Zhao Wuji Kicks the Table

Eight o'clock the next morning, third floor of the teaching building.

Ma Hongjun appeared in the classroom, causing quite a stir throughout the class.

"Am I seeing things? Ma Hongjun is actually here for class?"

"Did the sun rise in the west today?"

"Don't the F4 never attend theory classes?"

Whispers spread throughout the room.

Ma Hongjun found a seat in the corner of the back row, pulled the hood of his gray jacket up, and huddled into the corner.

His goal was clear: keep an eye on Xiao Wu and her group to see if they made any unusual moves today.

In the front row by the window, Xiao Wu and Ning Rongrong sat side by side.

Xiao Wu was wearing a pink long skirt today, her scorpion braid neatly styled with a pink ribbon bow at the end. Her rabbit-ear hair accessory sat atop her head, the white fluff shimmering slightly in the sunlight streaming through the window.

Beside her, Ning Rongrong wore a blue skirt with white silk stockings, her boots propped up on the chair's crossbar as she flipped through a notebook.

Zhu Zhuqing sat in the row behind them, the zipper of her black leather jacket pulled down to her chest, arms crossed, eyes closed as she rested.

Bai Chenxiang sat next to Zhu Zhuqing in a light green dress, her two low ponytails hanging quietly as she looked down at a cultivation manual.

The four of them looked no different than usual.

Ma Hongjun squinted as he observed them for a while, but finding nothing amiss, sleepiness began to creep in.

At eight-thirty, the bell rang.

The classroom door pushed open, and a middle-aged man walked in. He had short black hair, a lean, tall frame, and wore a dark robe, clutching two books in his hand.

Yu Xiaogang. Over fifty years old and stuck at level 30.

A theory teacher at Spirit Academy, he was said to have been a genius in his youth, but after his spirit suffered a setback, his strength stagnated, leading him to switch to teaching. His theoretical knowledge was top-tier in the academy, but as for his lectures, the students had only one word for them: hypnotic.

"Good morning, students." Yu Xiaogang placed his books on the podium.

"Today, we will continue with our previous topic: Spirit Adaptation Theory."

A collective groan rose from the seats.

Yu Xiaogang opened his book, cleared his throat, and began his long-winded lecture.

"Students, I have said this many times. In this world, there are no useless spirits, only useless spirit masters."

Yu Xiaogang said this every single class; the students had practically memorized it.

"The strength of a spirit does not lie in its form, but in how the spirit master develops and utilizes it. A blade of grass spirit can become a lethal weapon in the hands of a genius. A dragon spirit is nothing more than a decoration in the hands of a mediocre person."

Yu Xiaogang grew more animated as he spoke, beginning to cite examples.

"Look throughout history at how many seemingly mediocre spirits eventually achieved the rank of Titled Douluo. With enough effort, an iron pestle can be ground into a needle; even a chrysanthemum spirit can become a Douluo! As long as the method is sound and the path is correct, nothing is impossible."

A boy in the front row raised his hand.

"Teacher, I have a question."

"Please, go ahead."

"My childhood friend's spirit is a hoe, and his innate spirit power is level 1. Is there any hope for him?"

A burst of laughter erupted in the classroom.

Yu Xiaogang didn't feel the least bit embarrassed; instead, he nodded very seriously.

"Of course there is. Haven't you heard? As long as you swing the hoe well, there is no wall that cannot be dug down."

"Uh..." The boy paused, feeling that something about that statement wasn't quite right.

A girl nearby also raised her hand.

"Teacher, my younger sister's spirit is a Husky, and her innate spirit power is level 1. Is there any hope for her?"

Yu Xiaogang pondered for two seconds before saying earnestly, "Yes. With enough effort, even a Husky can beat a Great Dragon. If a Slime can beat a Great Dragon, a Husky can too!"

Another round of laughter filled the room.

"Look at student Zhu Zhuqing; isn't her spirit just a cat? Yet she is now one of the top agility-type spirit masters in the class."

Someone in the back row muttered, "That's a Nether Spirit Cat, teacher. Is that really the same as a common tabby cat..."

Yu Xiaogang didn't hear him and continued to drone on about his theories.

He spoke of "spirit resonance," "spirit power circulation efficiency," and "compensating for innate deficiencies with acquired effort." Every theory was well-documented, filled with citations and references.

But the problem was, it was just too hypnotic.

Ma Hongjun hadn't intended to listen to the lecture anyway; he was here to keep watch. But Yu Xiaogang's steady, monotonous tone combined with the dry content acted just like a lullaby.

Ma Hongjun's eyelids began to fight each other. He pinched his thigh hard, staying awake for three seconds.

Yu Xiaogang's voice drifted over again: "...therefore, the origin of a spirit is actually an external projection of the spirit master's soul..."

Ma Hongjun's head began to sink lower and lower.

He slumped over his desk, thinking: I'll just close my eyes for a minute, just one minute. Xiao Wu and the others are sitting right in front, they aren't going anywhere.

One minute turned into five, and five minutes stretched into half an hour.

Ma Hongjun's snoring drifted from the back row, faint yet steady, sounding just like a tiny motor.

Xiao Wu, sitting in the front, glanced back and locked eyes with Ning Rongrong; both girls rolled their eyes in unison.

"Why is someone from F4 even in class?" Xiao Wu whispered.

Ning Rongrong tilted her head, keeping her voice low. "It's strange. Ma Hongjun never attends theory classes."

"Who cares? Maybe he's here to stir up trouble for Bai Chenxiang?"

Hearing her name, Bai Chenxiang flinched, instinctively leaning closer to Zhu Zhuqing.

Zhu Zhuqing opened her eyes and swept a glance toward the back, in Ma Hongjun's direction.

"He's asleep."

"Then ignore him." Xiao Wu turned back around, continuing to endure Yu Xiaogang's hypnotic lecture.

The theory class ended, followed immediately by the final session of the morning.

Practical combat class.

The classroom door was shoved open with such force that it bounced off the wall.

A man as sturdy as an iron tower strode in. His shoulders were so broad they nearly filled the doorframe, his neck was as thick as a thigh, and a black training suit strained against the distinct contours of his muscles.

Zhao Wuji.

Level 76 Spirit Saint, Power Attack System. His Martial Soul is the Vajra Bear.

The fiercest practical combat instructor in the entire academy, bar none.

The moment he stood at the podium, the atmosphere in the room shifted. Every student who had been dozing off during Yu Xiaogang's lecture sat bolt upright.

"Practical combat today." Zhao Wuji's voice boomed like thunder. "No nonsense. Once I finish explaining today's training objectives, we're heading to the academy training grounds."

He raised the roster in his hand and scanned it.

"Today's exercise is a three-on-three team battle drill. We'll be grouping up by drawing lots—"

Mid-sentence, Zhao Wuji stopped. The classroom was deathly silent, save for one sound that stood out with jarring clarity.

The steady, rhythmic snoring coming from the back row.

Zhao Wuji's brows knitted together as his gaze swept toward the rear.

In the corner of the last row, a student in a grey jacket was slumped over his desk, his head buried in his arms, drooling in his sleep. A tuft of red hair poked out from under his hood, looking particularly conspicuous under the lights.

"Hmm?" Zhao Wuji slammed the roster onto the podium.

The entire class turned their heads to look back.

"Haha, now we're in for a show."

The whispers had barely begun.

Zhao Wuji was already striding toward the back row.

His boots struck the floor like drumbeats. Thump, thump, thump—the entire classroom seemed to vibrate slightly.

He reached Ma Hongjun's desk.

Zhao Wuji looked down for two seconds, the corners of his mouth curling downward.

Bang!

He kicked the leg of the desk.

The desk tilted forty-five degrees, sending all the textbooks on it sliding onto the floor with a clatter.

Ma Hongjun lost his support; his head slipped from his arms, his chin slammed against the edge of the desk, and he slid right off the slanted surface.

Clang! Ma Hongjun face-planted onto the floor, his nose nearly flattened.

"Damn it, are you tired of living?! Watch me—" Ma Hongjun sprang up, rolling up his sleeves, ready to unleash his Spirit Skill.

Then, he saw who was standing in front of him.

A mountain of flesh blocked his path. Zhao Wuji's square, stoic face was less than half a meter away, his eyes wide as brass bells.

Ma Hongjun's fists instantly went limp. "Oh... Teacher... my apologies."

Zhao Wuji didn't move, just looked down at him from his towering height. He didn't even move his lips, but the sheer pressure of his gaze made sweat break out on Ma Hongjun's back.

"Ma Hongjun." Zhao Wuji's voice was low, which was far more terrifying than his usual roar.

"You don't have to attend my class. But as long as you are sitting in this room, you will follow my rules."

Ma Hongjun shrank his neck. "Yes, yes, Teacher, I understand."

Zhao Wuji turned to walk back, but stopped after two steps and threw a line over his shoulder without looking back:

"Don't let it happen again. Otherwise, for your quarterly exam, I'll mark you as failing regardless of whether you've reached level 60 or not. Got it?"