hot water.

White steam curled upward, obscuring his expression for a moment. "Bring him to see me."

He said, "There is no need to explain anything in particular. Find an ordinary excuse.

"I want to see what kind of... surprise the Ancient One has brought back this time."

Kamidar rose, the hem of his robe stirring a faint breeze.

When he reached the door, he looked back once.

Wong had already lifted his teacup, lowering his eyes to the tea leaves unfurling within it, as if their conversation had been nothing more than idle daily talk.

But Kamidar noticed that the knuckles gripping the cup's handle had turned slightly white.

The teacup turned into a pile of porcelain powder between Wong's fingers.

He remained seated, his face seeming to be covered in frost.

"Say that again."

Wong's voice was flat, without any detectable rise or fall.

Mage Kamidar leaned forward slightly, enunciating every word clearly. "That apprentice named Zhao Yu mastered the construction of the Magic Shield in only three days."

"Crack."

This time, it was the saucer that split with a thin fissure.

Wong gently placed the fragments on the desk. When he rose, the hem of his robe knocked over a low stool.

He strode outside.

"Where are you going, Master?"

Kamidar asked blankly.

"To see the child."

Wong's answer was brief, yet as he crossed the threshold, the tip of his shoe caught on it—an imbalance so slight that it did not escape the old mage's eyes.

Kamidar stroked his sparse chin, recalling how, when he had heard this news three days ago, he had torn out the tuft of silver beard he had grown for years.

But Wong stopped beneath the corridor.

He raised a hand, his fingertips carving a dazzling golden line through the air.

The crack expanded and opened like a door, but beyond it was not the courtyard. It was another inverted hall.

"The Mirror Dimension..."

Kamidar understood. "You intend to observe him in secret."

It was a reflection of reality, often used to test spells, and it could also conceal prying eyes.

So long as one's mental power did not exceed that of the caster, no one could detect those watching eyes.

Geniuses were always fragile.

Kamidar understood Wong's concern—too many brilliant rising stars had dimmed too early because of improper guidance.

Wong would not allow that to happen before his eyes.

The two entered that silent reflection.

Within the Mirror Dimension, two figures passed one after another through twisting corridors.

Their destination was the same name—Zhao Yu.

The man walking ahead unconsciously quickened his pace, warmth in his voice. "That child truly is rare."

The person behind him did not reply. Only the faint rasp of leather boot soles against the ground could be heard.

"His talent goes without saying,"

the voice ahead continued, as if sorting through his memories. "What is rare is his temperament.

"He is not impatient, and he is willing to work hard.

"It has been a long time since I last saw such a promising seedling."

Silence still shrouded the person behind him.

But one of his brows twitched almost imperceptibly.

This lineage had never imposed strict requirements on temperament, yet everyone understood that a piece of warm, smooth jade was always easier to carve than a stone with sharp edges.

Those willing to lower their heads and endure hardship often found the road beneath their feet stretching farther.

Before the last echoes of their words had fully faded, the two were already standing side by side before a door.

Without a knock, the door slid soundlessly inward.

There was no anticipated hum of flowing energy inside the room, nor the rustling of turning pages.

Only silence.

On the bed, a figure lay sprawled out, his chest rising and falling evenly with deep breaths.

He was sound asleep.

A glistening trail ran from the corner of his slightly open mouth all the way to the pillow, dampening a patch of dark fabric.

The person behind slowly shifted his gaze from the bed to his companion's side profile.

No words were spoken, but that look itself was a complete question, bearing down with crushing weight.

The air in the Mirror Dimension seemed to suddenly become thick and heavy.

The man standing ahead swallowed.

He was not someone skilled at weaving lies, nor did he care to be.

The scene before him turned all the praise he had just spoken into dust floating in the air, settling down beneath a layer of awkward gray.

He had only just exhausted every word of praise, yet the moment he turned around, the one being praised lay asleep in the most relaxed posture possible.

The trials of Kamar-Taj had never had anything to do with ease.

Talent was merely an admission ticket. Beyond the door lay a long road where every step had to be forged with sweat, perhaps even blood.

It was not merely a tempering of the body, but a process of repeatedly hammering the mind upon an anvil.

Only then could the blade of one's will be sharpened, and only then could the world of the mind expand enough to contain the torrent of mystic arts.

But—

The steady snoring from the bed sounded like a tiny, mocking beat.

The moment he had been given permission, he had fallen into dreams.

The sight was like a small thorn lodged in his eye, making the flame that had been burning steadily in his chest suddenly leap up in an uncontrollable flare.

Kamidar's voice was very low, his fingers unconsciously rubbing the edge of his sleeve. "That child... he was not like this before.

"Every morning, he was always the first to appear in the courtyard."

Wong did not turn around.

His gaze rested on the ancient runes floating before him, constantly shifting. Their luminous patterns reflected in his deep, pool-like eyes. "Effort and talent have always been two different things."

His voice was like wind passing through cracks in stone, level and cold. "I have seen too many eyes burned by their own brilliance.

"Even the Ancient One never allowed herself to be late for morning lessons."

"Let me wake him."

Kamidar's fist clenched at his side, his knuckles turning faintly white.

A hand rose, stopping every word that followed.

That hand was steady and dry, carrying the thin calluses left by years of turning parchment pages. "No need."

Wong finally moved his gaze away from the runes and looked beyond the mirror—at the young figure sprawled over a stone table, his shoulders and back gently rising and falling with each breath. "Wait.

"See when he opens his eyes on his own."

Silence descended, heavier than winter frost.

Kamidar no longer tried to argue.

He knew this guardian too well: his appreciation for excellence was as deeply rooted as his disdain for laziness.

He could only stare at the suspicious gleam at the corner of the young man's mouth in the mirror, his stomach tightening.

Do not slack off at a time like this, he silently muttered, his nails nearly digging into his palms.

You have no idea who is watching you.

And the sleeping man was completely unaware of the gaze so close at hand.

His world held nothing but a muddled warmth until—

A faint ringing, like the soft vibration of metal, drilled straight into the depths of his eardrums.

Then came a flood of sensations: an unfamiliar warm current flowing beneath his skin, and an inexplicable heaviness in his fingertips, as though they were clutching something invisible.

At the same time, something more abstract—like a complex pattern etched into his mind—suddenly became sluggish and blurred, as though veiled by a thin layer of resistance.

All those sensations twisted into a sharp pain and violently dragged him from his stupor.

Zhao Yu's eyes flew open.

His fingertips brushed the dampness at the corner of his mouth as Zhao Yu turned his gaze toward the floating screen of light.

Within the eighteen-year-old body beat the heart of a mage apprentice.

Those figures lay quietly displayed: Magic Shield proficiency had stopped at level two, its progress bar past seventeen percent; the basic principles of constructing magical weapons had likewise reached level two, with a slightly higher value; as for the arrangement patterns of basic runes, they stubbornly remained at the threshold of level one, at only twenty-one percent.

The words on the light screen made his chest grow faintly warm.

Too fast.

Most of the spells and principles he had mastered had already crossed the threshold into level two.

Only those runes seemed to possess tempers of their own, still showing him a certain resistance.

But that was nothing. It truly was nothing.

Master Kamidar.

At the thought of that name, a faintly sweet feeling spread across Zhao Yu's tongue.

He was a mentor worth learning from again and again.

If he had the chance in the future, he would definitely seek further guidance.

He gave a slight nod in approval.

Just then, several new lines of text silently entered his field of vision, branding themselves across the surface of his retinas.

Magic Shield had received some kind of encouragement and was accelerating its absorption of the energy permeating the void.

The corners of Zhao Yu's mouth curved upward without his realizing it.

This shield really was quite endearing.

It knew how to cultivate itself and could even be called diligent.

What changes would it bring after leveling up? As the thought arose, so did his doubts.

He only vaguely knew that different magic grades naturally possessed different levels of power.