"Draw the Evil Qi into the body... refine the malevolence into Gang."
Situ Xuan sat cross-legged in the center of the training grounds, his internal voice reciting the mantra like a rhythmic drumbeat. His eyelids flickered slightly, a sign of the intense struggle occurring beneath his calm exterior.
Though his eyes were tightly closed, his perception was sharper than ever. He could clearly feel the trajectory of that icy, biting aura flowing within him. It was a rebellious energy. It did not travel through the standard Ren and Du meridians, nor did it follow the well-trodden paths of the Eight Extraordinary Meridians that most Spirit Masters utilized. Instead, this tyrannical energy specifically chose the narrowest, smallest, and most fragile branch meridians to traverse.
These were places where Spirit Power usually avoided to prevent internal damage, yet now, they were being forcibly cleared and expanded by the Black Heart Evil Qi. The sensation was agonizing. It felt as if a dull, rusted blade was scraping directly against his bones, a piercing, grinding pain that reached into his very marrow.
Suddenly, the blue veins on the back of his right hand bulged violently. They writhed beneath the skin as if being forced open by some invisible, expanding power. This was the "Evil Qi Guidance" stage of the Black Heart Baleful Palm. The level of pain was comparable to the torture of death by a thousand cuts, forcing every nerve ending to scream in protest.
Yet, Situ Xuan didn't even knit his brows. His expression remained as stoic as stone. He simply took a deep, shuddering breath and clenched his fingers tight once more, forcing the energy to submit.
"Ahhh—!"
Eventually, the pressure became too great, and he couldn't help but let out a low, guttural growl. Bright red blood seeped from the gaps between his clenched teeth, but before it could trickle down his chin, it was swallowed by the hovering black energy surrounding him.
"Not enough..." he rasped internally. "It's still not enough."
His left arm began to twitch uncontrollably. Under the relentless infiltration of the Evil Qi, the muscle fibers in his arm gradually became as hard as refined iron. The surface of his skin began to change, covered with a layer of eerie, greyish-white keratin that looked like scales forced into mutation by a dark power.
"One step further!"
He gritted his teeth, his jaw muscles jumping. His pupils shrank rapidly until they were the size of pinpricks. Deep within those contracted pupils, eerie black patterns spread outward like living vines.
Click!
A mysterious, crisp sound echoed from deep within his body, like a lock springing open.
Level 13... to Level 14.
For Situ Xuan, whose Spirit was his own Original Body, the experience of increasing Spirit Power was far more visceral than for elemental Spirit Masters. That new power didn't just sit in his dantian; it rushed through him like a warm, healing current. It continuously circulated through his frame—one lap, two laps, three laps.
Situ Xuan's entire body trembled slightly as the newly achieved Spirit Power repaired the micro-tears and injuries brought about by his brutal training. The pain faded, replaced by a surge of strength. He slowly opened his eyes, the black patterns fading, and suddenly felt a powerful, distinct aura standing at the entrance of the training ground.
At the iron gate, a man with long blue hair and pristine white clothes stood quietly.
Sunlight passed through the stranger's slender figure, casting a faint, elongated shadow on the ground. His eyes were an ice-blue color, holding a hint of surprise as he carefully observed the battered student in the center of the arena.
"Are you... a new teacher?" Situ Xuan asked, his voice rasping. "Or just passing through?"
The man's voice was as cold and clear as ice water. "What happened here? Do you need help?"
Situ Xuan rolled his wrists, his joints making crisp clicking sounds as he tested his new strength. He looked startled for a moment, realizing that this teacher had likely been drawn here by his pained growl just moments ago.
"No, I don't need help. I was just training," Situ Xuan replied, standing up and dusting off his torn uniform. "I'm not a teacher, either. First Year, Class Three. Situ Xuan."
This guy is a fcking First Year?*
The man's brow furrowed slightly. His cold gaze lingered on Situ Xuan's physique. The boy was burly, with muscle density that clearly surpassed his peers. The man's mind briefly flickered to Tang Wulin in his own class, who was also stronger than his peers in terms of physical constitution, and his face twitched almost imperceptibly.
"Wu Changkong," the man introduced himself simply. "First Year, Class Five. Head Teacher."
Situ Xuan's pupils constricted. He could feel it—an unfathomable, deep ocean of power residing within this man.
The Spirit Power fluctuations rolling off Wu Changkong were far purer and more powerful than Long Xiuyuan's. It was a sharp, focused pressure that caused the Battle Intent within Situ Xuan to instantly boil over. The surging power he had just accumulated from his breakthrough was restless, screaming to be released.
"Interested in sparring?" Situ Xuan grinned. The movement caused the small wound at the corner of his mouth to seep blood again, giving him a savage appearance.
A flash of genuine surprise crossed Wu Changkong's eyes, followed by the faintest curl of his lips. He was clearly intrigued by a student with such raw aggression. Slowly, he reached down and unfastened the long white belt from his waist. The silk fabric glinted with a cold luster in the sunlight, looking less like clothing and more like a weapon.
"Please," Wu Changkong said calmly.
Situ Xuan narrowed his eyes, and his muscles tensed instantly. He noticed Wu Changkong's posture while holding the belt—it was clearly a swordsman's starting stance. That soft, silken belt seemed to transform into an indestructible longsword in his grip.
"Hah!"
With a violent shout, the green steel stone floor beneath Situ Xuan's feet shattered into spiderwebs. He launched himself forward. His right punch pierced the air, carrying a sharp, high-pitched whistling sound as it went straight for Wu Changkong's throat.
"Big Dipper Dragon Strikes Tiger!"
Wu Changkong didn't move his feet. He only lightly turned his wrist.
The white belt drew a beautiful, fluid arc in the air like a living white snake, precisely intercepting Situ Xuan's punch mid-flight.
Slap.
The moment they touched, a bone-chilling cold spread up from his fist. Situ Xuan's right arm was instantly covered in a layer of thin frost, stiffening the joint.
"Going for real, huh..."
Situ Xuan gave a savage laugh, ignoring the cold. He pivoted on his heel, and his left leg swept out like a heavy iron whip.
"Big Dipper Restraining Tendon Free Foot!"
Wu Changkong's figure swayed slightly. His toes lightly tapped the ground, and he drifted backward as if he weighed no more than a feather. The belt in his hand turned into a white streak of light, stabbing toward Situ Xuan's left ribs at a tricky, venomous angle.
Bang!
Situ Xuan barely managed to cross his arms to block. The massive impact slid him back several meters, his boots carving grooves into the stone floor.
The stinging pain radiating from his arms made him realize the danger. If not for his powerful physical body, that "sword" strike would have likely pierced right through his defense and broken bone.
"Interesting!"
Situ Xuan spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva. The Battle Intent in his eyes grew even stronger, burning like a fire. He slammed his foot into the ground and charged at Wu Changkong again like a cannonball.
This time he changed his strategy. His fist movements became erratic and unpredictable.
"Big Dipper Soft Breaking Slash!"
What looked like a fierce, straight punch suddenly transformed into a soft palm blade mid-way, cutting through a gap in the belt's defense toward Wu Changkong's shoulder.
A hint of appreciation flashed in Wu Changkong's eyes. He tilted his body smoothly to avoid the edge of the hand. At the same time, the belt circled back like a spirit snake, drawing a perfect circle in the air that neutralized all of Situ Xuan's offensive momentum.
"Again!"
Situ Xuan roared, the muscles in his arms bulging as his veins coiled like dragons.
"Big Dipper Steel Fracture Grip!"
He hooked his hands into claws, intending to use brute force to catch that elusive belt and rip it away.
Wu Changkong flicked his wrist, and the soft fabric suddenly became as rigid and straight as a steel sword. It stabbed toward Situ Xuan's heart at an incredible speed. Situ Xuan was forced to abandon his attempt to seize the weapon, crossing his arms frantically to take the stab head-on.
Boom!
The massive impact forced Situ Xuan back again. His arms were now covered in a thick layer of frost. But instead of being alarmed, he looked delighted. He violently shook his arms, shattering the ice crystals into sparkling dust.
"Exhilarating!"
The two moved rapidly across the training ground. Every one of Situ Xuan's punches was heavy and powerful, the ground constantly cracking and groaning beneath his feet.
Meanwhile, Wu Changkong maintained an elegant, almost bored posture throughout. The white belt in his hand was versatile—sometimes a longsword stabbing straight ahead, sometimes a soft whip for binding and parrying. He neutralized Situ Xuan's savage attacks one by one with minimal effort.
"Teacher Wu, watch out!"
Situ Xuan suddenly roared, his muscles tensed to the absolute limit. He pulled his right fist back to his waist. His entire strength, body weight, and Spirit Power surged into this punch like a confluence of rushing rivers. The fist glowed with a dull red light due to the high-speed friction with the air.
"Big Dipper Face-Breaking Punch!"
This punch was grand in momentum, the wind pressure from the fist exploding in the air with a thunderous crack.
Wu Changkong was finally moved. He planted his feet firmly and turned his wrist rapidly. The white belt drew seven afterimages in mid-air, looking as if seven longswords were stabbing out simultaneously to meet the fist.
Pa pa pa pa pa!
Seven consecutive, crisp sounds rang out like firecrackers. Situ Xuan's punch momentum was weakened layer by layer, stopped dead in its tracks.
Finally, Wu Changkong stepped aside to let the remaining force pass harmlessly. The belt circled back like a white dragon, lightly tapping against Situ Xuan's throat before freezing there.
The field fell silent.
Only Situ Xuan's heavy, ragged breathing echoed in the space. He looked down at the tip of the belt pressed against his throat, feeling the cold radiating from it, and grinned.
"I lost."
Wu Changkong retracted the belt, wrapping it back around his waist. A complex light shone in his eyes.
"To be able to reach this level with pure physical arts... interesting," Wu Changkong murmured. He paused, looking at the boy. "What kind of fist technique do you practice?"
"A family heirloom fist technique. It's not worth mentioning."
Situ Xuan wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. The fire of battle in his eyes was still unextinguished. "Another round?"
Wu Changkong showed a rare, faint smile. "Next time... I look forward to seeing your performance in the Class Promotion Tournament."
After saying that, he turned and left. His white figure walked calmly away, quickly disappearing at the entrance of the training ground.
Situ Xuan watched the direction he left in, clenching his still-trembling hands.
The joy of fighting a strong opponent made the blood in his entire body boil. He secretly vowed that next time, he would definitely force out this man's true abilities. He hadn't even seen a Spirit Ring yet.
But... Wu Changkong. First Year, Class Five...
Situ Xuan froze as he suddenly remembered something. Those distant memories from his knowledge of the original timeline surfaced. He recalled the opponents from the same year at East Sea Academy—Tang Wulin, Gu Yue, Wang Jinxi, and Zhang Yangzi. He thought of their Golden Dragon King power and the Spirit Fusion Skills.
"This is getting more and more interesting!" he muttered to himself, a grin spreading across his face.
Night fell over the academy.
Long Xiuyuan stood in the training ground, staring at a crumpled note Situ Xuan had left behind. The heavy punching bags swung gently in the wind, but the student was nowhere to be seen.
His brow furrowed deep enough to crush a fly as he muttered in disbelief, reading the excuse on the paper.
"What the hell? He already did special training? With who?"
Since the start of the school year, Situ Xuan had never missed an evening training session with him. It was their routine. It was their bonding time.
After thinking it over, and realizing his prize student had spent his energy training with someone else, Long Xiuyuan could only come to one heartbroken conclusion.
"Have I... have I been f*cking cucked?!"