"I brought you to Slaughter City to temper your body with killing intent and forge an indestructible physique. Yet, this is what you've comprehended, girl?"
Under the black robe, Xin's exquisitely handsome face showed a hint of helplessness as he sighed.
The sigh was soft, almost imperceptible, but it carried a weight that Ning Rongrong could not ignore. It wasn't anger, nor was it outright rejection—it was something more complicated, something that made her heart tighten.
Ning Rongrong heard the momentary disappointment in Xin's tone, and she became nervous, hugging him even tighter:
Her arms trembled slightly, betraying the courage she had forced herself to gather. What had seemed so clear in her mind moments ago now felt fragile, as if it could shatter with a single word from him.
"What's wrong with this? We learned a poem in class, and its name is 'Brocade Zither'."
Her voice softened, as though she were trying to steady herself by recalling something familiar.
"There's a line in it that deeply moved me after I learned it: 'This feeling could become a memory, but at that time, I was already lost.' "
As she spoke, her tone grew more earnest, the poetic words flowing naturally from her lips. Though she might not fully grasp their deeper meaning, she clung to the emotion they carried.
"Although Teacher said this line is about looking back at the past, cherishing the years, and entrusting emotions, I feel that if I don't cherish the current feelings, when Rongrong gets old and Teacher changes, I will regret it for life."
Her grip tightened unconsciously.
To her, this was not a philosophical discussion—it was something immediate, something real. The fleeting nature of time, the fear of regret, the urgency of youth—all of it pressed against her heart at once.
"Rongrong accumulated courage for several days and nights, then gathered even more courage, deciding to express her feelings to Teacher."
Her words came faster now, as if she feared that if she hesitated even slightly, she would lose the nerve to continue.
"So, Teacher, are you going to reject a sincere, devoted disciple?"
It was an inexperienced girl's first confession, and to her beloved teacher at that, so she was naturally extremely nervous.
Her voice wavered at the end, and the strength in her arms faltered just a little.
"You…"
Feeling Ning Rongrong's body trembling slightly, Xin took a deep breath:
For a brief moment, he did not speak.
The night wind passed quietly between them, carrying with it a silence that seemed to stretch longer than it actually was.
"Rongrong, Teacher can understand your current feelings."
When he finally spoke, his voice was calm again, but softer than before.
There was no ridicule, no dismissal—only acknowledgment.
"Each of us has the right to like anyone and the right to dislike anyone. As for worldly opinions, I don't care about them either."
His words were steady, grounded, as if he were carefully choosing each one.
"However, Rongrong, you must understand that when you pour out your emotions, you must realize that the beginning of a relationship is not recklessness and impulse, but rather shouldering a responsibility."
The tone shifted subtly—not harsh, but firm.
It carried the weight of experience, something far beyond the impulsiveness of youth.
"You are still immature now. If Teacher were to reciprocate your current feelings, it would be irresponsible to you, and also a disrespect to School Master Ning and Sword Douluo. Do you understand?"
There was no evasion in his reasoning.
He did not hide behind vague excuses, nor did he deny her feelings outright. Instead, he placed them within a broader reality—one that she could not easily refute.
"Alright, it's getting late. Go back and rest."
A gentle force spread, releasing Ning Rongrong's fingers. He slowly turned and patted Ning Rongrong's head.
The gesture was familiar—comforting, even.
Yet now, it felt different.
A boundary had been quietly drawn.
But who could see the emotion under Teacher's black robe?
Beneath that composed exterior, there were currents unseen, thoughts unspoken.
Our Teacher, in fact, is also a twenty-year-old virgin.
Even if he is as graceful as an immortal, he is still a dreamer in the mortal world.
He was not as detached as he appeared.
He simply understood restraint.
"Responsibility… recklessness…"
Ning Rongrong murmured softly, her voice no longer filled with defiance.
The earlier boldness had faded, replaced by confusion and contemplation.
"Then Teacher, when exactly is one considered mature, and when is one considered responsible?"
Her question lingered in the quiet night, carrying a sincerity that went beyond her earlier impulsiveness.
"Girl, a truly mature person wouldn't ask that question."
Xin's figure gradually disappeared into the night:
His silhouette grew fainter with each step, blending into the darkness as though he had always belonged to it.
"True maturity is when you can stand on your own, think independently, and take responsibility for your actions. At that time, perhaps you will have already graduated from the Academy, and you will have grown enough to face any possible situation independently and accept it, bravely handling it—that is when you have truly grown up."
His voice drifted back, clear despite the distance.
Each word settled heavily in the hearts of those who heard it.
"At that time, Teacher responding to your feelings would not be taking advantage of you."
These words made Ning Rongrong, as well as Hu Liena, Zhu Zhuqing, and Ye Lingling, who were eavesdropping behind them, fall into deep thought and were quite moved.
...
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