Teacher Bai stepped forward. With his interference, the area fell silent once again. The five students simultaneously froze in place, not daring to move. None of them wanted to offend the teacher.
"Is Teacher Bai siding with Meng Xuan?" one student murmured under her breath. But it was just loud enough for those around her to hear, and soon, whispers and gossip spread like wildfire among the crowd.
Teacher Bai glanced coldly over the gathered students before he spoke slowly and firmly:
"The weekly tournament battle has officially ended."
Meng Xuan was declared the winner of the match, and according to the academy rules, he was to be rewarded. His prize: twenty refined demonic core and a free pass into the academy's demonic zone.
---
Jiao San was to be sent to the punishment hall for violating the academy's rules. The crowd didn't dare protest aloud—they had no wish to feel the sting of teacher bai's infamous soul-whip.
But amidst the tension, one student bravely stepped forward to defend Jiao San.
"Teacher Bai, Meng Xuan should also be punished. He cruelly and viciously injured his opponent in a friendly match. Isn't taking the initiative to harm someone just as wrong?"
The student, standing up for Jiao San in the face of fear, earned silent approval from a few others. Deep down, many knew they were being used as pawns, and while siding with the powerful often came with rewards, the injustice gnawed at them.
"The strong rule the world and the weak... are just pawns in their game."
Teacher Bai, however, seemed to be in a good mood. Rather than punishing the student who had spoken out, he smiled faintly and responded:
"At that, five refined demonic cores will be removed from Meng Xuan's reward."
He had his reasons. Not punishing Meng Xuan outright served a greater purpose—it kept the balance of power, pacified the influential families, and maintained the academy's fragile peace.
After all, displeasing the masses was one thing. But angering the powerful Jiao Clan by letting their son suffer such a defeat in a friendly match without repercussion? That could spell trouble for Meng Xuan himself.
Still, the students were half-pleased with the outcome. It wasn't much, but at least Meng Xuan didn't walk away completely unscathed. The punishment, small as it was, felt justified—especially since Jiao San had also injured a girl during his earlier match.
---
Meng Xuan walked calmly back to his newly assigned hostel within the academy. In his hand, he carried a small pouch—inside was the refined demonic core and a silver pass to the academy's demonic zone.
"Fiend monk, shouldn't you be singing your master's praises after such a magnificent fight?"
Since none of the students dared to praise him, He had a loyal servant who Will do exactly that.
"Ah! I forgot! Forgive this lowly servant, Master!"
He cleared his throat with exaggerated reverence, and began:
"Master Meng Xuan is like the blazing sun at dawn—dispelling darkness with every step, his brilliance undeniable."
"His strength is not just of body, but of will—unyielding like the roots of an ancient mountain that has stood unshaken for millennia."
"His fist moves like a divine judgment—swift, righteous, and absolute. No evil can linger in his shadow."
"He stands as a beacon in chaos, a herald of divine purpose sent to cleanse this world of corruption."
"Even the heavens pause to witness his battle, and the stars themselves etch his name into the tapestry of destiny."
A wide grin slowly crept onto Meng Xuan's face.
Seems it really does feel good to be praised, he thought, deliriously.
The voice demon inside him suddenly stopped its bootlicking.
"What's the problem?" it asked.
"Someone's stalking you. And from the look of it… she's a lady," it added in a happy, teasing tone.
Meng Xuan reflexively turned around—only to be met with the sight of a young, fair lady in a loose-neckline dress.
Why does she look familiar...?
The lady lunged forward, attacking without warning.
They exchanged a few punches.
Meng Xuan barely leapt back in time, his breath catching.
"Master, analyze that! And since she's a woman—employ that footwork technique I taught you!"
The voice demon piped up again, seeing Meng Xuan on the losing side.
"Not that perverted technique!" Meng Xuan hissed internally.
"But... there's no harm in giving it a try, right?"
A wide grin crept onto his face again, his expression changed.
He moved.
The change in his expression created a narrow gap in the lady's defense.
Meng Xuan lunged, feinted left—then swept low toward his opponent's leg.
She countered, fast.
He pivoted—and his foot slipped on a loose patch of gravel.
"Uh-oh."
The world spun. Arms flailed uselessly.
Instead of what he was expecting, he tumbled forward—straight into the body.
His momentum carried them both to the ground.
She gasped as they crashed into the dirt, a tangled mess of limbs and limbs flung aside.
Silence.
Meng Xuan blinked as if he was just as surprised by the situation. He was lying directly on top of her, nose nearly touching hers. Worse still, both his hands were planted firmly on either side of her shoulders. Their bodies were pressed tight against one another. He could feel a soft, warm bump against his chest, her heat seeping into him.
Meng Xuan carefully looked at the familiar face beneath him.
"S-step-sister…" he muttered, horrified.
Why do I have to listen to that voice demon?
He always gets me into trouble… every time…
...
This was his stepsister.
His father had introduced her once, but that day… Meng Xuan had been too busy chatting with Fiend monk to register her properly. Only now, with her face inches from his and their breaths mingling, did the memory come flooding back.
Her expression was unreadable.
Her face flushed.
"You—" she breathed, eyes twitching.
"I-It was a mistake! I swear!" he shouted, desperately trying to scramble off her. Instead, he only made things worse. Fate mocked him cruelly.
He fell again—right on top of her.
"I didn't mean—"
Bam!
A glowing palm strike exploded against his chest. Meng Xuan flew backward, bounced twice, and landed five meters away, flat on his back, staring at the sky.
She stood, brushing dust from her dress, her face still tinged red.