Fang Yun had taken only a few steps when the more than three hundred masters from every field rose from their chairs and hurried toward him.
Those who lagged behind grew anxious and silently accelerated.
When those in front were caught up to, they no longer cared about decorum and sped up as well.
Yet this was the Sacred Academy, where they could not casually use Walking the Blue Clouds or Swift March Poems. They could only rely on their legs.
Thus, an absurdly comical scene unfolded in the plaza of the Sacred Academy's Treasure Vault Branch: more than three hundred renowned figures of the Human Race began an unprecedented race. It seemed to evolve from speed-walking into long-distance running, then from long-distance running into a short sprint.
The Great Scholars in the best physical condition had assumed they would be the first to rush before Fang Yun, but they were swiftly overtaken. Yet they were Great Scholars, people of lofty status; at a moment like this, they could not possibly race against everyone else. They could only look at one another, smile helplessly at one another, and slowly approach Fang Yun from the rear.
The plaza of the Treasure Vault Branch was not particularly large, so after Fang Yun took only a few steps, the scholars surged around him in a great wave and greeted him one after another.
Fang Yun very much wanted to roll his eyes. It would have been understandable if enthusiastic young scholars had acted this way, but those who ran fastest and showed the greatest fervor were old men in their seventies and eighties, or even older. They were not being impulsive; they simply no longer cared about face or propriety. Seeing treasures they liked a little earlier mattered more than anything else.
Looking