At the entrance to the Junior Spirit Master Academy in Notting City.
Old Jack's face was flushed red as he waved the crumpled certificate in his hand, spittle flying while he tried to reason with the young gatekeeper.
"This certificate was issued by Spirit Hall's deacon, Su Yuntao! How could it possibly be fake?"
"Holy Soul Village? Never even heard of it! A Blue Silver Grass with Innate Full Soul Power? Old man, if you're going to make up a story, at least make it believable!"
The gatekeeper looked impatient, his eyes full of the disdain city folk reserved for country bumpkins. He even reached out to shove the scrawny boy.
Tang San's gaze turned cold.
His hand crept toward his lower back, where he had hidden several sharpened stones.
Though his Mysterious Heaven Skill was far from perfected, there were a hundred ways to deal with an ordinary person who was courting death.
The conflict was on the verge of erupting. Tang San was ready to put on a classic performance of "Never bully a poor young man," when—
Clip-clop, clip-clop!
A crisp, rhythmic sound of hooves suddenly cut into the noisy farce.
Then came an expensive fragrance so rich it was almost suffocating.
The gatekeeper's hand froze in midair, and Tang San stopped moving, too.
Everyone turned to look without thinking.
A carriage so luxurious it bordered on gaudy came to a slow stop at the academy entrance.
The white horses pulling it were exceptionally fine steeds. Even their horseshoes were gilded, dazzling everyone in the sunlight.
The curtain lifted, and a slender, fair hand with distinct knuckles reached out.
Then a handsome young man, almost impossibly beautiful, stepped gracefully down onto the footstool the coachman had prepared. He wore a snow-white robe, and a piece of warm jade hung at his waist.
Sunlight spilled over him, as if gilding his silhouette.
The whole scene changed.
If Tang San and Old Jack were a drab, realistic sketch, then the young man who had just stepped out of the carriage was a high-resolution CG illustration with ten layers of filters.
The gatekeeper stared, his eyes wide, his knees beginning to wobble.
He had spent years guarding the academy gates. He knew how to read people.
That outfit, that air about him—he was absolutely a top-tier noble young master!
"Young master—"
The gatekeeper immediately put on a fawning smile and started to approach.
Su Yun didn't even glance at him.
He stood where he was and lifted his chin slightly, his gaze sweeping over the battered sign that read Notting Junior Spirit Master Academy. The corner of his mouth curled into a meaningful smile.
Then his eyes fell on the ragged little boy nearby, whose gaze held a trace of ferocity.
Tang San.
At this point, Tang San had no belt and no Soul Ring. All he had was a coarse hemp robe patched over and over, and a slightly sallow face from years of poor nutrition.
"Tsk."
Su Yun sighed inwardly.
So this is the Son of the Plane?
The future Asura God?
Right now, he just looks like some wild kid you'd find anywhere by the roadside.
Still, Su Yun didn't hurry over to kick him while he was down.
Because he could feel it.
Just now, a familiar wave of Soul Power, carrying a distinct air of showboating, had started approaching from inside the academy.
Here he comes!
That man, the one Bibi Dong couldn't get out of her mind, the one Tang San would bow down to—he's making his entrance with his own BGM!
Su Yun's eyes lit up. His hand flew into his sleeve and pulled out a diary.
This was a legendary scene. He had to write it down!
[I'm here, I'm here. This is Notting Academy.]
[I just got out of the carriage and saw a good show. The guard looked down on the poor, and Tang San was about to attack him with a Hidden Weapon. Tsk, tsk. It's an old plot, sure, but it's still pretty entertaining to watch in person.]
[But that's not the point.]
[The point is, that man is here!]
[Yu Xiaogang!]
[Here he comes, here he comes, hands clasped behind his back, walking in with that swagger that says he doesn't care who's watching!]
[Let's take a look at the outfit: buzz cut, zombie face. His plain clothes are clean, but so washed out they've turned white. Hands behind his back, chin tilted up at a forty-five-degree angle, eyes weathered, with three parts melancholy, three parts rebelliousness, and four parts nonchalance.]
[What a masterful air!]
[If I didn't know his pockets were emptier than his face, I'd think he was some hidden Titled Douluo.]
[Dong'er, what did you ever see in him?]
[Was it that ability to act like a big shot despite being so weak?]
[Or was it that mouth of his, the one that can pass off plagiarism as Theory Invincible?]
Spirit City, Pope Palace.
Bibi Dong was holding a cup of top-grade black tea. When she read that entry in the diary, she spat her tea all over the memorial in front of her.
"Cough, cough, cough!!!"
His Holiness the Pope choked until her pretty face turned red, completely forgetting about her dignity.
She stared at the description of Yu Xiaogang's appearance in the diary.
A buzz cut?
A zombie face?
Clothes washed until they'd turned white?
Pockets emptier than his face?
The memory of that spirited, brilliant young man suddenly blurred.
In its place appeared the image of a shabby, pretentious, down-on-his-luck middle-aged man.
"This..."
Bibi Dong's mouth twitched.
She wanted to argue, to defend the white moonlight in her heart.
But reason told her that what Su Yun wrote was probably true.
After all, a Soul Grandmaster who could never break through level thirty, with no family to return to and no support from Spirit Hall, couldn't have been living all that well.
"Four parts nonchalance..."
Bibi Dong gritted her teeth and repeated those words. The thing in her heart called a filter was cracking apart, piece by piece.
At the entrance to Notting Academy.
Just as Su Yun had written in his diary, a middle-aged man of average height and ordinary appearance, with a buzz cut, walked out slowly with his hands behind his back.
It was Yu Xiaogang.
He swept the group with a gaze that seemed calm but was actually stern, then fixed his eyes on the gatekeeper.
"Stop."
His voice was hoarse, carrying an unquestionable authority.
The instant the gatekeeper saw him, he shrank back like a mouse that had spotted a cat.
"M-Master, what brings you here?"
Yu Xiaogang ignored the gatekeeper. Instead, he walked over to Old Jack and took the certificate to look it over.
"The certificate is genuine."
He handed it back to Old Jack, then turned his gaze to Tang San.
For an instant, a greedy gleam burst from Yu Xiaogang's lifeless eyes.
Twin Martial Souls!
He could smell Twin Martial Souls on this child!
This was a test subject Heaven had granted him!
The perfect tool to prove his theories!
Yu Xiaogang took a deep breath, forcing down his excitement. He put on the air of a worldly master and patted Tang San on the head.
"Come with me, child."
Tang San looked at the man before him and felt a strange sense of trust rise in his heart.
That was what they called a turtle looking at a mung bean—wait, no!
That was the bond between master and disciple.
Just as Tang San was about to nod and begin his legendary life—
"Hold it."
A languid voice broke into this touching scene of a reunion.
Su Yun sauntered over, swaying with every step.
Chrysanthemum Douluo wasn't at his side—Su Yun had told him to stay hidden, to avoid scaring everyone to death—but the noble air he'd brought with him from Spirit Hall still made the air around them grow heavy.
Yu Xiaogang frowned and turned to look at Su Yun.
When he saw Su Yun's outrageously handsome face and his priceless outfit, a flash of instinctive jealousy and revulsion crossed Yu Xiaogang's eyes.
It was the natural resentment of an unsuccessful intellectual from the bottom of society toward the privileged classes!
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