Since parting ways with Flender and Liu Erlong, Yu Xiaogang had been invited to teach at a small Soul Master Academy in Notting City. There, he focused on theoretical research and occasionally answered students' questions. It was a stable life.
But stability was never what he wanted.
As the "brain" of the Golden Iron Triangle, how could he be content with mediocrity?
He had tried countless ways to prove himself—but every attempt ended in failure.
Eventually, he came to a conclusion: if he could not change his own fate, then he would prove his worth through his disciples. He would let his theories shine across the continent through them.
Only then could he slap those who had mocked him and declare, loud and clear, that they were ignorant fools—and that he was the true master, a master of unrivaled theory.
However, finding a suitable disciple was far from easy.
Over the years, he had encountered talented youths—but they were arrogant, well-supported by their families, and dismissive of a so-called "theoretical master" like him.
As for those with poor talent, he had no interest in them. They had no potential to bring him fame.
"A new school year begins…" Yu Xiaogang muttered, sitting quietly on a bench near the academy gate. He pretended to read a book, though his gaze frequently drifted toward the entrance. "Perhaps this time, I'll find a promising seedling."
The spot he chose was clever—a fork in the path just beyond the gate. It was easy to overlook, yet it gave him a clear view of everyone entering the academy.
Another child approached.
Alone.
Good.
Yu Xiaogang's interest was immediately piqued. He closed his book, rubbed his temples as if tired, and casually stood up, stretching before walking toward the gate.
"Ah—!"
He hadn't expected the child to be so fragile. With the slightest bump, the boy stumbled and fell to the ground.
At that moment, a certificate slipped from the boy's bag.
Yu Xiaogang's eyes flickered.
Perfect.
"Are you alright?" he asked, helping the boy up while crouching to pick up the certificate.
"I—I'm fine. Thank you, teacher."
"Teacher?" Yu Xiaogang raised a brow. "I am not a teacher of this academy. In one's lifetime, there is only one true teacher—and that title should only be given to the one you acknowledge as your master. Others call me 'Master.' You may do the same."
Without waiting for a response, he casually opened the certificate, pretending to glance at it.
[Mutated Martial Soul: Black Pupil. Soul Power: Level 1.]
His interest vanished instantly.
Disappointment flickered across his eyes.
This talent… was barely better than his own.
A mutated martial soul. Minimal innate soul power. A path filled with struggle and ridicule.
Even reaching the level of a Soul Elder would be difficult—let alone anything greater.
He himself had only reached level 29 thanks to family support and Bibi Dong's secret assistance.
This boy? With no background, no resources, and no talent—his limit would likely be a low-level Soul Master.
Not worth investing in.
In a split second, Yu Xiaogang made his decision.
"The registration office is over there," he said flatly, returning the certificate. "Don't go the wrong way."
The boy—Cheng Xiao—stood there, confused, before slowly walking toward the registration area.
But something felt off.
"…That wasn't normal."
He stopped, turned around, and looked back.
From a distance, Yu Xiaogang was once again seated on the bench, calmly reading as if nothing had happened.
"Am I overthinking this?"
Cheng Xiao frowned, stroking his chin.
Just as he was about to leave, Yu Xiaogang suddenly lifted his head, glanced subtly toward the gate, then lowered his gaze back to the book.
That small movement didn't escape Cheng Xiao's notice.
"He's… waiting for someone?"
A thought crossed his mind.
"Waiting for Tang San? That shouldn't be it. According to the original story, he shouldn't even know Tang Hao is here…"
Curiosity stirred.
Cheng Xiao decided to observe further.
He found another bench nearby and sat down, imitating Yu Xiaogang's casual demeanor while carefully watching without drawing attention.
Before long, he saw Yu Xiaogang rise again, approach a newly arrived student, strike up a conversation, and guide him to registration.
Then he returned.
Sat down.
Waited.
Again and again, the pattern repeated.
Finally, realization dawned.
"…So that's it."
Cheng Xiao's expression turned strange.
"This guy is… screening disciples."
Everything clicked into place.
Yu Xiaogang would approach each new student, find an excuse to check their martial soul certificate, assess their potential, and decide whether they were worth cultivating.
With his theoretical knowledge, he would then casually display insight, building an image of a profound "master."
Step by step, he was laying the groundwork for future disciples.
A complete routine.
"He evaluates the martial soul, quotes theory, mentions his 'Ten Core Principles of Martial Spirits,' hints at future spirit ring development, sparks curiosity… then waits for the right moment to accept a disciple."
Cheng Xiao almost laughed.
"Impressive. Truly impressive."
At that moment, a commotion erupted outside the gate.
Yu Xiaogang reacted instantly and headed toward the entrance.
Cheng Xiao followed the sound—and froze.
A figure stood there.
Like lightning striking his mind, everything connected.
"…Perfect."
He shook his head, almost clapping.
"So this is where it begins."
What seemed like coincidence was anything but.
Yu Xiaogang had been waiting all along.
"Only three twin martial spirits appear in a century—and this guy encounters two? That's absurd luck…"
Cheng Xiao let out a quiet breath.
"If I hadn't read the original story, I might've believed he was the chosen one."
He sneered lightly.
"A Saint of the Spirit Hall falling for someone like him… and Tang San—someone who's lived two lives—kneeling as a disciple after a few words?"
"Yeah… right."
Then he paused.
"…Actually, including me… that makes three."
With that, Cheng Xiao stood up and walked toward the registration office.
Now that his doubts were resolved, there was no reason to linger.
As for Tang San…
Better to keep his distance.
"Anyone who carries killing intent so casually isn't someone to get close to."
As he walked away, a final thought crossed his mind.
"All coincidences… are premeditated."
And somewhere beyond sight—
perhaps—
someone was watching.
Even that "coincidence"… might not have been a coincidence at all.
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