Pfft. Didn’t think you had that kind of trick, Yueyu—like a blade tucked under silk.

Sis, why did she leave like a sudden gust? Did I say something wrong?

No, no—this is how you talk to people like that, like shutting the door against a cold draft.

…

By afternoon, the central hall of the Heavenly Deity Academy swelled like a tide; students clustered tight, drawn by Heng Zi’s lure back into gambling.

This time, it was the second-years.

Please play first, Senior. Heng Zi’s smile curled like a crescent; three Star Cards rested in her hand like sleeping birds.

It was a toy deck the Academy used to pass time—draw three and compare size, three matches a round, three rounds to decide, simple as rain on stone.

They were in round two. The second-year Senior was drenched in cold sweat, eyes locked on Heng Zi like a moth to a lantern, while Heng Zi kept her eyes closed, her grin begging for a slap.

Why so tense? Senior, you won this one. Heng Zi fanned her cards like autumn leaves; her numbers were smaller than the Senior’s.

Ha. The Senior’s breath spilled out, sweat pattering like rain off her jaw.

It’s one to one; third round decides it, like the final stroke on a calligrapher’s page.

Heng Zi opened her eyes at last. Golden slit pupils flashed like a viper’s gaze; even without meeting hers, the Senior’s heart stuttered, caught like a sparrow in a fist.

Okay. Let’s begin. Her voice moved like a breeze through reeds.

Sis, looks like we’re late, like arriving after the sunset bell.

Mm. The game’s already started; coming earlier wouldn’t have helped, like reaching for smoke.

Oh—Tangxue? You’re here?

Taoran? You’re watching? Not stopping them?

Can’t. She’s dead set on gambling, like a river refusing a dam. Taoran shook her head, a weary willow.

That second-year’s cornered. This is her only way out; otherwise, expulsion waits like winter at the door.

She’s doing it on purpose?

Maybe. The word fell like a pebble into deep water.

Dawn Sugar Snow fixed her gaze on the table, eyes steady as frost. So did everyone else, bristling like hedgehogs, afraid Heng Zi might cheat.

Heng Zi felt their attention and brightened, her smile blazing like midsummer sun. She flicked her first card down, crisp as a bird’s wing.

Oh? Senior, you win. Looks like I need to get serious for the second match, or I’ll lose, like a boat drifting off its line.

In match two, the second-year chose her biggest card at last, a stone set firm. Heng Zi laid down her second card, light as a laugh.

She lost.

What?

Huh?

Heng Zi… lost?

This… how is that possible? Shock rippled through the crowd like lightning over a pond.

They’d expected a familiar script—Heng Zi’s certain victory, then anger and grudges boiling while they hunted for her tricks. Now the scene flipped like a banner in a sudden wind.

What’s happening?

Is she doing it on purpose?

…

Games have win and loss. If I’m not cheating, losing’s possible, right? Heng Zi chuckled, dusting her hands like brushing flour from a baker’s palms, then offered the prepared chips—credit points—to the Senior.

Congratulations, Senior. You win. Here’s what we agreed, like a promise sealed with wax.

The second-year took the credit points, unsure, fingers trembling like reeds. Even as Heng Zi rose to leave, disbelief hung on her like morning mist.

I… won?

Heng Zi just gave up a chance to expel a student? Why? Taoran’s brows knotted, confusion drifting like smoke.

I don’t know. Dawn Sugar Snow shook her head, then took her little sister’s hand, gentle as moonlight, ready to go.

Hey—Tangxue, wait!

This time Tangxue walked quickly, steps like scattered rain, not answering Taoran.

Sis, aren’t we replying?

I don’t know what to say. Better to eat than waste time, like choosing bread over thunder.

True… I’m hungry, like a drum in my belly.

What are we eating? Grilled fish again? Dawn Sugar Snow stroked Yueyu’s hair, warm as spring sunlight.

Not grilled fish. I want suancai fish, sharp as mountain wind.

Suancai fish… not sure the Academy sells it. If Qianya were awake, she’d know exactly how to make it, like a recipe written in starlight. Dawn Sugar Snow pressed her fingers to her brow, a small ache.

The cafeteria’s student chefs aren’t great—at least not compared to Qianya. After several meals, Tangxue and Yueyu both felt it, that dull edge like a knife gone blunt.

Whew, lucky they have suancai fish here. Yueyu, try it. Does it hit the mark, like an arrow to center?

It’s already very spicy, Sis… like fire licking the tongue. Yueyu stared helplessly at Tangxue.

Heh. You haven’t had much appetite, so I thought the chili was too light, like a lantern turned low.

Is the dish just not good? Dawn Sugar Snow leaned close, voice a hush like rain.

Mm… better than yours, Sis, but it doesn’t go with rice, like a tune that won’t take lyrics. Yueyu shook her head, troubled.

Haha. That’s a delicate verdict, like weighing snowflakes. Dawn Sugar Snow’s smile went awkward; understanding dawned, soft as daybreak.

My little sister’s palate got spoiled, fed fine and fussy like a cat by the hearth.

I’m full, Sis.

Mm… I don’t have much appetite either. Let’s go—see if Qianya’s awake, like checking a bud after frost.

Mm.

But Qianya was still unconscious that day, sleep deep as winter soil. Yueyu and Tangxue chatted with Xuewei in the ward for hours, then drifted back like swallows to their nest.

A few days later.

The Heavenly Deity Academy, once rising like a warm sun, soured under Heng Zi’s touch. Gambling’s scent spread like mold on damp walls; the value of credit points warped.

It began with Heng Zi pulling desperate second-years into games. Soon, those same students hunted first-years, nets cast wide. Unnoticed, Heng Zi bent a centuries-old ethos, and even the Student Council’s bans couldn’t turn the tide.

There were countless ways to gamble. Any trade involving credit points had cracks, and Heng Zi poured water through those seams, guiding students toward the abyss, steady as a river carving stone.

The Council was always a step late, patching holes after the flood—plugging illicit trade with new limits, chasing a shadow with lanterns.

Yes, just like that. Hehe. Heng Zi perched on a tree trunk, legs swinging like a child’s; she watched the campus below twist stranger by the day and felt satisfied, a cat watching a bowl.

It’s easy to stir their hunger to possess. Give a tease, a little honey, and they dive deep, like moths to flame. My goal’s never changed—return this world to primal law, like stripping paint to raw wood.

Gambling is the sharpest blade. It makes hearts restless and lost, rouses fear and desire from the marrow. In a place where force is banned, it’s perfect for dissolving the Academy, like salt in water.

Taoran… Dawn Sugar Snow’s gaze turned complicated, mixed like clouds at dusk, toward the girl facing Heng Zi across the table. She had chosen this path, a head-on duel.

Heng Zi! I’ll never forgive you! I’ll end this farce with my own hands! Taoran’s voice burned like a torch.

The gentle elder sister, once known for trust and kindness, now had her eyes veiled by anger, smoke over a lake. The Academy she and the President tended had been churned to mud by Heng Zi.

These past days, Heng Zi shattered Taoran’s enforcement, piece by piece, like breaking clay tiles. A wager was her only way to reverse the storm.

She would use a game to force Heng Zi’s expulsion.

So cruel, Taoran—making expulsion the stake. Heng Zi’s look turned regretful, a soft sigh like wind through bamboo. Until now, I’ve joined so many games, and not a single student got expelled. I even helped quite a few second-years the Academy was set to cut, like pulling them from the riverbank.

But now you, Vice President Taoran, are wagering expulsion against a first-year like me. Isn’t that a touch ironic, like a prayer spoken with a knife behind the back?

The Vice President who claims Benevolence as her divine name?