On ordinary days, Professor Yao would push open the classroom door and stride in, his steps stirring the air, the hem of his black robes flying. Sometimes, he even had a pipe clenched between his teeth, with an unbroken trail of bluish smoke following behind him.
But today, this "Professor Yao" who entered moved lightly, almost soundlessly, as though he had drifted in like a ghost. The hem of his robes was even more like a mold cast from pig iron, without the slightest ripple.
The sunlight from the window fell on his sallow face, identical to Professor Yao's, revealing a faint amber-like translucence. Only that handsome slicked-back hair remained as smooth and glossy as ever.
Zheng Qing therefore confirmed at once that this "Professor Yao" before him was not the real Professor Yao.
He turned to look at Xiao Xiao.
Youzui's diviner adjusted his glasses and nodded slightly. Though neither of them exchanged a single word, they silently shared and reached the same conclusion.
The one at the lectern was indeed not the real Professor Yao.
In the classroom, more and more young wizards began raising their heads—at first, those who had kept their heads lowered while desperately rolling their eyes upward; then, those frantically flipping through their textbooks; and finally, even those clutching talismans with their eyes tightly shut stealthily opened a narrow slit, apparently puzzled by the somewhat strange atmosphere in the classroom.
Gradually, more and more students began to notice what was odd about the "Professor Yao" at the lectern.
There was none of his usual familiar greeting of "Sit down, sit down," or "Everyone, quiet down a little." Nor did he have that common copper-inlaid, floral-carved pipe in his mouth. Instead, the "Professor Yao" on the lectern wore a slightly stiff smile as he quietly