No one had expected anyone to dare contradict her, let alone with such foul language.
Everyone whirled around—even Zhao Xunan craned his neck—to see who'd spoken. There, standing there, was the dashing young man with an Upper Second Grade spiritual root who'd drawn cheers earlier.
"Who do you think you are?" the man sneered. "Just a new recruit, yet you have the gall to spout such nonsense here?!"
Phoenix's face froze. She hadn't expected someone to address her so brazenly. Her gaze sharpened like ice.
The man, unfazed, straightened his posture and spoke loudly: "I'm Song Tuzi. My courage comes from the Great Qin court's trust. Speaking up for justice is what every martial artist should do—how is that rude?"
The crowd of martial candidates silently nodded. This boldness was rare.
But… pissing and shitting? Was that really "speaking up for justice"?
"Talking about piss and shit—is that what you call 'justice'?" Phoenix retorted, aghast. Ever since becoming the Imperial Preceptor, no one had dared speak to her like this.
Song Tuzi fumbled for words. "Well… piss is just… human qi… a colloquial term!"
He tried to backtrack, but the damage was done. The crowd erupted in murmurs.
"Who'd have thought the exalted Imperial Preceptor was such a sore loser?" someone whispered.
"Zhao Xunan was beneath her notice before, but now that he's famous, she's lashing out!" another added.
The rumors spread like wildfire. Even the martial candidates, gathered around, started snickering. The "divine bird" Phoenix—so high and mighty—was just a petty, jealous woman?
Phoenix's eye twitched. Never in her life had so many people stared at her with such strange, amused expressions.
"Academician Lu!" she barked. "Hand me the academy registry!"
Academician Lu, sweating profusely, scrambled to obey. Phoenix snatched the scroll, scribbled something with a charcoal pen, and smirked grimly.
"The 'instructor' title is too small for you," she said, tapping the paper. "How about 'Honorary Academy Head' instead?"
She flipped the registry to the front page and added, in neat seal script: "Honorary Academy Head of Great Qin Academy: Li Qinghan."
Song Tuzi gaped. He'd meant to help Zhao Xunan, but this…? He shrugged at Zhao Xunan. "Sorry, buddy. The Preceptor's playing dirty. Good luck!"
With that, he turned and left. Zhao Xunan glanced at Phoenix's livid face, his mind racing. "Thanks a lot!" he called after Song Tuzi.
"Don't thank me—it's what I owe you," Song Tuzi shouted back.
"Don't thank me eight generations back!" Zhao Xunan yelled.
"…Preceptor, don't hold back!" Song Tuzi added, grinning. "This idiot deserves it!"
Onlookers bit back laughter. This Song Tuzi—rude, bold, and unapologetic—was oddly endearing.
Zhao Xunan sighed, clasping his hands. "Imperial Preceptor, shall we test martial arts or weapons?"
"Are you blind? I'm holding Green Phoenix—do I need to ask?" Phoenix snapped. Her blade hummed, cold and menacing.
Zhao Xunan's throat went dry. This was no ordinary sword—it was the legendary Green Phoenix Sword, said to slay demons and spirits. And it was pointed at him.
"Blades are for amateurs," Phoenix sneered. "A renowned figure like you should use real steel."
With a clang, Green Phoenix cleared its sheath, its light piercing the air.
Zhao Xunan grinned. This was the same sword that had dominated the Shanchuan Secret Realm in his past life, cutting down countless fiends. Now, it was pointed at him? What an honor.
He stepped into a horse stance, grip tightening on his own blade—Tiangu, the Heavenly Clock. Though not as flashy as Green Phoenix, it radiated a steady, heavy power.
"Come on!" Phoenix yelled.
In a flash, she was upon him, Green Phoenix stabbing like lightning.
Zhao Xunan was ready. He parried with Tiangu, the impact sending sparks flying. The sun itself seemed dimmer beside the blaze of their blades.
"Rise!" Zhao Xunan roared, hoisting Tiangu upward. The massive sword wobbled but held. Phoenix's eyes widened—she'd used half her strength, yet he'd not only blocked but lifted her blade.
"Cut!" Zhao Xunan shouted again. Tiangu blazed with golden light, cleaving toward Phoenix like thunder.
Phoenix vanished—then reappeared ten zhang away, her figure blurred.
Boom!
Tiangu's blade crashed into the training field, splitting the stone ground like thunder. Debris flew, and cheers erupted. No one had expected Zhao Xunan to not only block but counterattack with such force—this was the power of a cultivator who'd transcended mortal limits.
Zhao Xunan panted, Tiangu heavy in his hands. He stared at Phoenix, awed. She's as formidable as they say…
"Zhao Xunan," Phoenix said, sheathing her sword. "You've shocked me these past days."
She twirled Green Phoenix, a haze of mist swirling around her. "A genius who hides his light, causing your family to feud—you're cunning."
"Now, I'll strike with 60% of my power. If you survive, you enter Great Qin Academy. If not… you die."
With a cry, Phoenix leaped back, Green Phoenix blazing. A phoenix phantom surged from her blade, screeching as it dove at Zhao Xunan.
Clang!
Tiangu met the phantom, but the force sent Zhao Xunan flying. Blood poured from his mouth as he crashed to the ground. Damn it—60%? That was 80 or 90%!
"Wow, flew so high!" Song Tuzi called, squinting.
The martial candidates rushed to Zhao Xunan, tending to his wounds. "We're all kicked out of Great Qin Academy—what a disgrace!" one groaned.
"Not you," Song Tuzi said, scowling. "Great Qin Academy is the one that's disgraced. Thousands of top martial talents rejected—by an Imperial Preceptor, no less. News will spread, and the academy's reputation will rot."
The crowd nodded. If word got out that the academy had sabotaged geniuses, it'd be a laughingstock.
"Where else can we go?" a dejected candidate asked.
"Great Qin, Zelin, and Nanli focus on civil arts—their martial tests are easy," Song Tuzi said. "Head to Zhige Academy instead. It's under the War Ministry, purely martial, with battle-hardened instructors. No tricks there."
Zhao Xunan, despite his wounds, smiled. "Don't worry—I didn't use my full strength. This blood? Just a scratch."
But blood trickled from his lips. The crowd chuckled. Sure, 'just a scratch.' He'll collapse after lifting a cauldron!
After bidding Song Tuzi farewell, the group rode toward Zhige Academy.
Compared to Great Qin Academy, Zhige was modest—a simple stone gate, unassuming. But its reputation was golden. Founded over two centuries ago, it had produced countless generals and heroes. Its name, "Zhige" (Stopping War), symbolized hope for peace.
"Hope they don't pull the same stunt," a candidate muttered.
But as they approached, a sign caught their eye—written in bold, messy characters that screamed "military brute."
"First trial: Lift a 500-jin cauldron!"
"Second trial: Hold a shield, charge 20 paces without retreating!"
"Third trial: Chop down five trees!"
"Fourth trial: Battle flag drill—survive, and you're in!"
The last line made them laugh. Definitely written by a general.
The 500-jin cauldron seemed manageable compared to Great Qin's 1,000-jin monster. One by one, the candidates lifted it—easy.
Zhao Xunan went last, blood still seeping. The instructor frowned. "You're injured—save your strength."
Zhao Xunan grinned, gripping the cauldron. With a heave, he lifted it overhead.
The crowd cheered. Even the instructor marveled—their quality was miles above the previous batch.
As the trials continued, Zhao Xunan leaned against a tree, grinning. This is going to be interesting.