Upon an island.
At the center of the island stood an estate that covered an enormous stretch of land.
The entire estate was built from dark-brown marble, with exquisite stone sculptures arranged throughout the courtyard. Wealth and grandeur seeped from every corner; among this year's new students, it was already an exceedingly distinguished residence.
But if compared with Lu Yuan's estate suspended above the nebula, whether in layout or degree of luxury, it fell short by far more than a single level. Everywhere, it carried a cramped sense of ordinariness.
This was none other than the residence of Zhao Long, the second-place finisher in this year's freshman assessment.
Inside the study on the top floor of the estate, the atmosphere was oppressive to the extreme.
Zhao Long sat upright on a pitch-black sandalwood chair, his posture straight and his features handsome, yet bearing an inborn arrogance.
At this moment, his brows were tightly knitted, gloom filling the space between them. The look he cast at the virtual light screen before him was packed with barely suppressed frustration and rage, and even the aura around him had turned violent.
On the light screen, the final ranking of the freshman assessment was displayed clearly: First place, Lu Yuan. Second place, Zhao Long.
Those dazzling words—"second place"—were like needles, stabbing viciously into Zhao Long's eyes. His hands, clenched on the armrests, trembled as veins bulged one after another.
He had always been a favored son of heaven. From childhood to adulthood, whether in cultivation, contests, or any other competition, he had always stood at the very top in first place, enjoying everyone's adulation and awe. He was used to standing high above others and had never tasted the feeling of being beneath someone else.
How illustrious was Zhao Long's background?
He was the