The lecture concluded swiftly, but this time, Feng Zhiming took advantage of the fleeting moments to observe the students, assessing their potential with a discerning eye.
Once the lecture was over, he singled out two students, asking them to stay behind: Leila and Yari. Both had demonstrated remarkable proficiency in Qi control, catching his attention.
Leila, as fate would have it, was the same girl who had been in his room the previous night, an unexpected encounter that now seemed to bear significance. Yari, on the other hand, was the girl who wore glasses and had been the first to snap him out of his thoughts when the lecture began.
“You both show great promise,” Feng Zhiming began, his voice steady and measured, reflecting the authority he commanded in the realm of Qi control. As he spoke, he mentally mapped out the areas where each could improve, contemplating the best methods to guide their growth.
“Leila,” he continued, “you have a strong affinity for grasping Qi, but your challenge lies in channeling that energy into practical application. Your control is firm, yet your execution lacks finesse.”
He then shifted his gaze to Yari, his eyes narrowing slightly as he considered her unique strengths and weaknesses.
“Yari, your ability to use Qi is impressive, but your control is inconsistent. You struggle to harness its full potential, often allowing it to slip through your grasp.”
Both students listened intently, nodding in agreement with his assessment. Feng Zhiming had observed them only briefly, yet he had already deduced the core of their abilities and limitations. It was this precise insight that had earned him respect and admiration in the field of Qi control. More accurately it was Ryes who had such a reputation.
“Professor, you’ve already promised to help me,” Leila said, her voice softening as she looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes, her previous boldness now replaced with a subtle vulnerability.
Yari noticed the shift in Leila’s tone, raising an eyebrow in mild surprise, sensing the unspoken tension that lingered in the air.
Feng Zhiming cleared his throat, a slight but purposeful action to dispel the awkwardness that had settled over them.
“Tomorrow, after the lecture, meet me at the training ground behind the academy,” he instructed, his tone firm yet encouraging. “I will do my utmost to guide both of you, to refine your skills and help you unlock the full potential of your Qi control. I'll be honest I want the two of you to succeed in the evaluation.”
Both Leila and Yari’s eyes lit up at the prospect of personal guidance from a senior. Such attention was a rare opportunity, one that could set them apart from their peers in their pursuit of mastery.
Feng Zhiming dismissed the two students, watching as they left with renewed determination. As they exited, his mind began to drift towards his own next steps.
“Ah, dammit,” he muttered under his breath as another memory bubbled to the surface. He had originally planned to explore the institution after class, to gather crucial information that might aid him in regaining his full understanding of the place. However, he remembered that he had a meeting with the Headmistress and the other instructors scheduled after his second class.
The dynamics with the other instructors were still a mystery to him. His memories, fragmented and incomplete, were slowly piecing themselves back together, giving him just enough to navigate his current circumstances without becoming overwhelmed.
With a resigned sigh, Feng Zhiming left the lecture hall and began making his way towards the Headmistress’s chambers. It was late in the afternoon, the sun inching closer to the horizon, casting long shadows through the academy’s hallways.
As he walked, students who crossed his path paused to bow respectfully, their expressions a mix of reverence and awe. Feng Zhiming noted each gesture.
“This body’s reputation is indeed formidable,” he mused silently, considering the implications of this newfound status. “It seems his nightly proclivities remain undiscovered, for now.”
The thought brought a sense of ironic amusement as he continued his journey. The corridor stretched out before him, and with each step, he felt the weight of his facade: the man he had become and the remnants of the man whose life he now inhabited. The upcoming meeting would require careful navigation, a dance of words and perceptions, as he sought to maintain his guise while piecing together the full scope of his situation.
Feng Zhiming halted abruptly, his eyes narrowing as he spotted a familiar face in the distance.
“The brat from the Flowing River Sect,” he thought, recognition sparking an old memory of his.
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He couldn’t recall the boy’s name, so he called out to him, curiosity piqued. The last time he had seen this young man, he was merely at the Foundation Establishment stage—a level that barely scratched the surface of true cultivation.
“Yes, Instructor?” the boy responded, his voice steady as he turned to face Feng Zhiming.
“Who are you? I haven't seen you around here before,” Feng Zhiming inquired, masking his recognition behind a veil of casual indifference.
“Respected Instructor, this one is Raja, previously of the Flowing River Sect,” the boy replied with a respectful bow.
Feng Zhiming rubbed his chin thoughtfully, considering the implications.
“A child at the Foundation Establishment stage... how did you manage to escape that bloodbath?” His voice carried an undertone of disbelief, mixed with a hint of genuine curiosity.
“Respected Instructor,” Raja began, his voice steady yet tinged with the weight of the past, “I was lucky enough to be overlooked. I feigned death, lying among the corpses, and as soon as the opportunity arose, I made my way here. When I arrived at this sect, I spoke to Senior Daiyu and told her everything.”
Feng Zhiming nodded, acknowledging the boy’s cleverness and resilience.
“Go on now, don’t be late for class,” he instructed, waving him off with a dismissive hand.
Raja bowed once more before departing, his steps quickening as he disappeared down the corridor.
As Feng Zhiming watched him go, a myriad of thoughts swirled in his mind. “Interesting,” he mused, “he was quite weak before, but now he’s actually approaching the Ethereal Core stage.” His mind drifted back to the massacre of the Flowing River Sect. “I was sure I had brainwashed the remaining survivors with the Omen of Death, yet he seems unaffected.”
A whisper of a voice echoed in his mind, unsettling and enigmatic. {He seems special somehow.}
Feng Zhiming’s thoughts paused, his eyes narrowing as he considered the implication. “Do you think so? Is he a…?”
{A Caelum Juravi,} the voice replied, the tone cryptic yet knowing. {It’s possible. If you can get a drop of his blood, I might be able to help you confirm it.}
Feng Zhiming was satisfied by the condition. “You’re not so useless after all,” he muttered in his head. “Tell me, what happens if I kill him and take his fragment?”
His mind drifted to another moment, a different encounter. He had once considered killing Krimin to take his fragment, but Kura had intervened, offering a different path that had intrigued Feng Zhiming more.
The truth was, he didn’t need to hunt them down at this moment. Eventually, those with the fragments would come looking for him, drawn by the same power that fuelled their collective ambitions.
{Each fragment of the throne grants a certain level of luck, manipulating the instances of probability. Although it does not make you invincible, it does make you more prone to succeeding,} the voice explained.
“Luck,” Feng Zhiming repeated, his interest piqued. “Interesting.”
The thought lingered in his mind as he continued on his way, the encounter with Raja stirring a new set of possibilities. The game was becoming more intricate, and Feng Zhiming was more than ready to play.
Feng Zhiming arrived at the Headmistress's chambers and entered the room, his demeanor calm and composed as he took in his surroundings.
The room was dominated by a round table with eight seats arranged evenly around it. Five of these seats were already occupied, each by a figure of notable presence.
At the head of the table sat the Headmistress, a woman of imposing stature and a scar that ran from her eye down to her chin, a mark of battles past. She wore a loose cultivator’s robe, her aura unmistakably powerful, signalling her cultivation at the peak of the Heavenly Eye stage. This was Headmistress Iyana.
“Nice of you to join us, Ryes,” she said, her voice carrying both authority and a hint of familiarity as Feng Zhiming took his seat.
Across from Feng Zhiming sat Instructor Wuya, a middle-aged man with a thin frame and a perpetual scowl. As the instructor for cultivation theory, his sharp tongue was as renowned as his cultivation at the Condensed stage of Spiritual Awakening.
“You must be quite busy to keep us waiting,” Wuya spat, his frown deepening as he glared at Feng Zhiming.
To Wuya’s right was Instructor Midas, an old man who appeared as though he was on the verge of sleep, his eyes closed, and his breathing slow and steady. Despite his seemingly frail appearance, his cultivation at the Actualized stage of Spiritual Awakening was a testament to his strength. He remained silent, offering no comment or acknowledgment. He taught Spiritual Inspiration.
Next to Midas sat Instructor Humaira, a younger woman with short hair who tapped the table quietly, her expression one of reserved contemplation. She, too, was at the Condensed stage of Spiritual Awakening, and though she said nothing, her presence was keenly felt. She taught battle tactics.
The last occupied seat belonged to Instructor Laizu, a young man with long hair, his gaze fixed intently on the Headmistress. His silence was not from a lack of opinion, but rather from a focused attention that suggested he was absorbing every detail of the meeting. He taught history.
Feng Zhiming cupped his hands and bowed slightly as a sign of respect.
“Forgive this old man,” he began, his tone polite and measured. “I had students asking me questions after the lecture.”
The Headmistress nodded and offered a smile that was both understanding and approving.
“No need for apologies,” she replied. “We should always aim to guide the next generation.”
With that, the door was shut, and a subtle shift in the atmosphere signaled that the room was now enveloped by her Divine Sense, ensuring that whatever was discussed here would not leave the walls of this chamber.
“The reason for today’s meeting,” Headmistress Iyana began, her tone taking on a steely seriousness, “is to discuss the upcoming war.”
Feng Zhiming listened, his expression unreadable, but inside, he smirked. The layers of intrigue that surrounded him seemed to grow with each passing day, and who knew that playing the role of a spy would be so easy? The second Elder would never know that Feng Zhiming wasn't actually in the Celestial Haven Sect, if he kept him updated.