Zhao Xunan took a deep breath to calm the storm in his heart. The word "bastard" reignited the agony of his past life, churning his once-calm mind into a raging sea.
It took immense effort to suppress the killing intent welling up. He looked at the gathering Great Qin instructors and said, voice steady but laced with frost: "I have a tiger in my heart—do not provoke me."
The lead instructors shivered. They'd forgotten: beneath Zhao Xunan's scholarly demeanor lay a cultivator who'd stepped onto the path of immortality.
Seeing their terror, Zhao Xunan scoffed, tugging Xiao Nuo'er to leave. A few Ministry of Rites and Ministry of Personnel officials bowed deeply, forcing smiles: "Master Zhao, the Thirteenth Prince's son was indeed wrong to insult you. A lesson is warranted."
"But your methods were too harsh," another official added, voice trembling. "If the Thirteenth Prince pursues this, we lowly officials will be dragged into it. What can we do?"
These officials, seasoned in the ways of the court, knew better than to posture. They humbled themselves, giving Zhao Xunan face—a skill far beyond the Great Qin instructors.
Zhao Xunan raised a hand, palm up, as if weighing their words. "No matter. If you're implicated, come to the Martial Arts Academy. I'll deal with the Thirteenth Prince myself."
He glanced at Feng Luoxi, blood still dripping from his split lips. "Ask him how he dares teach his son to call others 'bastards'!"
With that, he turned to leave. Xiao Nuo'er, her face smudged with Feng's blood, shook her fist at the prince. "Master isn't just my teacher—he's the prince of Barren Marsh. A petty prince dares insult him? Wait till I grow up—I'll flatten your entire prefecture!"
Her words were sharp, but her pouty lips and rounded cheeks made her seem more endearing than menacing.
Feng Luoxi, now seething, snapped at the officials: "A fake Second-Rank official? I'll gather my men and tear him apart!"
A Ministry of Personnel official scoffed, loud enough for all to hear: "Prince Feng, Master Zhao is a cultivator who's transcended the mortal realm. Even a Core Formation expert isn't his match. Your title means nothing here."
Feng's face paled. The officials' words hit home—his ignorance had led him to this humiliation.
"Besides," another official added, "that 'petty girl' you mocked? She's the Crown Princess of Barren Marsh, the sole heir to their throne. Insulting her is an act of war against Great Qin!"
The room froze. The instructor who'd cursed Zhao earlier turned ashen, stammering: "M-Master Zhao… is he really a prince of Barren Marsh? And the Imperial Preceptor's disciple?"
"Exactly," the Ministry of Rites official said, tapping a bronze inkstone on the table. "Great Qin has suffered enough wars. Another conflict over your idiocy would stain our reputation. Apologize, Prince."
"Apologize!" the officials chimed in, their tone sharp.
Feng, though arrogant, wasn't stupid. He knew he'd crossed a line. "I… I spoke without thinking. Forgive me."
The officials sighed, lowering their weapons. This was the quickest way to defuse the crisis—public humiliation for Feng, a warning to others, and no need for bloodshed.
"Enough with the posturing," another official said, wiping sweat. "Let's end this."
As they left, Feng's face twisted in a bitter smile. "You lot… you're not as foolish as I thought."
An official frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Feng's eyes gleamed. "I was set up. Those scholars returning from abroad—knew I revered the Imperial Preceptor, knew I was ignorant of recent events. They trapped me!"
The officials stared, stunned. This was not the Feng Luoxi they knew.
"Prince, you should tend to your wounds," a physician offered.
Feng swatted him away, grinning. "No need. Let it remind me: there are always stronger men. If I don't mend my ways, I'll end up like them."
He slung an arm around the Ministry of Rites official's shoulder, walking him out. "Tell me more about Zhao Xunan. Those poor scholars… they must've lied through their teeth!"
The official hesitated. "Prince, are you certain?"
"Of course!" Feng laughed, blood smearing his face. "I may be a fool, but I'm not that foolish. Word gets around—even in the Imperial Academy. But knowing his reputation… I should've been more cautious."
The officials exchanged glances. This was a side of Feng they'd never seen—self-aware, even penitent.
"Prince, you've changed," one murmured.
Feng's smile faded. "Change? Maybe. But some things never will."
Back at the Martial Arts Academy, Xiao Nuo'er bounded off to play with the Li brothers. Zhao Ping'er noticed Zhao Xunan's mood and sidled up. "You look down. Did the draft upset you?"
Zhao Xunan shook his head, sitting with her. "I thought I'd mellowed… but that 'bastard' comment… it unearthed something from my past life."
He recounted the memory, wincing. "If I'd been weaker, that prince's guards would've killed me. I'd be dead now."
"Was it because of that word?" Zhao Ping'er asked, squeezing his hand.
Zhao Xunan nodded. The past life's trauma, etched into his soul, still festered.
"Tell me—what happened? Why does that word haunt you so?"
"…It's a dream. Best forgotten."
Zhao Xunan stood, striding away. Zhao Ping'er chased, punching his arm playfully. He laughed, shaking his head.
Dreams, life—what mattered was the present.
The next day, the three disciples gathered. Zhao Xunan outlined their strategy. "Sparring's easy. The written exam and formation drills are the real tests."
Xiao Nuo'er nodded confidently. The Li brothers, though, hung their heads. They'd learned little of military strategy in the wilds.
Zhao Xunan chuckled. "Old saying: Heaven doesn't starve a blind sparrow. Time to earn your keep, Masters."
He handed them a scroll titled Essential Exam Passages. "Memorize every word—six hours, no mistakes."
The next morning, the Martial Arts Academy rode to the Great Qin Imperial Academy, where nearly ten thousand students packed the grounds. Even the largest academy couldn't contain them, so they'd cleared several training fields for the exam.
The atmosphere buzzed—excitement, nerves, the scent of ink and fresh grass. Zhao Xunan, at the head of his small group, adjusted his robe and stepped forward, ready to face whatever came next.