The boy slumped on the floor, clutching his burning cheeks. His head buzzed, and for a long while, he could not recover his senses.
Nezha stood before him, looking down at his symmetrically swollen, reddened face. His fiery eyes betrayed little emotion.
He waited a few breaths. Seeing that the boy still looked as though his soul had flown beyond the heavens, he frowned slightly, crouched, and lightly patted that black-haired head.
"Hey, recovered yet?"
The boy shuddered and sucked in a sharp breath, as though someone had just hauled him out of the water. His unfocused gaze finally gathered again. He looked up into Nezha's eyes, his lips trembling twice, but did not dare curse again.
"What's your name?" Nezha asked casually.
Clutching his face, the boy mumbled something in his throat. His voice was muffled, his swollen cheeks distorting his words. "...Zhou... Zhou Hu."
"Zhou Hu?"
Nezha raised an eyebrow and looked him up and down. His Martial Soul was tiger claws, and his name had "tiger" in it, too. Quite a fitting match. He asked, "How old are you?"
"Tw... twelve."
"Twelve years old, rank twenty-six." Nezha nodded. By outside standards, that talent was quite good; otherwise, he could never have gotten into Shrek. Unfortunately, he had run into Nezha.
"Which family are you from?"
Zhou Hu hesitated for an instant, but when Nezha raised his hand as if to slap him again, he hurriedly forced a few words through his teeth. "Heaven Dou Empire... the Zhou Family."
Nezha thought for a moment. He had never heard of them. Probably some spoiled young master from a minor family, shoved into Shrek Academy to gild his credentials. There was no shortage of such people anywhere; he had seen plenty even at his workplace in his previous life.
"All right, Zhou Hu."
Nezha stood, dusted nonexistent dirt from his hands, and looked down at him. His voice was calm but brooked no argument. "Just one question-do you submit?"
Zhou Hu looked up, both cheeks swollen high and a trace of blood still clinging to the corner of his mouth. His once-defiant eyes now brimmed with resentment, humiliation, and a sliver of fear he could not hide.
He clenched his teeth, his cheeks bulging, seemingly determined to force out a few words to save face.
Nezha did not rush him. He simply stood there quietly and casually flexed his right hand!
Zhou Hu's gaze landed on that small palm. He lowered his head, his muffled voice struggling out through his swollen mouth:
"...I submit."
Nezha's lips curved slightly into a satisfied smile.
"Good. Glad you submit."
He sat on the edge of his own bed, stretched out his legs, and leaned back with his hands behind his head. Tipping his chin toward the heap of rubbish on the floor, he said, "Then start cleaning, classmate Zhou Hu. From now on, keeping this dorm clean is your job."
Clutching his face, Zhou Hu climbed off the floor and silently bent down to pick up the rubbish. Though his movements betrayed his humiliation, he did not dare utter another word.
Meanwhile, in another dorm room.
Ning Tian and Wu Feng had already finished tidying their room. The girls' dorm was slightly larger than the boys'. Both beds were neatly made, and several exquisite objects brought from the sect stood on the desk. On the windowsill sat a little potted plant Wu Feng had swiped from somewhere. Its leaves drooped, and it did not look likely to live much longer.
Wu Feng sat cross-legged on her bed, her long, fiery-red hair loose over her shoulders. Freed from its high ponytail, it lent a touch of softness to her striking face.
She hugged a pillow to her chest, resting her chin on it, her crimson eyes darting about. There was no telling what she was thinking.
Ning Tian sat on the opposite bed, having changed from her white dress into a soft, pale-blue robe for lounging. Her long, platinum-blond hair was loosely gathered behind her head and tied with a plain ribbon. She held an ancient book brought from the Scripture Pavilion, but after turning two pages, her gaze wandered. For a long while, she failed to take in a single line.
The dorm room fell quiet for a while.
Wu Feng suddenly spoke, lowering her voice as though afraid the walls had ears. "Young mistress."
"Hmm?"
"When do you think... that blockhead Nezha will finally get a clue?"
Ning Tian's hand paused over the page.
She raised her eyes, her azure gaze settling on Wu Feng. Her expression remained calm, but a faint blush quietly crept onto the tips of her ears.
"If you're asking me, who am I supposed to ask?"
Wu Feng buried her face in the pillow and grumbled, "It's been six years. You're so good to him-food, drinks, things he needs, every good thing goes straight to his courtyard. And him? Every time, he politely accepts it, politely thanks you, and that's it. He's like a wooden post. Poke him and he moves; don't poke him, and he won't budge."
Ning Tian fell silent for a moment, then closed the book and rested it on her lap. Turning her head, she looked out the window. The night at Shrek Academy had fewer glazed lanterns than the Nine Treasures Glazed Tile Sect, and a little more quiet.
"He isn't a blockhead." Her voice was soft, as though she were speaking to herself. "His mind is just... on other things."
Wu Feng lifted her face from the pillow and pursed her lips. "Cultivation, obviously. Spear practice by day, meditation by night-even while eating, he's thinking about Soul Skills. Tell me, how can a twelve-year-old brat be more obsessed with cultivation than those old men in the sect?"
"That's precisely why he reached rank thirty-seven at only twelve."
Ning Tian drew her gaze back to Wu Feng. A faint note of pride slipped into her voice, as though she herself shared in his glory.
Wu Feng stared at her for a couple of breaths, then suddenly broke into a mischievous grin.
"Ohhh-young mistress, you admitted it."
"Admitted what?"
"That you like him, of course." Wu Feng tossed aside her pillow, jumped off her bed, and bounded onto Ning Tian's in two steps. She squeezed in beside her and hugged her arm, looking up at her in exactly the same pose she had used at six.
"That tone you just used was exactly like my mother when she talks about my father."
Crowded by Wu Feng, Ning Tian shifted to the side. The blush on her ears spread to her cheeks.
She reached out and lightly flicked Wu Feng's forehead. "What nonsense are you talking?"
"It's not nonsense."
Wu Feng covered her forehead, utterly self-assured. "You do like him. Your eyes lit up the moment he stood in the hall with the Fire-Tipped Spear when we were six. Did you think I didn't notice?"
Ning Tian said nothing, merely turning her face away to look out the window.
Wu Feng leaned against her shoulder, remaining quiet for once. After a while, she said in a muffled voice, "Actually... I think he's pretty amazing, too."
Ning Tian turned to look at her.
Wu Feng buried her face in the crook of Ning Tian's shoulder, her words muffled. "I mean it. The Fire-Tipped Spear suppresses my Red Dragon completely. Every time I challenge him, he pins me to the ground and beats me. Six years of fighting, and I haven't won once. But every time we finish, he pulls me up and tells me where I've improved and what I still need to work on."
She paused, her voice growing softer.
"He looks at me differently from other people. Even though he's always saying things to annoy me, I know he doesn't dislike me."
Ning Tian listened quietly without replying.
Wu Feng suddenly lifted her head, her crimson eyes sparkling as though she had thought of a brilliant idea. "Young mistress, why don't we find a way to make him get a clue?"
Ning Tian looked at her eager face. After two breaths of silence, her lips curved slightly.
"What way?"
"I haven't thought of one yet," Wu Feng declared without a shred of embarrassment. "But there's bound to be something. If all else fails, I'll challenge him every day and keep fighting until he figures it out."
Ning Tian sighed softly and reached out to ruffle Wu Feng's hair, just as she had when they were six.
"Don't do anything reckless."
"I know, I know." Wu Feng nuzzled into her palm and narrowed her eyes like a large, fiery-red cat. "Anyway, he can't get away. He couldn't get away in the sect, either. He's destined to be ours for the rest of his life."
Ning Tian did not dispute that.
She withdrew her hand, picked up the ancient book again, and opened it to the page where she had stopped. Yet her gaze still rested beyond the window.
She suddenly recalled the boy from six years ago, his hair tied into two buns, standing in the Sect Hall with the Fire-Tipped Spear and Sky-Mending Silk in his hands. He had looked up at Ning Zhiyuan and asked, "Uncle Ning, does this count as having two Martial Souls?"
Even then, she had known that he would not stay in one place forever, waiting for others.
So she had to keep a little closer.
Closer still.
Before you continue