The first week after enrollment was calmer than Xuanxi had expected.
Her daily routine was very regular—waking up to the sound of Hildegrif’s elemental detox in the morning, going to the cafeteria for breakfast, attending theory classes, heading to the Training Ground in the afternoon, and returning to the dormitory in the evening to read or stare into space.
Occasionally she would exchange a word or two with Hildegrif, the content never exceeding ten characters, mostly just “Excuse me,” “Thanks,” and “Mm.”
But Xuanxi noticed some details. For example, Hildegrif would fold her bedding every morning before she woke up, but she never made too much noise, especially when Xuanxi was still in bed.
For example, Hildegrif sometimes left things on the desk that Xuanxi might find useful—like a map of the Training Ground, the day’s cafeteria menu, and an annotated version of the class schedule.
But she never explained why they were there; she just left them for Xuanxi to look through at her leisure.
Although Hildegrif never initiated conversation, if Xuanxi spoke first, Hildegrif would almost always respond, even if it was just a “The weather is nice today”—she would get a “Mm” in return.
It was only a single “Mm,” but at least it counted as a reply.
Xuanxi felt that this was probably Hildegrif’s way of expressing “I’m listening.”
But the peaceful days didn’t last long. It all started with that competition during the first practical combat training class.
Someone posted a thread on the academy’s internal bulletin board with the title: “Did you see that ‘No Rank’ girl? She beat B-Level Reggie Steelmane!”
Dozens of replies followed the post. At first, people simply discussed the match—some were amazed by her combat skills, others analyzed her dragon species, and some were curious about her lineage. But not long after, the tone began to shift.
“What kind of dragon form is that? A dragon without wings? Is that really a dragon?”
“I heard she’s a hybrid, but her bloodline column is empty. How ugly.”
“Empty? How could the academy accept someone with an unknown bloodline?”
“Maybe she’s not even from the dragon race. Could be some low-level draconic subspecies sneaking in.”
“And that eye color of hers is strange too. Do western dragons have amber pupils?”
“And those markings on her face—could they be some kind of curse?”
“I heard her family is just a common blacksmith family with no connections.”
“Then how does she deserve to live in Room 404? That’s a double room, right? It should be for people with status.”
In the end, someone wrote this in the thread:
“No bloodline, no rank, no background. No idea how she got in. Must have used some backdoor entry.”
When Xuanxi saw the post, she was eating lunch in the cafeteria. Elsa handed her the communication slate, her face even more upset than Xuanxi’s.
“These people are going too far,” Elsa said angrily. “You clearly beat Reggie, but instead of looking at your strength, they’re gossiping about bloodline and background.”
Xuanxi read the post expressionlessly, then returned the slate to Elsa.
“It’s fine. I don’t care about these words,” she said.
“And you just say ‘it’s fine’?” Elsa’s eyes widened. “They’re badmouthing you!”
“But what they said is indeed true.” Xuanxi lowered her head and took a sip of soup. “My bloodline column is indeed empty. I really don’t have any background. My family really is just an ordinary blacksmith family.”
Elsa opened her mouth, hesitated for a long time, and finally blurted out, “…That’s not the point!”
Xuanxi looked up at Elsa’s deep green eyes, which were filled with indignation, and suddenly felt a surge of warmth in her heart.
“Thank you for being angry for me,” she said, her voice very gentle. “But it’s really okay. I’m used to this kind of thing.”
That wasn’t a comforting lie—it was the truth. In Border Town, she had heard far worse words. “Half-breed,” “monster,” “neither fish nor fowl.”
Those Western dragon children’s vocabulary might have been limited, but every word struck precisely at the tender spot.
So she had long stopped caring—at least, she thought she didn’t care.
During the afternoon training class, Xuanxi noticed that the looks had changed.
Before, people looked at her with more curiosity. Now, that curiosity was mixed with something else: scrutiny, distance, and occasionally a trace of barely perceptible hostility.
When she walked into the Training Ground, a few girls who were warming up stopped their conversation, glanced at her out of the corners of their eyes, then quickly averted their gazes, pretending nothing had happened. One of them even deliberately took a few steps away, as if avoiding something unclean.
Xuanxi was very familiar with this feeling—being isolated, being treated like air.
No one spoke to her voluntarily, no one stood next to her, even their gazes carefully avoided her. Except for Reggie.
“Are you going to fight me again today?” Reggie walked over with a smile, as if nothing had changed. “I lost to you last time, and I’ve been wanting to get my revenge.”
Xuanxi looked at him, surprise in her amber eyes.
“Didn’t you see that post?”
“I saw it.” Reggie shrugged. “But you didn’t post it. What does it have to do with you? Besides, it was you who beat me, not them. What right do they have to be indignant on my behalf?”
When he said this, his voice wasn’t exactly low. Several students nearby heard it, and their expressions varied. Some lowered their heads, some turned away, and one person’s face changed color but held back from saying anything.
Xuanxi gave a slight smile. “Okay, let’s go again.”
This time, she lost thoroughly.
Not because she had weakened, but because Reggie had changed his tactics.
Last time he had used pure brute force to crush her; this time he had learned his lesson, using elemental power for long-range fire suppression, never giving her a chance to get close.
Reggie’s earth affinity had an absolute advantage at this distance. Stone spikes and rock chunks rained down like hail. Xuanxi struggled just to maintain her human form, let alone engage in close combat.
She was hit by a stone spike on the shoulder, sent flying several meters, fell off the platform, and hit the ground. Half her body went numb.
“Are you okay?” Reggie rushed over, his face full of regret. “Did I hit too hard? Sorry, sorry!”
Xuanxi propped herself up on her arms and sat up, moving her shoulder. No fracture, but the skin around her collarbone was already bruised purple.
“I’m fine,” she said, but she couldn’t help wincing. “Ah…”
She looked up at Reggie and suddenly said very sincerely, “Thank you.”
“Huh? I injured you, and you’re thanking me?”
“You made me see my weakness.” Xuanxi stood up from the ground and patted the dust off her clothes. “Long-range attacks are my blind spot. If I can’t do anything at that distance, I’ll lose even worse against stronger opponents in the future.”
Reggie was stunned for a second, then laughed, a trace of respect in his smile.
“You’re an interesting person,” he said.
After the training class ended, Xuanxi didn’t rush to leave. She sat on a bench by the edge of the Training Ground, sipping a healing potion while rubbing her bruised shoulder and replaying the previous battle in her mind.
Her strengths were obvious: she could disrupt the opponent’s rhythm through close combat and using their strength.
Her weaknesses were also obvious: she had no ranged attack methods. Once others discovered her shortcoming, her defense was practically nonexistent.
There were many problems to solve, but the most urgent one at the moment was this: she needed to find a way to fill the gap in long-range attacks.
Otherwise, the next time she faced an opponent as smart as Reggie, she wouldn’t even have a chance to fight back.
But how to fill it?
She had no elemental power and couldn’t learn breath attacks.
She had no wings and couldn’t achieve aerial suppression.
All she could rely on was that mysterious power she still hadn’t figured out. But that power only surfaced occasionally in critical moments; usually, it was as quiet as if it were asleep.
She had tried to actively summon it, but every time it felt like grabbing a handful of sand in the air—nothing she could hold onto.
“You sitting there like that looks a lot like a dog that got soaked in the rain.”
Xuanxi looked up and found Hildegrif standing in front of her, holding a water flask. She said the unfriendly words with a blank expression.
“…That’s a very unique metaphor,” Xuanxi said.
“What about your shoulder?”
“Hit by an attack during training.”
Hildegrif glanced at the bruise on her shoulder, hesitated for a moment, then unscrewed the lid of the flask and handed it to her.
“Drink some water,” she said.
“Can this water heal wounds?”
“No. It’s just ordinary water. But your lips are chapped.”
Xuanxi subconsciously licked her lips. Sure enough, there was a small crack from dryness. She took the flask and drank a couple of sips. The water was lukewarm, as if it had been boiled not long ago.
“Thanks.” She handed the flask back.
Hildegrif took the flask, screwed the lid back on, and showed no sign of leaving. She stood in front of Xuanxi like a silver-white marble pillar. The atmosphere was a bit awkward. After a long while, Hildegrif spoke: “That post—you saw it?”
“I saw it,” Xuanxi said.
“Do you care?”
Xuanxi thought for a moment and answered seriously, “A little, but not too much.”
Hildegrif lowered her eyes slightly, her eyelashes casting a small shadow under her eyelids. She seemed to hesitate, and finally said only one sentence: “You don’t need to care. What they say has nothing to do with you.”
Then she turned and walked away. Xuanxi watched her silhouette gradually recede into the twilight, finally disappearing at the exit of the Training Ground.
She suddenly felt that Hildegrif’s previous words weren’t so much comforting as stating a fact—a fact that Hildegrif herself firmly believed.
“What they say has nothing to do with you.”
A person who could live like that either had extreme apathy or was strong enough not to care about anyone’s evaluation. Hildegrif was clearly both. As for herself, she probably still had a long way to go.
Xuanxi stood up, stretched her still-aching shoulder, and headed toward the dormitory.
On the way, she passed the Bulletin Board and saw a new notice posted: “The freshmen placement exam will be held in three weeks. The exam includes three parts: theoretical written test, practical combat, and team cooperation. The results will serve as the basis for class placement. All freshmen, please prepare accordingly.”
The basis for class placement… Xuanxi’s gaze lingered on the notice for a few seconds, then she looked away and continued walking.
She knew she wasn’t ready yet. If she didn’t want to be assigned to the worst class in the exam, she had to find a way in the coming days to make herself stronger—even if just a little bit, that would be enough.
By the time she returned to the dormitory, it was already completely dark.
Xuanxi pushed open the door and found Hildegrif already in the room.
She was sitting at the desk with several books spread out in front of her, writing something on a piece of paper with a fine pen. When she heard the door, she didn’t look up, but her pen paused for a moment.
Xuanxi took off her jacket and hung it in the wardrobe, then placed the healing potion and bandages on the bedside table. She sat down on her bed, leaned against the pillow, and stared blankly at the ceiling.
She wasn’t sure if she should speak. Talking to Hildegrif always required a certain subtle courage—uncertainty about whether the other person wanted to be disturbed.
“Your injury.” Hildegrif’s voice suddenly came from behind the screen, still in that flat, emotionless tone. “If it still hurts tomorrow, remember to go to the Infirmary. Don’t tough it out on your own.”
Xuanxi turned her head toward the screen. The silver-haired woman’s shadow was cast on the translucent partition, her expression unreadable—only the outline of a seated figure could be seen.
“Okay,” Xuanxi said.
She paused, then added, “You talked quite a bit today.”
The pen on the other side of the screen stopped. Silence. A long silence.
So long that Xuanxi thought the other person wasn’t going to answer anymore. Then she heard a voice.
“Mm.”
Just one word. After that, the pen started moving again, scratching across the paper, faster than before.
Xuanxi stared at the screen for a while, then suddenly smiled silently.
She turned over, facing the wall, and closed her eyes.
Moonlight from outside the window streamed through the gap in the curtains. On either side of the screen, each lost in their own thoughts, they gradually sank into their respective dreams in the quiet night.