An Angel in the Heart

"Mo Fan, Mo Fan..." Lingling ran anxiously toward the stage.

"Hey, kid — I'm over here." Mo Fan lay on the ground and raised a tired hand to wave her over.

He had no strength left to get up. The moment the battle ended, every wound on his body had flared up at once, the pain bad enough to put him on his back.

"You... you're bleeding so much." Lingling saw the blood covering his face, and her eyes turned red before she could stop them.

Before entering the gymnasium, Mo Fan had still looked lively and dashing. Now his body bore wounds too numerous to count. The gash on his face was especially bad — a great slash running from his forehead down his nose bridge, then carving across both cheeks. Looking at it, Lingling could easily picture how close he'd come to death fighting the demoness. Another inch deeper, and he wouldn't have survived.

Seeing Lingling — always so composed and world-weary for her age — with tears threatening to spill, Mo Fan couldn't help but grin.

*Still just a little girl, in the end.*

The rescue team quickly dispatched a mage — a Healing Element practitioner.

"Hey, gorgeous — am I going to be disfigured?" Mo Fan asked, looking up at the Healing Element mage in her milk-white uniform.

"No," she said with a smile, then set to work. "Wounds like these don't take long at all."

Mo Fan had witnessed Healing Element magic before, but this was something else. Beneath the soft white radiance, the cuts that had gone deep into muscle were visibly closing, the skin on his face slowly knitting itself back together.

"The fact that you're still breathing after all that — I genuinely have to respect it." Zhao Manyan walked over, sporting his shock of dyed-yellow hair, and looked down at the healing Mo Fan.

Zhao Manyan himself wasn't in much better shape. He'd dealt with no fewer than twenty Greenish-Yellow Demonesses on the third floor, and the slashes across his body made it plain he'd been in mortal danger as well.

"Alright, go collect your credit," Mo Fan told him. "Don't forget my Spirit Grade Lightning Seed."

"I won't stand on ceremony." Zhao Manyan nodded, casting a glance over the devastated venue. "Once you have that Lightning Seed, I imagine you'll be walking into the main campus with your head held high."

"The main campus?" Mo Fan asked, puzzled.

"You didn't know? The Blue District is essentially just Pearl Academy's... call it the outer courtyard. It draws in a huge number of students who've tested into the academy — everyone who enrolls can spend up to four years here. But once your strength reaches a certain level, you can sit for the main campus examination. Go ask any of the thirty thousand-plus students in this Blue District — every last one of them is training desperately to get there." Zhao Manyan sat down beside him, in no hurry to go collect his credit.

The truth was, he felt a pang of hesitation. Saving those hundred-odd parasitized girls had been entirely down to Mo Fan risking his life to kill the mother demoness. The gratitude those women would feel rightfully belonged to Mo Fan — taking it for himself sat uneasily on his conscience.

Even so, Zhao Manyan had no intention of backing out.

He knew what kind of person Mo Fan was. A Spirit Grade Lightning Seed mattered far more to him than any recognition he'd be giving up.

Mo Fan was selling him his name, and Zhao Manyan's Noble Clan was happy to pay for it. A clean transaction — nothing more.

After Zhao Manyan left, Lingling stared at Mo Fan in open bewilderment. "You were the one who killed the mother demoness — why are you saying it was him? Don't you realize the significance of what you did? You saved all those people on your own. The benefits you'd receive are enormous!"

"Improving my strength matters more," Mo Fan said, catching his breath. "A Spirit Grade Lightning Seed costs a fortune — I could never afford one outright. And if I don't get stronger, I'll still be completely outclassed at the Hunter Championship two years from now."

"But... why should he get the credit? Just because he's from a Noble Clan?" Lingling pouted, clearly unhappy.

She was the only one who knew the full story — that every bit of it had been won by Mo Fan's own hands. He was the one who deserved the praise and recognition. So how had Zhao Manyan, who'd done nothing but play a supporting role, suddenly become the hero? Just because he came from a Noble Clan?

"It was my choice," Mo Fan said, completely serious. "Don't you dare spoil things for me. I really need that Spirit Grade Lightning Seed, so as far as anyone's concerned, the one who killed the mother demoness is Zhao Manyan. That's all there is to it."

"Fine." Lingling still looked put out, her cheeks puffed up. She muttered, "You mentioned the Hunter Championship just now — are you actually planning to enter?"

"Absolutely. And I'm going to win first place." Mo Fan nodded without hesitation.

"The Hunter Championship draws the finest young hunters from across the entire country," Lingling said. "They're experienced, well-traveled, and battle-hardened — every single one of them. Winning first place is going to be incredibly difficult."

"Which is exactly why I'm going to push myself to the limit over these next two years."

Lingling had heard Mo Fan mention the Hunter Championship a few days ago. At the time, she'd thought he was just talking about giving it a shot. But now she could see that his fixation ran far deeper — deep enough to willingly surrender a momentous honor in exchange for a Spirit Grade Lightning Seed that would make him stronger.

The Hunter Championship was held once every four years.

Its prizes were the most lavish of any domestic competition.

Many young hunters poured everything they had into winning it, hungry for fame.

Even so, Lingling couldn't shake the feeling that entering the Hunter Championship two years from now was far too premature for Mo Fan — let alone winning first place.

"Wait —" Something suddenly occurred to her. "You're after the first-place prize specifically?"

"Yes."

"If I'm remembering correctly, first prize is a Wing Enchanted Gear. It's certainly the most coveted item out there, but it isn't what you need most right now. An Armor Enchanted Gear would be far more practical — the Enchanted Gear you own is honestly pitiful," Lingling said.

She'd met plenty of Noble Clan children over the years. The talented ones carried at least half a set of Enchanted Gear — sometimes more gear than they had actual magical techniques. Then there was Mo Fan — clearly far stronger than any of them — with nothing to show from head to toe but the Blood Beast Boots. The Sickle-Bone Shield barely qualified as Enchanted Gear at this point; it was completely outclassed by the level of combat he was now facing.

In Lingling's view, Mo Fan should focus on collecting the core pieces first: Shield Enchanted Gear, Armor Enchanted Gear, Slash Enchanted Gear. Wing Enchanted Gear was once-in-a-lifetime luck — you couldn't plan around something like that.

Mo Fan listened to her well-reasoned breakdown and said nothing in reply.

"Forget it, I'll drop it." Lingling stopped pressing and, somewhat to her own surprise, found herself accepting his decision.

Mo Fan glanced at her.

The girl said, with quiet sincerity: "Everyone always has their own reason for wanting to grow stronger."

Mo Fan paused for a moment, and then smiled despite himself.

Yes — everyone had their reasons. And often those reasons were simple.

His, at least, was simple enough.

*When you carry an angel in your heart, how can you leave her without wings?*

Lying on the stretcher, Mo Fan pillowed his head on his hands and gazed up at the sky.

The roof had been caved in by the great beast. Through the gap, the night sky opened above him in all its beauty.

*Drifting toward sleep in his exhaustion, he found his thoughts turning to her — and the smile that would light up her face when she finally laid eyes on the Wing Enchanted Gear. It would be every bit as breathtaking as this sea of stars.*