Zhan Hailu Academy Team
The celebratory mood of the five students, laughing as they disappeared into the neon-drenched streets of Tianhai City, felt a world away from the quiet tension inside Wu Changkong's hotel room.
Two figures stood in the lamplit silence. Wu Changkong, his back straight as a blade, his blue hair seeming to absorb the cool light, his face a mask of habitual reserve. Beside him, the air held a different quality—a subtle, refined pressure that marked a fellow powerhouse. Shen Yi, her long white hair like a waterfall of moonlight, regarded her senior brother with dark green eyes that held decades of shared history and unspoken concern.
"Changkong," she began, her voice softer than the one she used to command Shrek's prodigies. "Your disciple… he dismantled Ye Xinglan. A disciple groomed for the Inner Academy, defeated across a major realm barrier with what looked like deliberate restraint. What have you forged here?"
Wu Changkong's gaze remained fixed on the city lights beyond the window. "I did not forge that. I merely provided the anvil. His martial soul is a mutated Nine-Colored Dragon, a variant with no recorded precedent. And his bloodline…" He paused, a rare flicker of genuine uncertainty crossing his features. "It manifests abilities that defy the conventional frameworks of a Great Soul Master. It is power that predates our textbooks, Shen Yi. I have theories, but no certainties."
Shen Yi absorbed this, her analytical mind, honed by Shrek's vast archives, racing. "Even you are in the dark? Perhaps we should bring him to the academy. The Hall Masters, or even the Pavilion Lord, might—"
"No." The word cut the air, final and firm. Wu Changkong finally turned his head to look at her.
A sigh escaped Shen Yi's lips. "Is it still because of what happened? Changkong, you must know, the circumstances back then were—"
"It is not that." He interrupted again, but this time, a crack appeared in the mask. A deep, old pain shadowed his eyes before he veiled it. "The grudge is not with the academy. It is with myself. And it is irrelevant. He is no longer a candidate for the Tang Sect's core, nor a future disciple of the Sea God Pavilion. He has sworn himself to the Spirit Pagoda. He is the personal disciple of the Heavenly Phoenix Douluo."
Shen Yi's eyebrows rose. "The Heavenly Phoenix? That old phoenix… hmph. The boy has astonishing luck alongside his talent. But it is a pity." Her tone carried genuine regret. "A dragon of that potential, naturally aligned with our teachings, now walks a parallel path."
"I extended the Tang Sect's invitation," Wu Changkong said, a hint of that same regret echoing in his own voice. "He declined. Politely, firmly. If his path could have been guided by the Master… it would have been a sight to behold."
"He refused the Tang Sect?" Shen Yi's surprise was genuine now. A thoughtful, almost approving glint replaced the regret. "A will of his own to match his power. A true dragon indeed." She let the topic settle, then shifted to a more delicate matter, her voice dropping further. "Changkong… your master. He misses you. Terribly. Will you not return? Even just to see him?"
Wu Changkong's body went very still. He looked down at his own hands—hands that had once been destined to craft legendary battle armor, now spent teaching children in a coastal city. "I have no face to stand before him," he murmured, the words thick with a shame that had festered for years.
"You're wrong." Shen Yi took a step closer, her presence not threatening, but insistent. "Some debts cannot be paid by proxy. If you seek to make amends, you must go yourself. Kneel before him, if you must. Ask for the forgiveness you think you need. And as for Long…" She hesitated, using the name of the woman who had been the catalyst for his fall. "You have mourned long enough. A heart locked in a tomb of its own making helps no one, least of all you."
"Myself… alone?" Wu Changkong whispered, the idea seeming both terrifying and seductive.
"Yes. Yourself." Shen Yi's gaze was unwavering. "He never blamed you, Changkong. Never. Your seat at his table remains empty every reunion. Your photograph is still on his desk. The anger was only ever yours to carry."
The room was silent save for the distant hum of the city. Wu Changkong closed his eyes, wrestling with ghosts Shen Yi had just named aloud. When he opened them, a fragile, resolute light had kindled in their depths. "If… if I ever return to the academy," he said, each word measured, "I will not go alone. I will bring my students. I will bring them as my answer."
A slow, warm smile spread across Shen Yi's face. It was not victory, but understanding. "I will look forward to that day, Senior Brother."
The storm of yesterday's upset had settled into a buzz of sustained excitement. By nine the next morning, the Tianhai Stadium was once again a cauldron of noise and anticipation. The quarterfinals had arrived.
The Zero Class team of Donghai Academy was set to face Hailu Academy for a spot in the semifinals. To the roaring crowd, still riding the high of Yao Xuan's victory, this seemed a foregone conclusion. A formality.
Yao Xuan, standing in the competitor's tunnel with Gu Yue and Xie Xie, thought differently. His mind was clear, strategic. 'The Zhou sisters. Their Spirit Fusion Technique, 'Ice-Wood Divine Spirit,' is the true core of Hailu's threat. It won't defeat us, but it will test our coordination, our ability to handle area control and sustained pressure. A good drill before the真正的 challenges.'
Amid a deafening wave of cheers that specifically chorused "Yao Xuan!", the Zero Class team walked into the light. Yao Xuan at the center, his presence calm and anchored. Gu Yue to his left, a silver-haired sentinel whose beauty was as sharp as her gaze. Xie Xie to his right, trying to project a casual smirk that couldn't completely hide his exhilaration.
Their entrance was met with adulation. They were the local heroes, the giant-slayers.
Their opponents entered from the opposite side to respectful, if less fervent, applause. The Hailu Academy team was a trio of young women. At their front stood Wang Dongqi, tall and whip-slender with light blonde hair tied back severely. Her posture was that of a soldier, her eyes sharp and assessing. Her Lightning Sword spirit promised speed and piercing power.
But Yao Xuan's attention was on the two girls behind her. They were unmistakably twins, mirror images save for the cascading rivers of their hair—one the cool blue of a glacial stream, the other the vibrant green of a deep forest. Zhou Hanyou and Zhou Tian'er. They moved in uncanny synchronization, a silent communication passing between them. Hanyou's aura carried a chill that made the air subtly crisper; Tian'er's felt like the latent vitality of a thriving grove. Individually, they were strong Soul Masters. Together, they were a potential tactical nightmare.
The two teams faced each other across the wide expanse of the arena floor. The referee's amplified voice recited the rules, a familiar drone beneath the crowd's simmering energy.
Yao Xuan's eyes met Gu Yue's for a split second. A silent question, a shared understanding. She gave an almost imperceptible nod. They had discussed this. Xie Xie, catching the exchange, tightened his grip on his dagger hilts, his playful demeanor hardening into focus.
The countdown began, its digital numbers burning high above them.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Yao Xuan's breathing steadied. The Ancestral Dragon's power stirred in his veins, not with eruptive fury, but with the poised readiness of a sovereign surveying the field.
Two.
One.
BEGIN!