The Explosive Rumor and the Weight of Fame
"Twenty-nine minutes! The Cloudmist Marsh Collection Mission! By a team of Novice Students!"
This news, like a creature with wings, swept across the Dragon's Zenith Academy with the speed of an explosion on the second day of the new semester, accompanied by a deafening chorus of disbelief and suspicion.
Crucially, since the formal academic year had not yet begun, students possessed the autonomy to petition senior mentors and professors for specialized guidance or early access to training facilities. This period of "pre-semester freedom" was usually spent in light cultivation or networking, but for three specific individuals, it became a crucible.
Initially, the reaction from almost everyone was unanimous: Absurd!
"Are they serious? Twenty-nine minutes? When I did that mission last year, it took me half an hour just to avoid those cursed Poison Leeches!" A senior student, his face red with indignation, pounded his fist on a nearby table in the canteen.
"The Temporal Sundial must be faulty! Or they cheated, using some forbidden array! It's the only explanation!" another exclaimed, adjusting his robes with an air of superior knowledge.
"I heard there was a diviner from the Divination College on the team? Didn't they use some dark, unsavory scheme to bypass the marsh's defenses?" The rumors began twisting facts into dangerous conjecture.
"How is that possible? The Academy's official announcement cannot be false! Both the Time Sundial's records and the collected Cloud-Hidden Flowers have been verified by the Masters!" The sheer impossibility of the feat fueled the argument, rendering rational debate impossible.
The blend of suspicion, shock, confusion, and raw envy echoed in lecture halls, dining areas, and training grounds.
Li Shulai, He Lingxuan, and Chen Ruipeng became campus "celebrities" overnight. Everywhere they went, they could feel the complex stares—some envious, some accusatory, some merely curious—focused on them like spiritual probes.
Li Shulai, who in the past would have eagerly defended himself or argued over minor slights, was now unusually silent. The voices of doubt felt like thorns pricking his skin, but a deeper, more devastating pain stemmed from his own self-reproach.
The Spark of Conflict
The tension surrounding the 'Twenty-Nine Minutes' record eventually boiled over. Li Shulai, walking through the crowded main atrium, heard a particularly loud and sneering comment from a group of upper-year students.
"Look at the new celebrity. I hear he's just a distraction, relying on that frail Divination kid to conjure some temporal trick while he just hacks away. A brute who can't even protect his own trickster."
The casual cruelty of the remark, especially the slight against Lin Yan's sacrifice, shattered Li Shulai's fragile composure. His sword hand instinctively went to his side, though his weapon was thankfully secured in his spatial pouch.
He whirled around, his eyes blazing with unrestrained fury. "Repeat that, you arrogant pig! Do you have the courage to repeat what you just said?!"
The senior student, a tall disciple from the Spirit Control College, smirked, enjoying the show. "What, the truth hurts? If you were any good, your friend wouldn't be lying in the Medical Hall right now. Your brute force was useless against the King, wasn't it? Go back to swinging at trees, Novice."
Li Shulai roared, spiritual energy surging wildly around him, a raw, uncontrolled blast of pure fighting intent. The surrounding students scattered, sensing the imminent clash. The Sword Cultivator was seconds from drawing his blade and initiating a forbidden fight on campus grounds. Only the sudden, intervening force of a patrolling Academy Supervisor—a flash of light and a stern spiritual suppression—froze Li Shulai mid-lunge.
He was dragged away, not disciplined severely due to the pre-semester period, but the shame of his uncontrolled rage, coupled with the accuracy of the senior student's taunt about his useless brute force, left a deep, searing wound. Instead of seeking revenge, Li Shulai funneled the entirety of that humiliating fury into a single, brutal resolve: He would never be so weak as to rely solely on blind rage again.
Immediately after the incident, driven by an urgent, silent pact forged in shame, Li Shulai petitioned his assigned mentor for accelerated, high-intensity training, taking advantage of the pre-semester autonomy.
The Furious Edge: Li Shulai
At the Martial Arts College, on the Whirlwind Sword Field, the clang of metal was constant and brutal. The number of sword swings he had initially planned for his session was immediately doubled, then tripled.
"Not fast enough! Not ruthless enough! Where is your Sword Intent?!" A severe, uncompromising roar echoed in the wind. Li Shulai's mentor, a stern middle-aged Sword Cultivator, watched him hack and slash repeatedly at a specially forged Profound Iron stake. The sword light flashed with manic energy, infused with anxiety and raw brutality.
"Mentor, I..." Li Shulai gasped for breath, sweat dripping from his chin. His hand, gripping the sword hilt, was bleeding where the skin had split, the fresh blood staining the leather wrap.
"Your heart is disordered!" the mentor cut him off, his eyes like daggers. "The heart of a Sword Cultivator should be like still water, reflecting all things clearly, yet it must also be like shocking thunder, capable of a single, definitive kill! Look at you now—you possess brute strength but zero spiritual refinement! What are you afraid of? Or what do you hate?"
Li Shulai stopped abruptly, leaning heavily on his sword, his shoulders heaving. He let out a low growl, born from the depths of his being: "I fear... I fear I was too slow! I fear I couldn't protect the one I should have! And I hate... I hate my own incompetence!" The image of Lin Yan pushing He Lingxuan away and taking the fatal bite on his arm flashed in his mind again, the absolute sense of powerlessness threatening to consume him whole.
The mentor remained silent for a moment, his tone softening slightly but retaining its sharp edge: "Protection is not solely about charging in with brute force. Insight, anticipating the enemy, and overcoming strength with refined skill—these are also forms of guardianship. Has your teammate from the Divination College not already taught you this lesson? Quiet your heart. Feel your sword, feel the wind, feel the enemy's Qi.' Otherwise, you will practice until death, and still only remain a common brute."
Li Shulai's body trembled violently, as if struck by a sudden revelation. The mentor's words pierced through the emotional chaos. Brute force is useless without calm insight.
He closed his eyes, taking a deep, slow breath. When he raised his sword again, the frantic energy was slowly replaced by a sense of condensation and sharp focus. He needed to grow strong, not just in might, but in the heart that controlled that might. He spent the next three hours in absolute silence, refining a single, basic sword form until it was imbued with a chilling clarity. He was driven by a new, relentless purpose: He would never let sheer speed or cunning catch him unprepared again. His shame was now the fuel for his forging.
The Toxic Alchemy: He Lingxuan
At the Pill Arts College, within the Deep Serenity Alchemy Chamber, the air was thick with a pungent, complex blend of raw herbs and volatile chemical residue. He Lingxuan, using her time before the official curriculum, had secured continuous access to the high-grade research facilities.
He Lingxuan stood before dozens of delicate jade plates. Scattered across them were samples of ground Poison Leech King tissue, meticulously extracted marsh sludge compounds, and the failed residues of dozens of new toxins and antitoxins she had attempted to formulate.
Her spiritual crystal tablet, used for recording complex formulae, displayed a waterfall of dense, rapidly compiled research notes.
Her mentor, a graceful female cultivator whose refined demeanor belied eyes sharp with chemical calculation, picked up a sample of failed pharmaceutical dross, sniffed it delicately, and shook her head.
"Lingxuan, you are too rushed. In the Dao of Toxicology, the difference between success and catastrophe is often less than a hair's breadth. You attempted to use the extreme potency of the 'Corpse-Rotting Grass' to forcibly break down the Leech King's resistance, yet you utterly disregarded the neutralizing effect of its unique dermal mucus on that very compound. It was a wasted effort."
He Lingxuan pressed her lips together, a rare hint of stubbornness coloring her normally serene face: "Mentor, I must find a more effective method. If my toxin could have acted faster, if I had prepared a more targeted antidote in advance..."
"There is no 'if' in battle," the mentor interrupted, her tone calm but unwavering. "There is only the result. Your goal is not wrong, but your approach is fundamentally flawed. Do not focus solely on destruction; seek to understand it. What is the root cause of the Leech King's resistance? Is it a unique internal energy structure, or the action of a powerful symbiotic bacterial cluster within its body? Only by addressing the source can you achieve a decisive strike."
The mentor then laid down a broader challenge, her words resonating with centuries of alchemical wisdom. "Furthermore, remember: Pill Arts are not just about poisons. Potent restorative elixirs, instantaneous energy boosters, and vital essence stabilizing pills can equally turn the tide of battle. Your teammate's sacrifice should not merely ignite a blind lust for attack, but should illuminate the breadth of your supportive duties."
He Lingxuan froze, the words hitting her like a powerful, spiritual shockwave. She looked at the failed residue in her hand, slowly placing it down. She then deliberately picked up an ancient compendium on the Energy Cycles of Aquatic Demonic Beasts.
She realized her shortcoming: it wasn't a lack of raw talent, but a lack of depth of knowledge and the breadth of application. She had been too narrowly focused on the attack. Driven by fierce remorse, she began to meticulously cross-reference the Leech King's known traits with obscure counter-elemental formulae, determined to forge not just a better poison, but a perfect supportive arsenal. Her mind, sharp and rational, became dedicated to one singular goal: Never again would her knowledge be the weakest link.