The dawn horn of Shrek blared low, vibrating through the cracked windows of dormitories. Students stumbled out half-awake, many muttering curses when they saw Zhao Wuji standing with arms folded at gate. His bear-like body glimmered faint golden energy even without full release. "Today," he rumbled, "is not classroom, but forest. You lot call yourselves monsters? We'll see if beasts think so."
They were driven miles into Suotuo forest, dew still clinging sharp to grass. The deeper they went, the darker canopy became. Already students glanced at each other uneasily; they knew wolves howled here, snakes coiled, boars charged. Zhao Wuji grinned cruelly. "Survive until sundown. Do not die. If you do, don't expect burial. Groups allowed. If someone cries—and I mean cries—I will beat you myself."
With that he strode away, leaving group briefly stunned. Soon instincts took over—Tang San gathered his closest partners, Dai Mubai ordering loudly, Ma Hongjun already sweating. Ning Rongrong clutched support staff, Oscar muttering sausage incantations quickly. Among them, Leng Xue and his two companions, Yan and Huan, readied frost.
From the first encounter, forest tried to eat them alive. A horned boar burst from thicket, shrieking. Dai Mubai roared, spirit rings blazing golden tiger fury, smashing beast sideways. But another boar charged second flank. Before panic spread, Leng Xue's Frost Veil expanded calmly, ground glazing with sudden ice, boar slipping violently to crash against trunk. The others blinked. That was all—no fanfare, no explosion, just problem softened.
Hours passed. Snakes dropped from canopy, wolves snarled from brush. Every encounter Tang San orchestrated webs of grass and spirit tactics. Yet more than once, rushes came too sudden, flames too far wide, defenses fractured. Each time Leng Xue's frost muted disaster—slowing snake strike for Tang San's net, chilling wolf paws enough for Dai Mubai to crush skull, cooling Hongjun when his flame overheated.
By mid-day, sweat plastered everyone, stamina cracking. But he still meditated in minutes of pause, frost veil breathing outward, cooling partners. "Endurance tool," Oscar whispered under pant, incredulous. "Keeps us alive."
Huan grinned wide, slamming spear in beast chest. "Without frost, I'd have been food five times." Even Rongrong gave faint nod, eyes alive with secret shock—her nine treasured pagoda boosts rarely worked without chance to avoid ambush, and Xue had made that chance repeatedly.
Evening fell crimson. Zhao Wuji waited at clearing. Students dragged themselves back, bloodied, trembling, though none dead. He sneered, yet his eyes lingered on silent frost boy standing upright still, calm as dawn. "So you endured," he grunted. Inside, respect grew quietly; he'd seen whose frost had bought group's survival more times than eyes admitted.
Night descended heavy, but Leng Xue sat cross-legged, frost spirals unbroken as others collapsed in exhaustion. Endurance was his creed—it was how useless boy once turned patriarch, and here again it became reason frost belonged.