No Such Thing as a Useless Martial Soul, Only Useless Soul Masters? That's a Slap in Your Own Face!

Tang San looked up at Yu Xiaogang, then at Huang Fei, but didn't rush to speak.

He needed time to think.

But after hearing Yu Xiaogang's angry, aggrieved defense, Huang Fei didn't back down. Instead, he smiled.

The smile was easygoing, even faintly pleased.

Like a hunter who had finally watched his prey step into the trap.

"Grandmaster, don't get so worked up."

Huang Fei's tone was light, as if he were soothing a sulking child.

"I was just asking. Why get so angry?"

He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"Still, I did take a look at your Ten Core Competition Theories."

Yu Xiaogang froze.

"You... read them?"

"Yeah, I did." Huang Fei nodded, his tone as casual as if he were saying, "I had breakfast today."

Yu Xiaogang furrowed his brow.

His Ten Core Competition Theories represented the work of his life. The thick tome covered every aspect of Martial Soul studies, from the mechanics of Martial Soul Awakening to competition between Martial Souls, from Soul Ring allocation to paths of Martial Soul Evolution. Its contents were exceedingly complex.

A six-year-old child said he'd "taken a look"?

Yu Xiaogang suppressed his anger and asked coldly, "And?"

Huang Fei didn't answer right away.

He straightened up from the tree, tucked his hands into his sleeves, and strolled a couple of paces, as though gathering his thoughts—or deliberately keeping everyone in suspense.

Then he stopped and looked Yu Xiaogang in the eye.

"First: There are no useless Martial Souls in this world, only useless Soul Masters."

Huang Fei recited the line word by word. His voice wasn't loud, but each word rang out clearly.

"You came up with that, didn't you?"

The air in the clearing seemed to freeze.

Yu Xiaogang's body jolted.

His eyes widened, and his lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but the words stuck in his throat and wouldn't come out.

He had indeed come up with that line.

It was the very first principle in his Ten Martial Soul Competition Theories, the core argument he was proudest of, and a famous quote he used to encourage countless Soul Masters with low-quality Martial Souls.

"There are no useless Martial Souls, only useless Soul Masters."

He had repeated it countless times in class, in his writings, and in arguments with others. Every time, he'd said it with conviction, certain that he stood on the side of truth.

But now, hearing the words spoken by a six-year-old and thrown right back at him—

He suddenly realized that this sword cut both ways.

Huang Fei watched Yu Xiaogang's face twist with anger and embarrassment, and his smile deepened.

"So, Grandmaster."

His voice was neither loud nor soft, his tone neither hurried nor slow. He sounded as if he were chatting with an old friend.

"What does that make you?"

The air in the clearing seemed to be clutched by an invisible hand.

Yu Xiaogang stood rooted to the spot, his face turning from red to white, then from white to green.

His mouth opened and closed, then opened again. A "k-k" sound came from his throat, but he couldn't utter a single word.

Huang Fei didn't press him, or even raise his voice.

He simply watched Yu Xiaogang in silence, that amused smile still on his lips, as if he'd known all along this was how it would end.

"You say, 'There are no useless Martial Souls, only useless Soul Masters.' Yet your Martial Soul underwent a harmful mutation, and you couldn't fix it. You've been stuck at level twenty-nine for over twenty years—"

He met Yu Xiaogang's gaze without flinching.

"Isn't that you slapping yourself in the face?"

"Isn't that exactly you?"

Tang San stood off to the side, completely stunned.

His gaze darted between Huang Fei and Yu Xiaogang as the gears in his mind spun at full speed.

Huang Fei's first line—"There are no useless Martial Souls in this world, only useless Soul Masters"—

He had seen it in a book.

At the time, he'd thought it made perfect sense and had even committed it to memory.

But now that Huang Fei had turned the argument around, he realized that applied to Yu Xiaogang, the line was nothing short of a boomerang.

It flew out, looped around, and came back to stab its owner.

If a Martial Soul itself wasn't the problem, then wasn't Yu Xiaogang's harmful mutation a "counterexample" to his own theory?

A theorist who claimed "the Martial Soul doesn't matter; what counts is the person" had been trapped by his own Martial Soul his entire life. What was that if not ironic?

Tang San's gaze toward Yu Xiaogang changed completely.

It wasn't disappointment.

It was sympathy.

A baffling kind of sympathy.

"So this is your theory? You have to slap yourself in the face to prove it?"

Yu Xiaogang finally spoke, his voice hoarse, as if someone had squeezed his throat.

He stared at Huang Fei, and for an instant, a hint of murderous intent flashed in his eyes.

But it quickly faded, replaced by deep exhaustion and helplessness.

He took a deep breath, forcing down the rush of blood in his throat, and tried to compose himself.

He didn't want to make such a humiliating scene of himself today.

"Fine... very good..."

He muttered the words as if talking to himself, though he might have been speaking to Huang Fei.

Then he turned and strode toward the exit of the clearing, his back straight and rigid,

as if he were using the last of his strength to maintain a false semblance of dignity.

When he reached the edge of the clearing, he suddenly stopped.

He didn't look back.

"You two can go."

His voice came from ahead, giving nothing away.

"I've said all I needed to say. As for becoming my disciples... you'll have to decide for yourselves."

With that, he continued on without stopping and strode away.

His footsteps gradually faded, then disappeared in the direction of the teaching building.

Tang San watched the retreating figure, then glanced at Huang Fei beside him, his expression complicated.

"Huang Fei, just now... weren't you a little too harsh?"

What he'd really wanted to say was, "You were amazing just now," but when the words reached his lips, this was what came out instead.

Huang Fei leaned back against the locust tree and looked up at the morning light filtering through the leaves. The smile still lingered at the corners of his eyes.

"Too harsh? I thought I was pretty mild."

Tang San opened his mouth, about to say something, but after thinking it over, closed it again.

He knew every word Huang Fei had said was right.

If someone couldn't even solve his own problems, what gave him the right to claim he could solve other people's?

"Let's go."

Huang Fei stretched lazily and loosened his limbs. "We've been at this all morning, and I'm starving. When does breakfast start at Dorm Seven?"

Tang San sighed.

"I don't know either. Let's go ask Wang Sheng."

The two walked side by side toward the exit of the clearing, their long shadows stretching behind them in the morning light.

Huang Fei took a couple of steps, then suddenly remembered something and turned to look at Tang San.

"Oh, right, Xiao San."

"Hmm?"

"If anyone else asks you to become their disciple, remember to ask their level first."

Tang San's mouth twitched.

"...Got it."