Inheritance Of The Forgetten Bloodline.

Mu crossed his arms as Qiao stepped up.

"Damn… this kid's bold. Did he really just say that to Qiao?" one of Qiao's friends muttered.

"He's dead meat. Qiao's gonna crush him," the other said with a sneer.

Qiao grabbed Mu and yanked him up into the air, fury burning in his eyes.

"You little rat. You're from the outer city, and you dare run your mouth like that? Do you even get how much stronger, how much more valuable the Mo clan is compared to your pathetic one? Don't you ever speak down on the Mo family again."

Mu stared straight at him, not blinking once.

Without saying a word, he grabbed Qiao's wrist and slowly tightened his grip.

"You done?" he asked calmly.

Qiao didn't answer. He just froze.

Mu shoved his hand aside. "If you're finished, I'm heading to class."

With that, he turned around and walked away, not even glancing back.

Qiao stood stiff, face darkening with disbelief.

"Did he just—" he mumbled.

Fury flared in his chest. Flames burst to life in his palm, and in a blink, he hurled a burning strike at Mu's back.

Mu didn't notice the attack coming. Just as the strike neared his back, his body moved on its own, reacting to the Heavenly Premonition Art—a technique that senses danger before it arrives. His weight shifted slightly to the left, narrowly avoiding the blow.

"Yo… this guy's something else," one of Qiao's friends laughed.

Qiao's jaw clenched. His hands were still burning with flames, and the embarrassment on his face only made his anger worse.

"You... you worthless insect. You're pathetic. You should've died a long time ago," Qiao muttered as he turned toward Mu again.

Without any warning, Qiao lunged forward and slammed his fist straight into Mu's nose. The impact threw Mu backward into the gate behind him, the metal frame bending under the force.

"Ahh—!"

Blood poured from Mu's nose. He couldn't get back up. But Qiao didn't stop. He charged forward and landed three hard kicks to Mu's stomach, each one hammering him back down.

Mu gasped in pain, trying to rise. "Is that it? That all you've got?" His voice was strained, but it echoed loud enough to catch attention.

Qiao's expression twisted. His chest heaved as he stared at Mu, rage boiling in his eyes. His jaw tightened so hard it looked like his teeth would break.

"…You asked for it," he growled.

His skin turned red from the fury as his aura suddenly deepened. Then came the fire—the Seven Deadly Flames. It burned violently in his hand, a dark power known to kill thousands with a single blast. Created by the Great Emperor of the Northland, this flame was a signature of the Mo clan. Even though Qiao had only reached its early stage, it was still enough to tear twenty souls apart.

"Haha... you brought this on yourself, Mu Chen. You won't get in my way again."

He walked slowly toward Mu, the flame alive in his palm, his mouth curled into a cruel smile. His friends froze in place, eyes wide with fear.

"Qiao! Stop!" one of them shouted. "If you use that, you'll kill him! You'll get banished from Qianshi!"

But Qiao's mind was already clouded. The fire in his eyes burned just like the one on his hand.

He grabbed Mu by the front of his shirt and slammed him against the wall. Mu's face was a mess of blood and bruises. His breathing was shallow—he could barely stay conscious.

Qiao raised his hand, flames roaring.

"If you die, go tell the ancestors that Qianshi doesn't need trash like the Chen clan."

Right then, a figure appeared in the distance—clear and calm, stepping into the scene.

It was Principal Zhang Wuying.

Qiao's friends spotted him and quickly scattered, slipping away before Qiao even realized they were gone.

Mr. Zhang's voice cut through the tension, loud enough to ring in Qiao's ears.

"Qiao! Stop right there!"

Qiao froze. He let the flames die out slowly, then unclenched his hand from Mu's shirt and stepped back.

"This isn't over, Mu Chen," he muttered, voice cold and low, before turning to face Mr. Zhang.

"To my office. Now."

Qiao didn't argue. He turned and walked away without another word.

Mr. Zhang's eyes shifted to Mu. His face softened.

"Mu, go get treatment from the school nurse," he said quietly, then left.

Mu stayed on the ground for a moment, his body aching all over. He tried to push himself up—it took effort. Just as he managed to stand, he heard voices approaching. They sounded like girls.

He glanced toward the sound and, despite the pain, quickly stood up straight. The last thing he wanted was to look weak in front of anyone—especially them.

There were three girls coming down the path.

"Come on, girl, you're the prettiest in school," one of them laughed. "Ignore that guy—he's broke and weird. Qiao's clearly the better pick. Strong, handsome, respected."

The other girl replied, "Mmm, no... Qiao's not my type."

"What? Girl, you should at least consider it. He's into you."

Mu stood still as they walked past. Then one of them stopped.

It was Ruoxue—known by everyone as the most beautiful girl on campus.

She paused right in front of him.

Her eyes met his, and for a second, something in her expression changed. It was like she recognized something... or someone.

Ruoxue kept looking at Mu with a strange, searching expression. But Mu barely recognized her.

"Ruoxue, do you know that thing standing over there?" asked Lian Meimei, the girl walking beside her.

Ruoxue quickly looked away. She had to act like she didn't know him—her friends would never let her live it down. So she forced out a lie.

"Ew. Gross. I don't know that guy... let's just go."

But it wasn't what she really meant. She said it only because they were watching.

"That's more like it," Meimei giggled.

They walked on, but Ruoxue turned her head one last time. Guilt was written all over her face. She felt uneasy—but also helpless. She knew there was no room for someone like Mu in her world.

Mu stood there, face stiff. Shame burned hotter than any flame Qiao had thrown at him. He was supposed to go to the nurse's office—but instead, he turned and walked straight home.

---

Radiant Lotus Hall

"Master Li," said Feng Zhanyuan, his tone firm, "due to recent complications, we're rejecting the Chen clan's cooperation proposal. We'll proceed with the Bai clan instead. Their trade rates have surpassed yours."

In the world of the clans, cooperation meant trade, protection, access to cultivation resources, and shared influence in city affairs. Losing such a tie was more than a business loss—it was a blow to reputation.

Master Li stood up slowly, his eyes wide.

"What did you say? We made our offer first, not the Bai."

Feng Zhanyuan didn't flinch. "With all due respect, Master Li, aligning yourself with the Chen clan—a fading name with no strength left—makes you a liability. We don't work with liabilities."

That single sentence was enough to ignite something in Master Li.

He stepped down from the throne platform, the echo of his foot hitting the stone floor loud and sharp. His aura burst out in waves as he pointed directly at Feng.

"You dare insult my clan in my presence?!"

Feng let out a slow laugh. "Master? No. You don't even deserve that title anymore. You're just... Li. And I don't fear you. So save your breath."

The surrounding elders inhaled sharply.

Master Li's face darkened. In one swift movement, six glowing swords materialized behind him, spiraling with raw spiritual energy. Level six—spirit-forged blades.

He launched them forward without hesitation.

The entire hall froze. Eyes widened. No one expected him to go that far.