Soul Skill Mutation, the Imperial Fighting Team's Challenge

Before the three chief education committee members and Xue Ye, Fang Fan had transformed from an unknown nobody into a top genius protected by a Peak Douluo.

The change had come too fast and too fiercely, so fast that no one present had time to process it,

and so fiercely that Xue Ye would rather swallow the vengeance for his son's death than dare to act on it.

After the three committee members returned to the council chamber, they shut the doors and turned Fang Fan's file inside out,

only to discover that aside from an enrollment form, there was nothing else.

No background, no master, no past accomplishments—only one name and three words: Seven-Colored Light Sword.

Meng Shenji stroked his beard in silence for a long time before finally saying just one sentence:

"This boy must not be provoked."

They were all guessing at Fang Fan's identity.

That old man in green robes possessed such terrifying physical strength that he had sent Dugu Bo flying with a single slap,

and with sheer pressure alone, he had forced a level ninety-one Titled Douluo to kneel and kowtow.

There were fewer than ten experts of that caliber on the entire continent, yet no one recognized him.

And the white-robed youth's martial soul was even stranger—

the Seven-Colored Light Sword could merge into the light sword and instantly change positions, as swift as a streak of light and impossible to guard against.

On top of that, he could alter his martial soul's attribute, turning its dazzling seven-colored radiance into power of utterly pure shadow,

hiding his sword within the shadows and taking lives without a sound.

Fast and bizarre, elegant and lethal, his movement technique and attacks formed a seamless whole without a single weakness.

This old-and-young pair was equivalent to a super sect all by themselves.

After sleeping for a night, Fang Fan's Soul Power rose from level fifty-four to fifty-five.

When he woke up in Zhu Zhuqing's embrace,

he felt the warm, surging force flowing through his meridians swell once more, putting him in quite a good mood.

What pleased him even more was that the drunkenness points on his system panel had finally accumulated to eight hundred and eighty-eight again.

"Draw." He muttered inwardly.

[Ding! Congratulations, Host. The age of your first and second Soul Rings has each increased by two thousand years.

Your first soul skill has mutated, gaining the trait: Autonomous Tracking. Bonus ratio—seventy percent.]

Seeing the words "Autonomous Tracking," Fang Fan raised an eyebrow slightly.

What the hell?

It couldn't be what he thought it was, could it—

After an attack was released, he would not need to control it, and the Seven-Colored Light Sword would chase after the enemy by itself?

That was rather interesting, almost like an unmanned aircraft.

After launching his sword, he could stand there drinking while watching the light sword chase his enemy all over the arena.

And with both his first and second Soul Rings gaining another two thousand years, the originally dark-purple Soul Rings had all turned a pure black.

The five Soul Rings beneath his feet were now perfectly aligned, all ten-thousand-year black rings, their patterns deep and their glow heavy,

enough to make Soul Masters of the same level lose all confidence the instant he revealed them.

His Soul Power Level also rose accordingly, jumping from level fifty-five straight to level fifty-six.

Over a single night, two rings had turned black and his Soul Power had jumped repeatedly. This rate of improvement was truly exhilarating.

As he happily took stock of the gains from his breakthrough, he suddenly felt a warm, soft sensation from within his arms.

Looking down—

Zhu Zhuqing had somehow rolled back into his embrace. Both arms were tightly wrapped around his waist, her face buried against his chest,

while one long leg rested on him without the slightest reservation. Like a little cat guarding its food, she had him locked down completely.

Her full figure pressed tightly against him through her thin nightgown, her curves distinct, warm and soft,

and every breath rose and fell gently against his chest.

The delicate orchid-like fragrance of her body drifted into his nose in wisps, cool and intoxicating as it spread through the morning light, more intoxicating than any fine wine.

Fang Fan looked at her sleeping face so close before him—

her eyelashes were long and thick, casting faint shadows over her lids; her nose was high, and her lips were slightly pursed,

entirely unlike her usual icy demeanor.

As though possessed, he reached out and pinched her soft cheek.

Without even opening her eyes, Zhu Zhuqing swung a slap straight at him.

Fang Fan darted aside, narrowly avoiding the fierce gust of her palm.

Her slap skimmed through the spot where he had just been and struck the pillow with a muffled bang, sending it bouncing into the air.

Zhu Zhuqing opened her eyes and saw Fang Fan had flashed to the other side of the bed. Then she looked at her hand still hanging in midair and instantly realized what had just happened—

she had thought a kitten was scratching her face, so she had instinctively slapped at it.

Her cheeks instantly flushed red, the blush spreading from her cheeks to her ears and down to her neck as her fingers curled awkwardly.

At breakfast,

Ning Rongrong sat across the dining table, her bright eyes sweeping over Zhu Zhuqing several times,

sharply noticing that Zhu Zhuqing's Soul Power had grown more vigorous and solid than yesterday, while her entire aura had improved slightly.

She lowered her head to look at the glass of milk before her. Remembering that Zhu Zhuqing could advance by leaps and bounds just by sleeping in Fang Fan's arms every day, jealousy surged in her heart again.

She angrily lifted the glass and drained it in one gulp. She did not even bother wiping the white milk stain from her upper lip, her gaze sticking to Fang Fan over the rim of the glass as though plotting something.

When the three arrived at the Heaven Dou Royal Team's training ground, they heard a noisy clamor of discussion before they even entered.

The instant they pushed open the door, every voice fell silent.

Dugu Yan stood at the front of the team, her pair of emerald snake eyes coolly assessing the three at the entrance.

Yu Tianheng stood beside her with his arms folded, brows slightly furrowed. His gaze lingered briefly on Fang Fan's crooked posture as he leaned against Zhu Zhuqing, and the corners of his mouth turned downward.

Behind them, more than a dozen team members stood in a dark mass. Their eyes held scrutiny, resentment, and undisguised hostility as they looked at Fang Fan's group.

"You're the ones who used connections to join the Imperial Fighting Team's first squad?" someone broke the silence first.

"Have you no shame? We don't want trash here!"

Yu Tianheng spoke with cold arrogance, his deep, powerful voice carrying the haughtiness unique to a direct descendant of the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Clan:

"Before we use you as practice partners, those with any self-awareness should leave the first squad immediately—

so we won't have to kick you out ourselves and make things ugly for everyone."

His eyes swept Fang Fan from head to toe, and the disdain in his tone was undisguised:

"A drunkard reeking of alcohol, leaning on women all day long. Disgraceful."

"I have no objection. You seem to have quite a lot of objections."

Zhu Zhuqing stepped forward, her voice as cold as ice:

"The committee approved our entry. If you have a problem with it—go take it up with the committee."

"People without strength only know how to rely on their families!"

A team member poked his head out from behind Yu Tianheng.

"That's right, trash!" another chimed in.

Dugu Yan suddenly stepped forward, her emerald snake eyes fixed on Fang Fan as a confident curve formed at her lips:

"As long as you defeat me, we'll let you stay in the first squad."

"Yeah, lose and get out!"

The group behind her all jeered arrogantly, their voices humming and echoing through the training ground.