Chapter Four: The Teacher

The group from the Elite Martial Arts Club swaggered in with arrogance, only to leave in utter defeat, their pride battered and their faces covered in dust. Meng Xudong didn’t attempt to win Song Yue over with further olive branches; the timing and circumstances were wrong, and besides, his side had just suffered a considerable loss.

The student who had been struck repeatedly with a slipper by Song Yue wouldn’t be discharged from the hospital for at least a week. The injuries on his face looked alarming but weren’t serious—the real harm was in the opening kick. Though Song Yue had seemed nonchalant, it was clear he had truly lost his temper. The psychological trauma would likely haunt that student for months.

Still, Meng Xudong memorized Song Yue’s appearance and even secretly snapped a photo. He planned to have someone investigate thoroughly—when did Hangzhou produce such a figure? How could there be no trace of him before? If he could bring someone like this into the Elite Martial Arts Club, they would be unstoppable together! As a martial artist, Meng Xudong had no qualms about someone stronger than himself emerging; only then would he have more motivation to improve.

Back at the Cultivation Academy, everyone was initially overjoyed, having finally vented their pent-up frustration! But their smiles soon faded when Song Yue began to mock them again.

“In such a grand academy, hailed as the cradle of cultivators, you’re really just babies in a cradle waiting to be fed—standing by and watching a young girl get bullied?” Song Yue’s mood was sour, having missed mealtime.

He looked at the teachers and students: “They came right to your door. The lower-level ones were useless, ending up battered and bruised, and the higher-level ones were even worse, hiding behind some nonsense rules about not intervening. What a joke!”

“Qian Qianxue, don’t pretend you’re uninvolved—I’m talking to you. Why didn’t you act just now?”

Qian Qianxue’s expression was tinged with helplessness. She explained, “We’re not like you. We have to follow some rules...”

“Are you stupid?” Song Yue shot her a glance. “Forget the rules for a moment—can’t you think outside the box? Even without using cultivation techniques, can’t you use martial skills to teach them a lesson? Among that group, not one could match you. Where was all that skill when you fought me? You didn’t seem concerned about rules then.”

Qian Qianxue’s face darkened, her gaze sharp. “Exactly, why did I forget the rules when fighting you?”

Sensing trouble, Song Yue turned on his heel and left without hesitation, calling out as he walked, “Wen Rou, don’t worry. If those bastards come back, just call me. Your seniors may care about their reputation and rules, but your brother is a scoundrel—he never plays by the rules!”

Before Wen Rou could thank him, he was already a distant figure. She glanced at Qian Qianxue, who was rolling her eyes, and thought: In this whole academy, the only one Song Yue seems to respect is Sister Xue. No, not respect—perhaps he likes her.

With that in mind, Wen Rou pulled out her phone and quietly messaged Song Yue: “Brother, let’s have dinner sometime with Sister Xue?”

Knowing Song Yue didn’t have his phone with him, she didn’t expect an immediate reply. After thanking Qian Qianxue, she left for the dorm with several girls.

Qian Qianxue watched them go, then glanced toward the gate, where Song Yue’s figure had long vanished. She pursed her lips, muttering, “Who’s the real fool here? Wen Rou likes you so much, and you can’t even seize such a golden opportunity! Idiot! Completely clueless!”

Remembering the scene where Song Yue slapped that student with his slipper, she couldn’t help but burst into laughter. It was a bit unseemly, but so satisfying.

She knew she could have dealt with those thugs with martial skills, but aside from sparring with Song Yue once, she’d never fought anyone. Her combat experience wasn’t that deep. Even when sparring with Song Yue, she understood he had held back.

If it had come down to a real no-holds-barred fight, she might not have won. In the end, faced with such situations, she felt a bit stage-frightened, though she’d never admit it—it was too embarrassing.

Besides, Song Yue hadn’t been around for over ten days, and the one being bullied was Wen Rou. So she went to find Song Yue without hesitation. He was the only one bad enough to deal with those ruffians.

Song Yue’s place was less than a kilometer from the Cultivation Academy—a short walk—but he was barefoot, and the scorching pavement was uncomfortable. He planned to buy a new pair of slippers.

The slippers he’d just used had been thrown in the trash as soon as he left the school—one had blood on it, reeking and disgusting. The other followed suit; after all, a pair should be together for life.

When he returned home with a new pair, enduring strange looks from passersby, it was already past eleven thirty. After that exhilarating fight, he was ravenous enough to eat a whole ox.

Aunt Wang, the housekeeper who had looked after him for years, knew his appetite well and always made plenty of food. Watching Song Yue devour it, she felt a sense of accomplishment.

After dinner, Song Yue spent the entire afternoon practicing footwork in a corner of the courtyard, stepping on plum blossom stakes. The technique he was learning had a rather crude name—Phantom Mirage Step—something straight out of a martial arts novel or film.

Qian Qianxue had tossed it to him offhandedly one day when he hadn’t caused trouble at the academy. At first, Song Yue had dismissed it—what a tacky name! But boredom led him to read it, and he immediately regretted his earlier scorn. Whoever named it must have had a peculiar sense of humor, but the footwork was truly ingenious.

Not everyone at the academy was weak; there were plenty of strength cultivators and sword cultivators, many of whom practiced martial skills. After being beaten by him a few times, they naturally found ways to counter him. But with this footwork, Song Yue was nearly invincible against the academy’s young talents.

He had no idea where the aloof Qian Qianxue had found such a gem, but it was leagues better than the so-called secret manuals his parents had bought at exorbitant prices.

Whether one practiced cultivation techniques or martial skills, even geniuses needed diligence and perseverance. No one ever achieved mastery overnight.

By evening, Song Yue was drenched in sweat once again. After a shower, he received a call from his mentor’s wife, inviting him to dinner at their house.

The meals at his mentor’s house were always delicious; if not for worrying about upsetting his housekeeper, he’d eat there every day. He notified the housekeeper, rented a bike, and headed over.

Song Yue often marveled at his connection with his mentor. When he first arrived in this city, he was lost and disappointed—a child rejected by the Cultivation Academy he’d dreamed of joining. The blow was significant.

He hadn’t gone home because, before leaving, he’d boasted to his ten-years-older brother: “Song Chao, listen to me—one day, I’ll bring you down!”

His brother asked, “And if not?”

Young Song Yue had pounded his chest, “If not, I won’t go home!”

He’d always been a handful, and so were his parents. They’d really left him there. His mother would visit occasionally and often video call, but they let him grow up wild. If he didn’t look so much like his mother, Song Yue would have doubted he was their child.

People say the youngest is always spoiled, but not in his family. He sometimes felt he’d been produced just to fulfill the national policy...

His mentor wasn’t a family connection. Such a renowned modern scholar wouldn’t do things for anyone’s sake. The first time they met was on a warm, sunny afternoon. Song Yue had been sitting quietly under the window of his mentor’s study, listening to the lecture inside. The mentor, who looked to be in his forties and exuded elegance, noticed him and asked if he wanted to come in. Song Yue replied he didn’t have money. The mentor said it was free, so he went in—and stayed for ten years.

From the small lecture hall to his mentor’s own house, he listened all the way. He never considered himself a disciple, but he called his mentor’s wife—who remained youthful and beautiful—auntie.

Of course, his mentor didn’t age either. Ten years had passed, and he still looked in his forties—handsome, scholarly, with an aura of refinement.

“In my view, meeting you was fate, a destined inevitability!” Song Yue exclaimed upon arrival. “So, can you find me some advanced martial arts? My parents are hopeless—they keep buying shoddy, overpriced manuals and always get cheated. I can’t bear to tell them, lest I crush their pride and joy as parents...”

His mentor gave him a calm look. “Destined inevitability? Song Yue, have some shame.”

“You haven’t settled the score for breaking our window with pebbles! I took you in out of pity, seeing you so filthy and pitiful, and now you want me to find you even better martial arts? Forget it! What’s the point in being a martial artist? You’re knowledgeable—why not focus on scholarship instead of fighting?”

His mentor spoke to him in the casual tone of an insider, both out of familiarity and exasperation.

His mentor’s wife, however, greeted him with a warm, beaming smile. “Don’t listen to him. If he won’t help, I will!”

It was worth mentioning that this graceful lady, who looked no older than twenty-eight though she was past forty, was herself a martial artist. Her skills were formidable—Song Yue wasn’t sure of her exact level, but she was surely a grandmaster by now.

Many of the martial techniques Song Yue had learned were taught by her. He flashed a cheeky grin. “Auntie, you’re the best!”

Would he dare debate with her? That would be like writing secrets in a diary—never! Who writes their real thoughts in a diary anyway?

He turned to his mentor. “I was just a kid back then—no parental supervision. Of course, I was a bit mischievous...”

His mentor cut him off. “A bit mischievous? And what do you mean, no parental supervision? Don’t make yourself sound like an orphan. I was taken in by your act back then, but what kind of orphan lives in a seven-hundred-square-meter villa with an acre of land?”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “You rascal! Even as a little kid you knew how to play poor and pitiful, wearing ragged clothes, sneaking over to break my window. Did you imagine yourself as a romantic waif listening to lectures from the corner?”

“No! I didn’t!” Song Yue denied vehemently.

At that moment, his mentor’s wife emerged from the kitchen with a large platter of steaming meat, the rich aroma filling the air. As a martial artist herself, she understood the appetite of those who trained, so she didn’t stand on ceremony—she brought out the whole dish.

His mentor was used to such scenes and thought nothing of it. He turned to the liquor cabinet, poured a glass of white spirit for each of them, and sat down, asking about Song Yue’s recent studies while watching with satisfaction as Song Yue devoured the food.

This, truly, felt like a family.

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Four chapters delivered on the first day.

Thanks to Piaopiao, Maomao, Xiao Yu, Immortal Qitian, Supreme Azuo, Hongmeng e Sage, Kaiti Cat, I See You Without Smiling, Situ Tingjun, Great God Please Update, and all old and new friends for your rewards and support at the launch of this new book.

It’s the first time I’ve waited so long before starting a new book, and I don’t have any chapters saved in advance.

But I’m still the same me.

Let’s go.