The gymnasium of Imperial High usually smelled of floor wax and teenage ambition. Today, it smelled of expensive perfume, ozone, and impending disaster. Chen Feng sat on a high judge's chair, wearing a whistle around his neck and a headband that said "No. 1 Instructor."
Below him, the "Big Four" stood in a line, each holding a five-meter-long silk ribbon.
"Ladies, the Luo-Shu Grid isn't just about grace," Chen Feng announced, blowing a sharp blast on his whistle. "It's about frequency. If Meiling's fire-attribute energy is too high, the earth cracks. If Xuerui's frost is too low, the energy doesn't settle. You have to be in sync. Now, tendu!"
Su Meiling, normally a master of corporate mergers, was currently tangled in her own ribbon. "Chen Feng, this is ridiculous! I'm a CEO, not a rhythmic gymnast! Why is my ribbon glowing orange?"
"Because your temper is leaking into the silk, Meiling," Chen Feng said, stifling a laugh. "Relax your shoulders. You're supposed to be a 'Heavenly Fire-Bird,' not a frustrated arsonist."
Next to her, Lin Xuerui was performing with terrifying, robotic perfection. Every flick of her wrist was calculated to the millimeter. The problem was, her ribbon was so cold it was literally forming frost on the gymnasium floor, making it a slipping hazard for everyone else.
"Xuerui, stop trying to freeze the vibration; you have to conduct it," Chen Feng coached.
"You're a conductor, not a refrigerator. Look at Principal Ye. Be more like the Principal."
Ye Qingxuan was, unsurprisingly, a natural. She moved with a silent, lethal elegance, her ribbon cutting through the air like a whip. However, she was vibrating with an aura that said, 'If I have to do one more leap, someone is going to be expelled.'
"I am only doing this because the school's structural integrity is at stake," Qingxuan hissed as she pirouetted past Chen Feng's chair.
While the "Big Four" were suffering through their first practice, Mu Ronghuan and Lin Xia were engaged in a much more clandestine operation.
Under the cover of a moonless sky, the Student Council President and the "Little Sister" crept onto the athletic track. Ronghuan was wearing a high-tech tactical bodysuit (which she had ordered specifically for this mission), while Xia was wearing a bright pink hoodie with cat ears.
"Shh! Xia, keep the flashlight low!" Ronghuan whispered, kneeling to examine the track.
"Look. There it is."
She pointed to a fine layer of black, crystalline sand settled into the grooves of the running lanes. It pulsed with a faint, oily light—the Obsidian Heart-Sand.
"It smells like old socks and bad luck," Xia whispered, wrinkling her nose.
Ronghuan pulled out a specialized vacuum she had "borrowed" from the science lab. Whirrr. In a matter of minutes, they had sucked up the dark catalyst. Then, Xia reached into her backpack and pulled out three industrial-sized buckets of "Iridescent Galactic Sparkle" glitter.
"Dean Feng said the glitter has a 'Chaotic Light' property that messes with dark arrays," Xia said, gleefully dumping a handful.
Ronghuan watched as the track was transformed from a site of a death-curse into something that looked like a unicorn had exploded on it. "If this doesn't save the school, at least we'll be the most fabulous casualties in history."
The next morning, the school gates groaned as a vintage black sedan pulled up. Out stepped Master Tie. He was a man who looked like he had been carved out of a canyon wall—short, thick-set, with knuckles the size of walnuts and eyes that seemed to have no pupils, only gray stone.
Director Zhao stood beside him, looking smug. "Master Tie, this is the 'Dean' I told you about. The one who thinks magic tricks can replace true martial foundations."
Chen Feng strolled toward them, finishing a strawberry milk and tossing the carton into a bin with a perfect bank shot.
"Master Tie," Chen Feng said, offering a hand. "Welcome to Imperial High. I hope you like glitter. We're going through a bit of a 'sparkle phase' right now."
Tie didn't speak. He simply reached out and took Chen Feng's hand.
The air between them suddenly hummed. Zhao stepped back, sensing the pressure. Master Tie didn't just squeeze; he sent a Mountain-Crushing Vibration directly through Chen Feng's palm. It was a force meant to shatter every bone in a man's arm and liquefy his shoulder.
Chen Feng didn't flinch. He didn't even drop his smile. To the onlookers, it looked like a friendly greeting. In reality, Chen Feng was using his "Salted Fish" technique—the Empty Vessel Dao. He allowed the vibration to enter his body, redirected it down his spine, through his legs, and safely into the ground.
CRACK.
The concrete beneath Chen Feng's flip-flops shattered into a spiderweb of fissures, but Chen Feng remained perfectly still.
"Nice grip," Chen Feng remarked, patting Tie's hand before letting go. "You must do a lot of gardening. Anyway, the snacks are in the faculty lounge. Try the mochi; it's surprisingly resilient."
Master Tie stared at his own hand, then at the fissures in the concrete. For the first time in forty years, the old master looked genuinely confused.
"Zhao," Tie rumbled, his voice like a rockslide. "That is no 'vagrant.' That man is a black hole."