First-year class five

East Sea Academy, the classroom of first-year Class Five.

The classroom stood in the most remote corner of the teaching building. Paint peeled from its window frames, and its desks and chairs were far older than those in the other classes, as though it had been forgotten in the academy's shadows. A weathered sign hung on the wall, engraved with "First-year Class Five." The lettering was dull, as if its luster had been deliberately erased.

This was Eastsea Academy's universally acknowledged "trash class"—rock-bottom grades, lax discipline, and problem students packed together. The academy's leadership had long since given up expecting much from Class Five; they only hoped its students would not cause any major trouble. Teachers rotated through, and no one ever wanted to stay for long. The students understood perfectly well: they were the ones who had been abandoned.

But today, the man standing at the podium was Wu Changkong.

He wore a deep-blue robe, his dark-green hair tied behind his head. His figure stood straight as a sword, his gaze cold as frost. Though he had not released the pressure of a Six-Ring Soul Emperor, the entire classroom was already silent as the grave. Standing there like a solitary peak, he seemed utterly out of place in the dilapidated classroom, yet somehow quelled every restless movement.

"Starting today, I am the homeroom teacher of first-year Class Five." His voice was not loud, but it sliced through the air like an icy blade. "Wu Changkong."

The whole class fell silent. Some lowered their heads to fiddle with their fingers, some leaned back in their chairs and pretended to sleep, and someone muttered, "Another one who won't last. Just wait. He'll be gone within a month."

Wu Changkong swept his gaze across the room, and the muttering vanished immediately.

"Now, your turn." His voice was calm. "One sentence each—your goal and your soul power level. Zhou Changxi, you first."

Zhou Changxi shot to his feet, his chair hitting the floor with a clatter. He was burly, with a brutish face, and usually swaggered through Class Five as though he owned it. Now, however, he instinctively straightened his back.

"Me! Zhou Changxi! Soul power level fifteen! Martial soul, Iron Rock Bear!" he roared, his voice making the window frames tremble. "I'm going to become the strongest Power Attack System Battle Soul Master! I'll smash everyone who looks down on me with my fists!"

Afterward, he glared fiercely around him, as if warning anyone who dared laugh.

The classroom remained silent. Not out of respect, but numbness. Level fifteen was neither high nor low in Class Five. They had long since grown accustomed to mediocrity, accustomed to being treated as the "trash class."

"Next, Xie Xie."

"Here!" Xie Xie sprang up, his usual carefree grin on his face, though his eyes were more serious than normal. "Xie Xie, soul power level nineteen, martial soul, Light Dragon Dagger. I want to become an Agility Attack System Battle Spirit Master—so fast my enemies can't even catch my shadow, and so cool they'll remember me for the rest of their lives!"

This time, someone gave a quiet laugh.

"Level nineteen? And agility attack? No matter how fast you run, you're still trash from Class Five."

"Exactly. What kind of genius could come out of Class Five? Dream on."

"Next, next. Stop wasting time."

Scattered bursts of laughter rose, carrying their habitual mockery and the numbness of giving up on themselves. They were not laughing at Xie Xie, but at themselves—at this class, at their fate.

Wu Changkong said nothing. His gaze merely sharpened and settled on someone in the crowd.

"Tang Wulin."

The thin boy in the front row slowly rose. His school uniform had been washed pale, and his frame was slight, but he stood perfectly straight. In the dim light, his golden eyes shone like morning stars.

"I..." His voice was quiet, yet somehow made the classroom a little more still. "My martial soul is—Blue silver grass."

"Blue silver grass?"

"Huh? Seriously? Isn't that the weed by the roadside that dies if you step on it?"

"A trash martial soul! The kind even soul beasts can't be bothered to swallow!"

"I'm dying! Has Class Five decided to smash an already broken pot? Now we're even taking trash martial souls?"

Laughter erupted instantly, louder and more piercing than before. Some slapped their desks, some covered their mouths to snicker, and one even shouted outright, "Tang Wulin? Wulin? Such a grand name, and you turn out to be a sack of weeds!"

Just then—

Smack!

A white streak shot through the air like an arrow, too fast for anyone to see clearly. There was only a muffled impact as a piece of chalk flew with unerring precision into the mouth of the boy laughing the loudest. It lodged directly in his throat, choking him until his face turned scarlet, his body wracked with coughs, and tears streamed from his eyes.

The entire class went deathly silent.

Wu Changkong remained where he stood, his fingers slightly raised, as though that throw had been no more than casually brushing away a speck of dust.

His icy gaze swept across the class, and his voice was low, yet every word cut like a knife:

"You have the nerve to laugh at others? If you weren't trash, would you be standing here?"

He paused, his tone cold as frost:

"Why do you think Class Five is Class Five? Because it takes in those no one wants, those who have been abandoned, those 'problem students' deemed incapable of amounting to anything. But do you know something? Real trash isn't someone with low soul power or a poor martial soul. It's a coward who doesn't even have the courage to let others look at him, who can only prove he's still alive by mocking his classmates."

In the classroom, a falling pin could have been heard.

Everyone lowered their heads. The student whose mouth had been blocked by chalk flushed red, not daring to look up.

Wu Changkong withdrew his gaze and looked at Tang Wulin, his tone actually softening for a moment. "Tang Wulin, continue."

Tang Wulin looked at him, and something deep inside his heart seemed to ignite. He drew a deep breath, and his clear voice pierced the classroom's gloom, ringing in everyone's ears:

"My soul power is—level thirty-nine. For now, I don't have a goal."

"Level thirty-nine?!"

This time, no one laughed.

Someone jerked their head up, pupils contracting sharply; someone's hand trembled, dropping a pen to the floor; someone stared openmouthed, unable to close their mouth for a long time.

Level thirty-nine?! That meant he was only one step away from becoming a Soul Ancestor! It meant he should have been in an elite class, a genius class, perhaps even receiving the headmaster's personal attention! Yet here he was, in the worst class of all—Class Five?

Zhou Changxi's eyes widened. Xie Xie froze where he stood, even forgetting to breathe.

At last, a flicker of genuine emotion crossed Wu Changkong's eyes. Looking at Tang Wulin, he said slowly:

"No goal? No, you have one."

He turned toward the blackboard and lightly moved the chalk in his hand, writing four large characters:

"Defy heaven. Rewrite fate."

"Every one of you does."

He turned back, his gaze blazing like a torch, his voice thundering:

"Starting today, remember—

Your soul power level cannot determine your future;

The quality of your martial soul cannot seal away your potential;

What truly determines your fate

Is whether you dare, when everyone is laughing at you, to stand tall and say:

'I can still grow stronger!'

Class Five is not a trash class.

From this day forward,

It is—

The class in Eastsea Academy that refuses to bow to fate!"

The classroom remained silent for three seconds.

Then someone, no one knew who, clapped softly.

Once, twice... The applause gradually swelled, from scattered to fervent, from hesitant to resolute.

Tang Wulin stood where he was, a light he had never known before kindling in his golden eyes.

He knew that from this moment on, his goal was no longer "none for now."

He would make blue silver grass bloom into the most dazzling flower in this most barren soil.

And Class Five, this forgotten corner, would become known throughout Eastsea Academy because of them.

"We've discussed your goals. Next comes strength." Wu Changkong stood before the podium, his voice as cold as before. "Grand declarations alone are nothing but discussing battles on paper. In the world of soul masters, only one thing matters in the end—power."

He swept a hand through the air, and the long-sealed iron door at the back of the classroom burst open with a boom, revealing a passage to the underground training arena. Cold wind surged from its depths, carrying the smell of rust and the lingering warmth of operating soul tools.

"Follow me."

The students of Class Five exchanged glances, but none dared disobey. One after another, they rose and followed him. Tang Wulin walked at the rear, his gaze composed, though a faint fighting spirit stirred in the depths of his eyes.

The underground training arena was where Eastsea Academy tested its students' basic physical fitness and soul power strength. At its center stood a pitch-black strength-measuring soul tool—the Mountain-Shaking Stele. Cast entirely from Obsidian Iron, its surface was covered in soul power circuits. Once struck, it would activate corresponding luminous patterns based on the force of the blow and display an exact value.

"The rules are simple." Wu Changkong stood before the stele, sweeping his gaze over the students. "One punch each. Strike the Mountain-Shaking Stele with all your strength. Your soul power and physical strength will be calculated together, and the value displayed in real time. This will be your first ranking in Class Five, and it will also serve as the baseline for your subsequent training."

"Whoa... That formal?" Zhou Changxi rubbed his hands together and grinned. "Then I'll go first! Let me show you what strength looks like!"

He strode forward and planted his feet in a horse stance. The muscles of his arms bulged as his Iron Rock Bear martial soul instantly possessed him, his skin taking on a rocky, gray-black sheen. With a low roar, he drove his right fist forward like a heavy hammer!

Bang!

The Mountain-Shaking Stele shook violently. The soul tool circuits on its surface lit up, and the reading flickered: 18,500 jin.

"Not bad." Wu Changkong nodded slightly. "Your soul power and body work together reasonably well, and your explosive force is concentrated. But you withdraw your fist too slowly, leaving an obvious opening."

Zhou Changxi panted heavily. Though dissatisfied, there was nothing he could do. That had already been his full strength.

"My turn!" Eager to try, Xie Xie let his Shadow Leopard martial soul possess him. Moving like lightning, he lashed out with a quick punch like a whip!

Bang!

The reading flickered: 15,200 jin.

"Plenty of speed, insufficient power," Wu Changkong commented. "The Agility Attack System isn't just about being fast. A strike that kills in one blow—that is a killing move."

Xie Xie pursed his lips, but had nothing to say.

The other students stepped forward in succession, their strength ranging from eight thousand to twenty thousand jin. Not one broke twenty-five thousand. At this moment, Class Five's weakness was laid bare.

"Tang Wulin," Wu Changkong suddenly called.

Every gaze in the class turned toward him at once.

Tang Wulin slowly stepped out, his footsteps steady. He used no Martial Soul Possession and gathered no momentum. He simply walked calmly up to the Mountain-Shaking Stele and raised his right fist.

"He doesn't seriously think he can beat Zhou Changxi, does he?"

"He's got soul power, sure, but how strong can his body be?"

"Just wait for him to make a fool of himself..."

Amid the whispers, Tang Wulin closed his eyes and drew a deep breath.

In an instant, soul power surged through his body. His level-thirty-nine soul power flooded backward like mighty rivers, making his meridians tremble. Though his blue silver grass martial soul had not manifested, an invisible vitality and resilience quietly spread. His right fist looked ordinary, yet the instant he punched, muscle, sinew and bone, soul power, and will—those four became one!

BOOM!!!

A tremendous crash erupted like a thunderclap!

The Mountain-Shaking Stele shuddered violently. Its soul tool circuits instantly burst with blinding blue light, and the reading leaped wildly—

30,000... 35,000... 38,000... 400,000 jin!

"F-four hundred thousand jin?!"

The teacher in charge of recording the results cried out involuntarily, nearly knocking over the soul tool recording tablet in hand.

The entire arena fell deathly silent.

Zhou Changxi's mouth hung open as if he had seen a ghost. Xie Xie's eyes widened, and he even forgot to breathe. Those who had been mocking Tang Wulin moments earlier were now deathly pale, as though that punch had landed squarely on their faces.

Wu Changkong's pupils contracted slightly, and at last, genuine shock flashed in his eyes.

What did four hundred thousand jin of force mean?

That was no longer the level of an ordinary Soul Elder, but an explosive burst approaching the physical limits of a Soul Ancestor! More terrifying still, Tang Wulin had not even used his martial soul's special properties or the enhancement of a soul ring. Through the perfect fusion of his body and soul power alone, he had delivered such a terrifying blow!

"Th-this is impossible!" someone said shakily. "He's only level thirty-nine! How could he hit with four hundred thousand jin of force?"

Wu Changkong spoke slowly, his voice low, yet ringing in their ears like thunder:

"Nothing is impossible. You think soul power level determines everything? With this punch, he has shown you—true strength is will, control, and a fusion forged through a thousand hammer blows and ten thousand temperings."

He looked at Tang Wulin, his gaze blazing. "You've kept your strength well hidden."

Tang Wulin withdrew his fist and gently shook his wrist, his tone calm. "I just... don't want people to look down on me."

The corners of Wu Changkong's mouth lifted slightly, finally forming something close to an approving smile.

"From today onward, Class Five's ranking—Tang Wulin, first."

He looked around the arena, his voice sharp as a blade:

"Which of you still thinks you're trash? Which of you still thinks Class Five has no hope?"

No one answered.

Only the Mountain-Shaking Stele continued to tremble faintly, as though humming low in tribute to the power of that punch.