Nine million strands of dark-gold divine blood were perfectly concealed deep within that seemingly frail body.
He wore an ordinary black casual outfit.
His eyes were deep, and his features refined.
At first glance,
he looked like nothing more than an ordinary, harmless freshman.
Who the hell could have imagined that,
just two hours ago,
this harmless-looking kid had withstood a Demon Emperor’s pressure and impaled a Demon Saint with a single thrust, reducing the latter to ashes?!
Nie Changkong looked at Su Yu, the corners of his mouth twitching uncontrollably twice.
“Su Yu.”
Nie Changkong’s voice was exceptionally grave, carrying an undeniable weight.
“From the moment you stepped through this school’s gates…”
“You are Su Yu!”
“A newly enrolled freshman with a vitality score of one thousand, who has comprehended Manifested Spear Intent!”
“That ‘Su Yuan’ who stood against a Demon Emperor and slew a Demon Saint…”
“has absolutely nothing to do with you!”
“Understood?!”
Su Yu nodded calmly.
“Understood.”
Of course he understood.
When a tree rises above the forest, the wind will destroy it.
The battle power he had revealed today had already touched the Abyss’s bottom line.
“The Abyssal Cult’s highest-priority assassination order has probably already been sent to every stronghold in Great Xia.”
Nie Changkong took a deep breath.
“If they find out that Su Yuan is Su Yu…”
“Forget a projection of a Demon Emperor.”
“The Demon Emperor himself might risk the backlash of the planar laws and forcibly tear open space just to come here and crush you to death!”
“Your strength may be monstrous now…”
“But before a true Martial Emperor, it still isn’t enough.”
Nie Changkong rose and walked over to Su Yu.
He patted him on the shoulder.
“As for Su Yuan’s identity, I’ll use the military’s highest authority to create a flawless false history for you.”
“Keep it buried—no matter what!”
“Here at school, you’ll obediently remain a freshman.”
“Focus on your cultivation!”
“As for the hidden blades and open spears outside, Martial Saint Huo and I will block them for you!”
Su Yu looked at Nie Changkong’s weary yet resolute face.
A trace of warmth rose in his heart.
Although the vice principal liked to put on airs normally,
he truly was reliable when it mattered.
“Thank you, Principal Nie.”
Su Yu gave a slight nod.
Looking at Su Yu’s utterly unruffled expression,
Nie Changkong couldn’t help grumbling.
“What the hell is your heart made of, kid?”
“That was a Demon Emperor!”
“You weren’t afraid at all?”
Su Yu shook his head.
“Would being afraid have helped?”
“Rather than waste time being scared, I’d rather fight with everything I have.”
Nie Changkong was rendered speechless.
This kid’s mental fortitude was even more terrifying than that of a Martial Emperor like himself.
“By the way…”
Su Yu abruptly changed the subject, a fiery glint flashing in his eyes.
“How long will the matter of the money-printing plant take?”
Nie Changkong: “…”
The trace of tragic grandeur he had just managed to build was instantly shattered by that question.
Nie Changkong rolled his eyes.
He waved his hand irritably.
“What are you rushing for?”
“That’s a money-printing plant, not a market stall where you buy cabbage!”
“Site selection, deployment of spirit-energy forging presses, engraving the formation arrays and production lines—which one of those doesn’t take time?”
“Martial Saint Huo has already gone there personally to oversee the operation.”
“Even at the fastest, it’ll take three days!”
“For these three days, you will stay in your dorm and behave yourself. You’re not allowed to go anywhere!”
Having received a definite timeframe, Su Yu nodded in satisfaction.
“Fine.”
“I’ll await your good news, Principal.”
With that, Su Yu turned, pulled open the office door, and strode out.
Watching Su Yu’s departing back,
Nie Changkong let out a long sigh.
“This kid…”
“What kind of monster is he, exactly?”
The moment Su Yu left,
the vice principal’s thick soundproof door had barely closed.
Bang!
Nie Changkong’s entire body seemed to have been drained of its marrow. Without the slightest regard for his dignity, he collapsed into the broad leather office chair.
He gulped in great mouthfuls of air.
Then he raised a hand and rubbed his violently throbbing temples.
Exhausting.
Emotionally exhausting!
It was even more draining than spending three days and three nights fighting Demon Venerables on the Abyssal front line!
Over the course of this single day, his heart had felt as though it were riding a roller coaster, shooting up and plunging down. Several times, it had nearly leaped straight out of his throat.
“This kid…”
“He’s practically a walking nuclear bomb.”
Nie Changkong muttered to himself.
He picked up the cup of tea on his desk, which had already gone cold, and was just about to take a sip to calm himself down.
At that moment—
Ring, ring, ring!
The red hotline phone on his desk, the one representing Jingwu’s highest level of classified secrecy, rang without warning!
Its piercing chime sounded especially abrupt in the silent office.
Nie Changkong stared at the red phone, the corner of his eye twitching uncontrollably twice.
Only one person could call this number.
Jingwu’s principal.
One of Great Xia’s most renowned supreme powerhouses.
A Martial Saint—Feng Wuji!
Nie Changkong took a deep breath and forcibly steadied his violently pounding heart.
He reached out and picked up the receiver.
“Hello, Principal…”
“Old Nie!!!”
A deafening roar instantly exploded from the receiver!
The terrifying qi-blood fluctuations contained in that voice made Nie Changkong’s eardrums buzz.
He could even sense Feng Wuji’s uncontrollable, violent breathing trembling through the wireless signal!
“You’ve kept me in the dark so damn well!!!”
Feng Wuji’s voice was incredibly agitated, even cracking slightly.
“If the military hadn’t released those news photos…”
“If I hadn’t happened to leave seclusion and read the internal briefing…”
“Were you planning to take this earth-shattering secret to your grave?!”
Nie Changkong was stunned by the barrage.
He hurriedly moved the receiver farther away and forced a bitter smile.
“Principal, please, let me explain…”
“Explain my ass!”
Feng Wuji didn’t give Nie Changkong the slightest chance to speak. His voice came crashing over like a rapid-fire barrage.
“Su Yuan!”
“That kid called Su Yuan!”
“Which rock did that monster crawl out from under?!”
On the other end of the line,
this Martial Saint powerhouse—normally so lofty that even Mount Tai collapsing before him wouldn’t change his expression—
was currently as excited as a young man who had just laid eyes on an unparalleled beauty!
“Old Nie, you think I can’t see it just because other people can’t?!”
Feng Wuji’s voice trembled violently.
“That photo released by the military!”
“That gray-black dragon coiling around the tip of that kid’s spear!”
“That transparent sharpness so terrifying it seemed capable of cutting through the pixels of the photograph itself!”
“That absolutely isn’t Manifested Spear Intent!”
“And it isn’t Clarity, either!”
Feng Wuji drew a deep breath, as though he had exhausted all his strength before forcing out the final two words.
“Soul-Forging!!!”
“Giving spear intent a true soul of destruction!”
“That’s the Soul-Forging realm!!!”
Boom!
Even through the telephone line, Nie Changkong could feel Feng Wuji’s shock and frenzy.
He understood all too well why Feng Wuji had lost control like this.
Because Feng Wuji himself was one of Great Xia’s foremost spear cultivators!
This Martial Saint powerhouse had devoted his entire life to the pursuit. He had spent countless heavenly treasures, endured countless life-and-death battles,
and only then had he barely managed to cultivate his spear intent to the peak of the Manifestation realm.
He was only half a step away from the Illumination Realm!
Half a step from Illumination!
That alone was enough for Feng Wuji to look down upon all challengers and secure his seat as the headmaster of Jingwu.
But today—
What had he seen?
A young man whose blood vitality was only nine million, who had just stepped into the Martial Spirit Realm.
Yet he had crossed the natural chasm of Illumination.
He had reached the supreme realm that only a select few Martial Emperor powerhouses could even touch—the Soul-Forging Realm!
How could Feng Wuji not lose his mind?!
] [Lone Wolf, No Male Gaze] [Protagonist is pursued early on; extreme protagonist-stans, stay away!] The "Carnival Paradise" descends and slowly devours the real world in the form of a game. By chance, Zhu Yan awakens the talent [Roleplay], becoming one of the first beta players. He thought he could develop safely, but after clearing the first instance, he is branded by humanity as the chief culprit behind the game's spread—a traitorous villain. A villain? Who would ever... become one! He'll be the villain! From then on, Zhu Yan is not only a player but also a lackey for the Carnival Paradise. Between the straight path and the crooked path, he chooses the con. With his left hand, he dons the villain's mantle, staging scenes within instances, infuriating players who decry him as a despicable traitor, all while the game happily promotes him. With his right hand, he joins the non-human organization "Fangcun Mountain," which opposes the Carnival Paradise, transforming into a mysterious player who slaughters game bosses, earning cheers of "Long live the expert!" from fellow players. Gradually, Zhu Yan rises to become an S-rank human player in Fangcun Mountain's archives, while also being the Carnival Paradise's certified top game Boss. But when the final war erupts and both major factions place their hopes in him— Players tag his various aliases: "Experts, this offensive depends on you." The Carnival Paradise's supreme Boss throws an arm around his neck: "Bro, you're the iron, I'm the steel; you can't let me down again!"
ing gift was a patch of barren land, and disciples were all picked up along the way. He spent fifty years diligently building three "ramshackle little sects," thinking he could finally live a carefree life relying on his disciples. But right at the fifty-year mark, he was suddenly swept away by a spatial rift and exiled to the Chaos Desolation, the Disorderly Ruins. There was no spiritual energy there, only slaughter. Relying on the cultivation feedback from his disciples, Gu Changyuan hacked his way through a sea of blood for eleven hundred years. When the system finally fished him back out, he discovered the ramshackle little sects he'd built back then had developed a rather... unusual style. Hold on... I vanished for a thousand years, so how did my ramshackle little sects become holy lands?!
nto another world, I bought a slave for the first time, never expecting the silver wolf girl to be so cute... Lin Feng: I know it's cold, but you don't have to sneak into my bed! Yuna: Just sharing body warmth, if you dare do anything naughty, I'll definitely...
transmigrates into the world as the sect master of the Heavenly Yan Sect, which is on the verge of being wiped out. He binds a system that grants him cultivation power based on the number of disciples he has: for each disciple, he automatically gains a year's worth of cultivation every single day! Take one disciple: every day he gains 1 year of cultivation power. While others struggle through a year of bitter training, he gets the same just by sleeping through a single night. Take ten disciples: every day he gains 10 years of cultivation power. Foundation Establishment, Core Formation, Nascent Soul—he breezes through all bottlenecks without lifting a finger. Take one hundred disciples: every day he gains 100 years of cultivation power. Even a Soul Transformation Venerable before him can’t survive a single blow. Take ten thousand disciples: every day he gains 10,000 years of cultivation power! With a wave of his hand, he topples empires. With a single step, he crushes the sacred grounds of the universe. ... While others fight tooth and nail for secret techniques, Lin Yan casually hands out Nascent Soul-level cultivation manuals as beginner textbooks. While others strain to find talented recruits, Lin Yan opens his doors to anyone—so long as they’re human. In just three short years, the Heavenly Yan Sect went from a backwater sect made up of three crumbling huts to a sacred land that every cultivator under heaven would kill to enter. ... One day, otherworldly demon gods invade, with a million demon soldiers pressing down upon the realm. Lin Yan, yawning, rises from his lounge chair and glances at the system panel: [Current Disciples: 1.28 million] [Daily Cultivation Increase: 1.28 million years] He waves his hand casually, and the countless demon soldiers are reduced to ashes in an instant. “So noisy… interrupting my fishing.”
