Teacher by day, Farmer by passion
Chapter 276 - 276: The Ring [1]

Suddenly, Angie's expression turned ice-cold.

"Dragon Dominance."

The words left her lips like a divine decree.

Instantly, the shadows at her feet writhed.

They expanded outward in a violent bloom, inky tendrils snaking across the ground, swallowing grass, trees, even the light itself.

The world darkened in a blink, as if night had collapsed upon the earth.

Then boom.

A silent, crushing wave pulsed out.

The entire forest quivered.

Ten seconds later, the darkness snapped away like a sheet being yanked from the world.

Where there had been a clearing, stood a single figure, wobbling in the wreckage.

Shan Yifeng, bruised and bloodied, staggered forward. His robes were torn.

One of his sleeves hung by a thread, and his left arm bent slightly too far the wrong way. Cuts ran down his neck.

His breath came in sharp gasps, his chest hitching with every step.

She tried to kill me.

The thought crawled up like ice inside his spine.

"What… what are you aiming for?" he asked, horror flashing in his wide, pain-glazed eyes.

His voice cracked and then he coughed, violently. Blood spattered into the dirt, bright red and steaming.

Angie blinked, just now realizing how far she'd gone.

"Oh, snap," she muttered, an actual note of concern slipping into her tone.

"I-It's training!" she quickly added, hands half-raised like a guilty child. "I was trying to—uh—provoke your bloodline… quicker."

Shan Yifeng fell to his knees, his body trembling. He coughed again—hack!—blood pouring from his lips.

"But… I was about to—" he wheezed, and another cough stole his words. "I-I started to feel the… the connection. If you had just waited…"

Another brutal cough, harsher this time.

"I… I could've…"

Hack—spatter. His hand pressed to his side, blood leaking between his fingers.

Angie stood there stiffly, her dragon pride already folding.

But her inner thoughts were racing:

That's the thing… it was exactly because you were getting there. That's why I had to stop you.

Out loud, she snapped back with cool composure, "That's a lie. You need to temper it through combat. Trial. Instinct. Not meditation."

Her words held weight. But even then, her gaze flicked to the wounds on his body with a flash of confusion.

Shan Yifeng glared up at her weakly.

Then—ptoo!—he spat out another glob of blood.

He pushed himself up, dragging his back against the nearest tree until he could sit.

His arms hung limp at his sides, shoulders sagging, but his eyes, despite the pai jumpedstill had some fight in them.

"I'm taking a break," he muttered. Then cough, cough! he clutched his ribs and leaned back again. "Like… a real break…"

Angie watched him, arms folded, tail flicking irritably behind her. She opened her mouth to scold him again, but then thought better of it.

"That's it for today's training," Angie said flatly, flicking a glance at him over her shoulder.

"You should go meet Elder Mati… and get on with your little scheme."

Shan Yifeng didn't respond. Blood still dripped lazily from the corner of his mouth, trailing down his chin like ink from a cracked brush.

But despite the pain, he smirked.

Angie snorted. "Don't get cocky."

With that, she turned on her heel, her long coat fluttering behind her as she descended the mountain path.

Her presence vanished swiftly, like the lingering heat of a fire finally put out.

Shan Yifeng exhaled, slow, shaky.

Each breath scraped his ribs like jagged stone, but he forced himself upright, one palm pressed against the tree trunk for balance.

"Alright…" he muttered, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his sleeve, "showtime."

The trek down the mountain was brutal.

Every step jarred his broken bones, his legs nearly buckling twice.

He gritted his teeth, sweat beading on his brow, but he pressed forward, his goal more important than comfort.

His robes were torn and bloodstained, but he didn't bother fixing them. In fact, the look suited him.

A wounded disciple, injured in training, seeking recovery from a trusted elder. What could be more normal?

By the time he reached Elder Mati's residence, the sun was still hanging high, noon light pouring down in golden shafts. For once, their "training" hadn't dragged into the evening.

He limped to the entrance and blinked.

The door was ajar.

He paused.

Odd. Elder Mati was meticulous. Her door never hung open, not unless she was expecting someone or had forgotten to close it. And Elder Mati didn't forget things.

Shan Yifeng's eyes narrowed, but with the pain chewing through his ribs, he didn't have the luxury of second-guessing.

He raised a weak hand and knocked gently.

No response.

He knocked again, louder this time.

Still nothing.

"…Elder Mati?" he called, voice hoarse. "It's me, Shan Yifeng."

Silence.

For a long moment, he stood still, waiting, listening. No footsteps, no sounds of brewing tea or crackling paper.

Eventually, he stepped inside.

The house was cool and clean. Everything in its place. Not a single item was out of line.

And still, not a soul in sight.

"…I'll just… wait, then," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

His legs finally gave out.

He sank to the floor in the corner and leaned against the wooden wall, exhaling sharply as he slid down.

Every breath was fire. His limbs trembled from strain.

A sharp twist churned through Shan Yifeng's gut.

His breath hitched, something hot surged up his throat.

No—

He slapped a hand over his mouth and scrambled to his feet, stumbling forward as his vision swam.

The bathroom.

He didn't have time to think. His steps were frantic, wobbly, his shoulder slammed into the hallway wall as he turned the corner, sweat slick on his brow.

But just as he reached for the bathroom door—

"AHHH!"

A shrill scream rang out, followed by a gust of steam.

Shan Yifeng skidded to a halt.

Elder Mati stood before him, wide-eyed and soaked, clutching a towel that clung desperately to her frame.

Water dripped down her collarbone in rivulets, her hair still plastered to her neck, cheeks flushed from the hot bath, or maybe the situation.

He froze.

She froze.

There was a long, horrifying pause.

And then—

Thud.

He dropped to one knee, wheezing, hand still clamped over his mouth as he fought the violent urge in his gut.

Mati's scream faded into stunned silence.

"…Shan?" she said, voice pitched somewhere between fury and confusion. "Why are you—"

He raised one trembling hand, shaking his head furiously, eyes squeezed shut in panic.

"I—I wasn't—It's not what it looks like—" he wheezed through clenched teeth. "Bathroom emergency—!"

She blinked, towel pulled tighter.

And then she noticed his bruises, the dried blood on his lip, the pain twisting his face.

"…You're injured."

"Very—" he gasped, staggering back against the wall.

"You idiot! Why didn't you say so?!"

Before he could collapse, Mati rushed past him, grabbing his arm and hauling him upright with surprising strength for someone just out of a bath.

He barely managed to choke back the vomit.

"…Still not what it looked like though," he whispered hoarsely, head drooping.

Mati sighed, dragging him toward the sitting room. "We'll sort that after I get you a bucket."