Night Tempering

Lu Mingfei was somewhat speechless. Though he could not deny that his heart had pounded fiercely the moment he heard that string of numbers, signed photos were one thing, but photo albums and original underwear? What the hell was that supposed to be?!

"Give the money back. Now."

Lu Mingfei clutched the big German blond's neck and said viciously:

"Senior Brother, isn't this a blatant violation of someone else's portrait rights and privacy?! In China, this would be enough to send you in to sing Tears Behind Bars for years!"

Fingal said nothing. He merely slowly closed his eyes, completely giving up resistance, looking as though he were ready to be plucked... no, ready to meet his execution.

Lu Mingfei was first stunned, then thoughtful, then furious:

"You already spent all the money?!!"

Fingal's tightly shut eyelids twitched violently. In a mournful voice on the verge of tears, he chanted:

"Too late, Junior Brother... it's all too late... your senior brother here... was too quick... I've already... spent almost all of it..."

Lu Mingfei fell silent as well.

He released Fingal's neck, took two steps back, and looked at his senior brother with a complicated expression. Fingal still had his eyes closed, his face filled with the tragic resolve of "no money, only my life."

It had come to this. It had come to this.

There was only one path left.

Cut the losses. Split the loot.

"Twenty percent for you, eighty percent for me."

Lu Mingfei relented.

Fingal's tightly shut eyes flew open at once, round as saucers. The tragedy on his face peeled away in an instant, replaced by disbelieving ecstasy and shameless fawning.

"J-Junior Brother?! Y-you mean it?! I knew it! Junior Brother, you're righteous and loyal! You understand the greater good! You're even better than—"

"Shut up!"

Lu Mingfei cut him off weakly.

"I'll handle the signed photos. I can't be bothered to take pictures for a photo album, so figure that out yourself. As for the clothing..."

Fingal hurriedly said:

"That's the easiest part. As long as it's your size, who would know whether you wore it or not?"

Lu Mingfei nodded, accepting that logic.

Honestly, this was an absurdly profitable business. Low cost, high returns, all propped up by Lu Mingfei's reputation.

There was no way he could remain unmoved.

Cassel College's annual scholarship of thirty-six thousand dollars required perfect attendance and passing grades in every subject before it would be paid out. The rules were strict in every conceivable way.

Did he need money?

He did.

After returning home, Lu Mingfei had decided that he would never live with his uncle and aunt again.

Before, he had no choice. From now on, they should be nothing more than ordinary relatives.

That was Lu Mingfei's bottom line.

He did not hate them. At least they had not made him sleep in the stairwell. At least they had sent him to a private high school. At least they had let him share a room with his cousin. At least they had not beaten or cursed at him over every little thing.

But did he resent them?

How could he not?

Lu Mingfei was not a saint. He resented them for skimming off his living expenses, for their indifferent attitude, for the open and subtle ways they had put him down...

There were simply too many faults his uncle and aunt could be blamed for.

But in the end, did the root of it all not lie with those parents who had vanished without a word for seven or eight years? If not for Cassel College's admission notice, he would not even have known whether they were still alive.

At his core, Lu Mingfei was an "orphan in all but name."

So it was best to part on good terms.

He would return to that small city, but he would not return to that "home."

Though he could use any number of means to reclaim the bank card his aunt had been holding for his living expenses, who knew how much money remained on it?

To survive, Little Lu had no choice but to "sell both his talent and his body."

Just as Lu Mingfei and Fingal were discussing how to make this business last, an unexpected voice interrupted them.

Someone knocked on the dormitory door, neither hurriedly nor slowly.

"Who is it? The door's unlocked!"

Fingal shouted indistinctly, his mouth stuffed full of potato chips.

The door was pushed open, and the person standing outside made both Lu Mingfei and Fingal freeze.

Caesar Gattuso.

His golden hair was impeccably combed, his ice-blue eyes deep and calm, and a custom-tailored casual suit outlined his perfect physique.

Standing there, he seemed to part the perpetual air of decay in Dorm 303 like Moses splitting the sea.

His gaze swept over Fingal's greasy hands and Lu Mingfei's bandage-wrapped state. There was no disdain on his face; instead, he wore a trace of solemnity.

"Lu Mingfei," Caesar said in a low voice, "can we talk alone?"

Fingal sprang up at once, his face wreathed in smiles.

"Of course, of course! Please, Mr. President! I was just about to go... uh... to the library! Yes, the library!"

Caesar had originally intended to invite Lu Mingfei to sit down at a quiet café, but Fingal grabbed half a bag of chips and slipped out, thoughtfully closing the door behind him.

With things as they were, Caesar could only go inside.

Only two people remained in the dormitory.

Caesar's gaze rested on Lu Mingfei, carrying scrutiny as well as an indescribably complicated emotion.

Beneath the waters of the Three Gorges, the figure that had burst from the water like a demon god and clung to the Dragon King's head overlapped with the bandaged young man before him, whose eyes still held a trace of bewilderment. The contrast was enormous.

But Caesar would never underestimate him. Caesar knew that everything he had seen before had merely been a disguise from before Lu Mingfei's bloodline awakened.

"How are you feeling?"

Caesar spoke first. His tone carried less of his usual lofty superiority and more concern and respect.

"Not bad. I won't die."

Lu Mingfei tugged at the corner of his mouth. The face beneath his bandages felt a little stiff. He was not particularly intimidated by Caesar, but in theory, Lu Mingfei was still a member of the Student Union's Organizational Department, and Caesar remained his immediate superior.

Caesar nodded. Without any unnecessary small talk, he went straight to the point:

"I owe you my life. At the Three Gorges, if it hadn't been for you... Nono and I might not have made it back."

His voice was calm, but Lu Mingfei could hear the weight beneath that calmness. For someone as proud as Caesar to personally admit that he owed someone a debt, that alone said everything.

Lu Mingfei scratched his head.

"Uh... well... we were all on the same team..."

He wanted to say, "It was nothing," but that felt too fake. He also wanted to say, "It was a coincidence," but feared that would sound hypocritical. For a moment, he was at a loss for words.

"Members of the Gattuso Family never remain indebted."

Caesar cut off his stammering, his tone firm and decisive.

He took something from the bag in his hand. It was not the check or black card Lu Mingfei had expected, but a costly sandalwood box.

He placed the box on Lu Mingfei's cluttered desk.

"Open it."

Caesar gestured.

Lu Mingfei picked up the box suspiciously. It felt heavy in his hands. When he lifted the lid, resting quietly upon dark blue velvet padding was... a sword hilt?

The bronze hilt was dark bluish-green, about the weight and size of an ordinary tactical dagger, its surface carved with dragon-scale patterns.

Though its design was exquisite... it was still only a sword hilt.

"What is this?"

Lu Mingfei looked up, utterly baffled.

Caesar smiled faintly and reached for it, but did not touch it directly. Instead, he asked Lu Mingfei with his eyes, and only after receiving his approval did he slowly pick it up.

"The Liezi, Questions of Tang records:

Kong Zhou said: 'I have three swords. Choose whichever you wish; none can kill a man. But first, let me describe them.

"The first is called Light Concealing. It cannot be seen when looked at, and when wielded, one does not know it is there. Whatever it touches vanishes without trace; it passes through things, yet those things do not sense it.

"The second is called Shadow Bearing. At the meeting of dawn and darkness, and at the boundary between day and dusk, face north and examine it. Faintly, something seems to exist, yet no one can discern its form. Whatever it touches makes a faint sound; it passes through things, yet those things are not harmed.

"The third is called Night Tempering. In daylight, its shadow can be seen but not its light; at night, its light can be seen but not its form. When it touches something, it passes through with a soft sound, sealing shut as it passes. One feels pain, yet no blood stains the blade."

"This sword is Night Tempering."