Now? Them?

The icy soul first condensed in a twelve-storied tower; a trace of clear shadow inscribed autumn across the sky. Stars left marks by the clouds yet could not linger; silent dew still clung beneath the eaves.

Half a life's drifting returned to the inkstone; midnight flickers hung upon the curtain hook. Even if the Moon Palace granted an elixir of immortality, it could not compare to two heads grown white together in the mortal world.

It was still the same Training Room, still the Iron Puppets that were constantly being replaced.

The Soul Guidance Core in the puppet's chest continued to emit light, yet the chatter of certain people was no longer present by his ears.

Situ Xuan's fist stopped three inches from the Iron Puppet's chest. He slowly withdrew his arm, his fingertips trembling uncontrollably.

Sweat ran down his chin, adding another dark stain to the collar of his already soaked training uniform.

He stepped back twice, turned around, and rested his back against the Iron Puppet's cold metal body.

The cold light from the Training Room's overhead lamps fell across the puppet's shell. The uneven shadows of countless fist marks overlapped like a distorted face.

He raised his hand and looked at his palm. Two fresh abrasions marked it, and the beads of blood that had seeped out had already dried.

The wound along his left ribs began to ache faintly again. He instinctively pressed it, his fingertips touching the rough texture of the bandages.

The Soul Guidance Core in the Iron Puppet's chest flickered brightly and dimly, its mechanical hum especially clear in the empty room.

Situ Xuan stared at that point of blue light for a while before reaching out and switching off the energy supply.

The whirring stopped abruptly, and the Training Room fell into an even deeper silence.

The ticking of the second hand on the wall clock suddenly became distinct.

It was already 4:16 in the afternoon. At this time in the past, someone should have pushed open the Training Room door, carrying the smell of smoke and a lazy smile.

Situ Xuan bent down, picked up the water bottle from the floor, and took a drink.

The water had gone cold, bringing a trace of discomfort as it slid down his throat. He tightened the cap and casually tossed the bottle into his backpack.

The Iron Puppet stood crookedly there, its right arm joint loosened from enduring repeated heavy blows, hanging at an unnatural angle.

Situ Xuan walked over and straightened it. The lingering warmth on the metal surface passed through his palm.

The Training Room door was suddenly blown open a crack by the wind, and faint footsteps came from the corridor.

Situ Xuan turned toward the doorway, but no one entered.

The wind soon carried the door shut again.

He returned to the center of the room and bent down to gather the scattered bandages and protective gear.

Yesterday's bloodstains clung to the bandages, already turned brown.

He balled them up and threw them into the trash can, drawing a dull clang from its metal body.

The Training Room door let out a creak.

Situ Xuan did not even raise his head, continuing to sort the protective gear on the floor.

"Want to see how much they've improved?"

Situ Xuan's fingers paused. He slowly straightened and turned to look at the doorway.

Wu Zhangkong stood there, his white teacher's uniform spotless, his long blue hair falling to his waist. His expression remained indifferent. He held a thermos in his right hand while his left hung at his side.

Situ Xuan suddenly chuckled. "Now? Them?"

Those two seemingly mocking questions did not change Wu Zhangkong's expression in the slightest.

Long Xiuyuan was not the only one who understood the student before him.

How could Wu Zhangkong not have sensed the will conveyed through that violence in their intermittent clashes?

"Them."

Wu Zhangkong answered firmly, "Now."

Situ Xuan nodded and said listlessly, "Then I'll trouble Teacher Wu to lead the way."

The sunset painted the corridor into a flowing canvas of molten gold. Situ Xuan's hair tips lifted and fell in the warm breeze like a cluster of restless black flames.

The glass window frames of the Training Room cut the fiery clouds on the horizon into irregular geometric shapes. Strange halos rimmed those clouds, as though some invisible force had kneaded them, giving them the contradictory textures of blade-like sharpness and marshmallow softness.

Every so often, the vent at the end of the corridor sent out a wave of warm air carrying the distinctive smell of metal baked beneath the sun.

Situ Xuan's hem fluttered lightly in the wind, revealing a bruise at his waist that had yet to fully heal—the mark left by Long Xiuyuan's final elbow strike yesterday.

He reached out to hold down the corner of his clothes. His palm touched several patches of dried blood on the fabric, hard and rough like coarse sandpaper.

"Won't you try trusting your companions?"

Wu Zhangkong stopped before the half-closed door of the Training Room and suddenly turned around. "It might feel rather good."

Wu Zhangkong's sudden question caught Situ Xuan off guard. Then he bared his teeth in a grin. "If they can't keep up with me, what right do they have to stand beside me?"

"Is that so?"

A smile suddenly appeared on Wu Zhangkong's face. The bizarre sight made Situ Xuan instinctively wary.

"We'll see."

Wu Zhangkong did not actually do anything strange, and his face soon returned to its usual icy appearance.

Seeing him like that instead made Situ Xuan breathe a sigh of relief.

Where Situ Xuan could not see, Wu Zhangkong could not help twitching the corner of his mouth.

Was his image really that rigid?

When Wu Zhangkong pushed open the Training Room's heavy metal door, it let out a dull creak.

The five members of Zero Class raised their heads at once. Their gazes passed over Wu Zhangkong's distinctive white attire and landed on the unfamiliar figure behind him.

The dagger spinning in Xie Xie's hand abruptly stopped, its metal blade reflecting a cold gleam. He narrowed his eyes as he sized up Situ Xuan at the door, his gaze moving from the other boy's damaged combat uniform to his hands wrapped in bandages, before finally settling on the faint bloodstains seeping through around his left ribs.

"This is...?"

Xie Xie tilted his head slightly, a teasing smile curling his lips. His voice was not loud, but it rang especially clearly in the empty Training Room.

Tang Wulin rose from his cross-legged position and dusted the dirt from his pants. When he looked at Situ Xuan again, his eyes held a trace of complexity.

Gu Yue, on the other hand, did not particularly care. Her indifferent eyes merely studied Situ Xuan with curiosity.

Zhang Yangzi and Wang Jinxi watched Situ Xuan warily. Although only a few days had passed since the Class Promotion Tournament ended, that feeling of facing a formidable enemy still lingered in their hearts.

As one of the six students in Year One Zero Class, Situ Xuan was part of Zero Class, yet he continued to stay in the C7 Training Room. Aside from attending theory lessons together, he did not even seem to have any intention of greeting the other five in everyday life.

He was completely a training maniac.

But precisely because of that, Xie Xie did not have a favorable impression of Situ Xuan.

Even Tang Wulin, who came from the same hometown of Aolai City as Situ Xuan, did not quite know how to face him.

Tang Wulin had clearly been happy to train alongside him, but Situ Xuan did not seem to acknowledge him as a companion.

Wu Zhangkong clapped his hands, drawing everyone's attention. "Since Zero Class was formed, you have not truly gotten to know one another formally. In that case, let's have a practical combat training session."

"Battle is the best way to help you understand others."

As he spoke, Wu Zhangkong pointed at Tang Wulin and the other four, then at Situ Xuan. "The five of you will join forces and engage Situ Xuan in practical combat training."