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The sun hung high in the sky—time for the Opening Ceremony.
Held at Donghai Academy's central plaza, this was the only occasion when both Intermediate and Senior Division students gathered together.
The Intermediate Division had roughly 100 students per year level—totaling about 700–800.
The Senior Division was far smaller—only around 200 students, split across three grades—proof of the academy's strict admissions standards.
"Quiet down, everyone!" an announcer called. "Please welcome Dean Yu to the stage!"
Dean Yu was an elderly man in his sixties—of average build, unassuming, with silver-streaked hair and glasses, radiating the air of a refined scholar.
"Good morning, students," he began, voice warm yet weary. "Each year at this time, I'm filled with emotion…"
"As one cohort graduates… a new generation arrives. I hope you'll live up to the Sun Moon Federation's expectations and diligently master the arts of soul cultivation."
His eloquence was masterful—but his speech carried a subtle hypnotic cadence that left many new students fighting sleep.
After a full quarter-hour, the dean finally concluded.
Then came the most anticipated part of the ceremony: Class Assignments.
The other divisions filed out, leaving only the Intermediate Division's first-year students behind.
The sorting process was simple: based on innate soul power, current soul power level, martial soul type, spiritual power, and other metrics, each student had already been evaluated—and classes assigned accordingly.
Director Long Hengxu stepped onto the podium, delivered a few lines of inspirational fluff—then announced the placements.
Just as expected, Fang Yang, Tang Wulin, Xie Xie, and Zhou Changxi were all assigned to Class Five—the lowest-ranked class, notorious for inferior resources and weakest overall talent. It had twenty students in total.
Upon hearing the results, Xie Xie and Zhou Changxi's faces fell with regret—only Fang Yang and Tang Wulin remained calm.
"Am I supposed to 'avoid their edge'?" Fang Yang mused inwardly.
Their first-day brawl had sealed their fate.
While the other Class Five students looked like wilted eggplants—heads low, spirits crushed—some girls even on the verge of tears—Fang Yang and Tang Wulin stood tall.
"All homeroom teachers, please lead your classes to your classrooms," Director Long declared.
Five instructors stepped forward. One—tall, elegant, radiating icy grace—walked toward Class Five.
At the sight of him, every student except Fang Yang and Tang Wulin froze in awe.
He was strikingly handsome, draped in snow-white robes. His ice-blue long hair was tied back with a silver ribbon. His eyes—deep emerald—contrasted sharply with his hair, giving him an otherworldly aura.
Yet his face was utterly expressionless, gaze as cold as winter frost.
This was Wu Zhangkong.
"Follow me."
Just two words—but they sent a bone-deep chill through every student. Not from the air… but from the soul.
Most shivered involuntarily. Only Fang Yang and Tang Wulin remained unaffected.
Fang Yang's Heavenly Flame naturally repelled the cold.
Tang Wulin, after his bloodline awakening, now possessed superhuman resilience.
Wu Zhangkong's eyes lingered on the two for a heartbeat—surprise flickering in his gaze.
"This effortless aura of frost… as expected of Wu Zhangkong," Fang Yang thought.
Just his presence chills the marrow—truly no ordinary man.
After silently assessing them, Wu Zhangkong turned and led the class to their classroom.
As the worst class, Class Five's room was on the first floor—deepest in the building, requiring the longest walk.
Inside: thirty sets of desks and chairs, a podium at the front.
"Sit."
Wu Zhangkong's voice remained glacial.
Fang Yang took a seat in the front row. Tang Wulin, Xie Xie, and Zhou Changxi sat together. The rest filed in quietly.
Wu Zhangkong swept his gaze across the room.
Students whispering instantly felt their blood freeze—and shut up.
Silence fell like snow.
"I am Wu Zhangkong," he announced. "For the next six years, I will be your homeroom teacher."
He wrote his name on the blackboard with sharp, clean strokes.
"Now—introduce yourselves. State your name, martial soul, soul power level, and what kind of Soul Master you wish to become. Start with you."
Direct. No fluff.
Fang Yang's row was at the far edge—and Wu Zhangkong's finger pointed right at them.
So the boy in the very first seat—Xiao Ming—stood up nervously.
"I'm Xiao Ming! My Martial Soul is Pistol, soul power level 12! I want to be an attack-type Soul Master! My hobby is playing League!"
"Next." Wu Zhangkong gave a slight nod—no comment.
"I'm Ai Kun! Martial Soul: Basketball, Level 11! I aim to be a control-type Soul Master! I love singing, dancing, rap, and basketball—checkmate, suckers!"
One by one, students rose—until it was Tang Wulin's turn.
He stood tall, voice firm:
"Tang Wulin. Martial Soul: Blue Silver Grass. Level 15. Goal: to become a powerful Control Soul Master."
"Pfft—Blue Silver Grass?! A useless martial soul, and he wants to be powerful? What a joke!"
A mocking voice rang out from the back.
WHOOSH!
A white streak shot through the air—Wu Zhangkong's chalk slammed into the student's throat, making him gag violently.
Then, the teacher's icy voice cut through the room:
"Remember this: In this world, there are no useless martial souls—only useless people."
"And before you call someone else trash—take a look in the mirror. If you're not trash… why were you assigned here?"
"Continue."
"Fang Yang. Martial Soul: Elemental Flame. Level 29 Soul Grandmaster. Goal: to become the strongest."
Gasps erupted.
"Level 29?!"
"How is he in Class Five with that power?!"
"He's only nine! This talent is monstrous!"
Whispers filled the room.
A nine-year-old Level 29 Soul Grandmaster? Terrifying!
"Oh? You're Level 29?"
For the first time that day, Wu Zhangkong showed interest—his eyes sharpening.
"Explain. How did you end up in Class Five?"
"Just luck," Fang Yang shrugged casually.
Wu Zhangkong's brow furrowed. He tapped the podium lightly. "Be clear."
Fang Yang offered an innocent smile.
"Well… let's just say we had a very friendly, morally uplifting chat in the dorm… and here I am."
Tang Wulin and the others facepalmed.
The class stared—now looking at Fang Yang with awe and fear.
Only he could describe a brawl like it was a philosophical debate.
Wu Zhangkong gave a faint nod. "Sit."
"Next."
"Xie Xie. Martial Soul: Light Dragon Dagger. Level 18. Agility-Attack Battle Soul Master."
…
Once all introductions ended, Wu Zhangkong's gaze rested on Fang Yang, Tang Wulin, and Xie Xie for a long moment.
A ghost of a smile touched his lips.
"Heh… Long Hengxu, you crafty old fox—you've played your hand well."
But Wu Zhangkong didn't mind.
He preferred teaching students with true potential.
"Class starts tomorrow at 7 a.m." he announced curtly. "Be late, and you'll regret it."
With a wave of his hand:
"Dismissed."
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