Swallowing His Anger!

Yu Xiaogang had practically fled back to his office.

His hands were shaking as he shut the door. He had to push it twice before it finally closed.

Outside, the sound of students jogging in formation echoed down the corridor. Their synchronized footsteps passed by the window.

He leaned against the door, chest heaving, the muscles in his face twitching uncontrollably.

That little brat.

That little brat who didn't know his place.

Yu Xiaogang took a deep breath, walked over to his desk, and yanked out his chair. Its legs screeched against the floor as he sat down.

He slammed his notebook onto the desk and braced both hands against its edge, his shoulders trembling slightly.

"Utter nonsense."

His voice was low, as if the words had been forced through clenched teeth.

"He doesn't know a thing..."

"A six-year-old brat who only awakened his Martial Soul a few days ago? He doesn't even have a single Soul Ring, and he dares talk theory with me? I've spent over twenty years researching this. I've read enough files to fill an entire room. How many books has he even read?"

The faster he spoke, the more worked up he became. He gestured wildly with both hands, as if arguing with someone invisible.

"Who does he think he is? What does he think Martial Soul Theory is? Shopping at the market? You can't just pick and choose until you figure it all out!"

"So what if I'm only level twenty-nine? Does that mean I can't study theory? Do people who develop missiles have to know how to build them themselves? Do people who write books on strategy have to know how to fight? That's nothing but gangster logic!"

As Yu Xiaogang spoke, the anger in his chest flared up again.

He remembered Huang Fei's words: "Aren't you slapping yourself in the face?"

A slap in the face.

The words had struck Yu Xiaogang right where it hurt most.

His fists clenched with a crackle.

He spent a long time calming down.

The sunlight outside shifted from the east to the middle of the sky, shining on the crumpled documents on his desk.

Yu Xiaogang leaned back in his chair. His fingers tapped the desktop absently as he stared at a corner of the ceiling, his mind racing.

Huang Fei.

That kid was sharp.

Yu Xiaogang replayed their conversation over and over in his mind. The more he mulled it over, the more something felt off.

How could a six-year-old child, fresh from the countryside and knowing almost nothing about the Soul Master system, pinpoint his weaknesses so precisely?

Level twenty-nine.

Martial Soul mutation.

The contradictions in the Ten Great Theories.

Every question had been like a knife, stabbing straight into the most painful places.

It couldn't have been a coincidence.

Yu Xiaogang narrowed his eyes.

Either someone had taught the child, or he was naturally the sort who—

liked rubbing salt into other people's wounds.

Whichever it was, Yu Xiaogang found it troublesome.

Smart people were the hardest to deal with, because they didn't trust others easily.

They always asked why, always wanted proof, and after you finished speaking, they looked at you as if to say, "Do you think I'm an idiot?"

That was exactly the look Huang Fei had given him.

That smile of his, leaning against a tree with his hands tucked into his sleeves, head tilted as he looked at Yu Xiaogang.

Every time Yu Xiaogang thought of that smile, it felt as if someone were slapping him in the face.

He couldn't get anywhere with Huang Fei.

Yu Xiaogang quickly reached that conclusion.

The kid was already biased against him. On top of that, he was quick-witted and sharp-tongued. The more Yu Xiaogang talked to him, the more humiliating it would get.

But Tang San was different.

Yu Xiaogang recalled Tang San's reaction.

At first, when he heard "the greatest on the continent," Tang San had looked surprised.

That had been genuine, not an act.

Later, when Huang Fei exposed Yu Xiaogang's cultivation level, Tang San had looked disappointed. But it wasn't the sort of disappointment that came with disdain. It was more like, "I thought you were an expert, but it turns out you're not."

That meant Tang San had trusted him to begin with; Huang Fei's words had merely shaken that trust.

If Huang Fei weren't there, and Yu Xiaogang could speak with Tang San alone, he could take his time and persuade him bit by bit with his theories.

Yu Xiaogang was certain he could convince the boy.

There was a thirst for knowledge in the child's eyes, along with curiosity and a longing for power.

Those were all qualities a good "test subject" needed.

And Huang Fei?

There was only one thing in that kid's eyes.

"Let's see how much longer you can strut around."

Yu Xiaogang shook his head, pulled a blank sheet of paper from his desk drawer, and wrote a few lines on it.

Tang San.

Huang Fei.

He drew a line beneath Tang San's name and wrote a small note beside it: Breakthrough.

Then he drew a large cross beneath Huang Fei's name.

He folded the paper and tucked it into the deepest part of the drawer.

He needed to find a time when Huang Fei wasn't around.

That wouldn't be hard.

More than a dozen work-study students lived in Dorm Seven. Huang Fei and Tang San couldn't be together every minute of the day.

If he waited patiently, he would find an opportunity.

Even if he could only talk to Tang San alone for the time it took to burn a stick of incense, he was confident he could make the boy interested in his theories.

Once he successfully proved the Twin Martial Souls theory, once Tang San grew rapidly under Yu Xiaogang's guidance, all those who had mocked him—

especially that little brat surnamed Huang—

Yu Xiaogang's lips curled into a cold smile.

Then he would show everyone who the real clown was.

Dorm Seven.

At lunchtime, the communal sleeping platform was abuzz with activity.

The work-study students sat in twos and threes on the beds, eating with bowls in their hands.

Today's meal was a little better than yesterday's: a bowl of cabbage stewed with tofu and two whole-grain steamed buns.

Huang Fei squatted on his bed, holding a bowl of food in one hand and tearing off pieces of bun with the other. He ate with relish.

He'd spent half the morning matching wits with Yu Xiaogang and was starving.

Tang San sat beside him, eating much more neatly. He alternated between bites of bun and vegetables, chewing slowly.

Xiao Wu sat cross-legged on the bed opposite them, her ponytail swishing behind her as she chatted with Wang Sheng while eating.

Wang Sheng was a big guy with a big appetite. He polished off a bun in two bites, then finished the rest of his meal in no time.

He wiped his mouth and edged over toward Huang Fei.

"By the way, Brother Fei, you went out with that Grandmaster this morning? What was that about?"

With his mouth full of bun, Huang Fei answered indistinctly, "Oh, that Yu Xiaogang, the one who calls himself a theoretical master. He dragged us out first thing in the morning and said he wanted to take us as disciples."

The work-study students around them pricked up their ears.

"Grandmaster?" Wang Sheng froze for a moment, then burst out laughing. He nearly spat the crumbs in his mouth everywhere. "Him? A Grandmaster?"

He laughed so hard he could barely catch his breath. The bowl in his hand shook.

"Hahaha... Don't let him fool you! He's the academy's famous Fart Master! He's been at the academy for years, researching all sorts of Martial Soul Theory. He's only a level-twenty-nine Soul Grandmaster himself and can't even break through to level thirty, yet he puts on airs like some worldly expert all day!"

"Fart Master?" Tang San frowned.