Why do I have so many masters?

The atmosphere turned deathly still in an instant.

That kind of eerie silence even made the Military Family youth feel uneasy, his anger gradually fading away.

Just at that moment, the middle-aged Confucian Scholar's pair of greenish eyes suddenly ignited with flames, and he heavily slapped Wang Anfeng's shoulder, howling,

"Little madman, chop him!!"

A surge of Inner Strength flowed into the youth's shoulder, shaking his right arm's tendons and veins, and the round heavy iron ladle suddenly leaped up on its own, thrusting away the wooden spear in the Military Family youth's hand with such force that even the youth was pulled along, taking two steps to the side before steadying himself with a slightly astonished expression, followed by a burst of elation.

On the training ground, this was a sign of agreeing to a bout!

Wang Anfeng was momentarily stunned, realizing he had been 'ambushed', and whirled around to see only the Confucian Scholar's radiant smile, waving at him; anger welled up within him while the young Military Family descendant had already whooshed his spear around in a circle, attacking fiercely.

Gales after gales, Wang Anfeng adjusted his stance in response, knees slightly bent as if to lean forward, thus dodging the shadow of the spear. The youth exclaimed crisply, his wrist flicking, the spear pointing three times in rapid succession towards the three directions Anfeng could dodge to, caught in a moment between the old strength fading and new strength not yet born, virtually unavoidable.

Wang Anfeng, unable to draw his sword in time, used the iron ladle in his hand as a weapon, waving it to cast a flurry of shadows, slashing and stabbing like an Azure Dragon playing in the water, tightly suppressing the spear. The skirmish went back and forth without a clear victor for the time being.

The middle-aged Confucian Scholar chuckled under his breath, casually lifted the pot directly, and seeing some ash mixed in, the corner of his mouth twitched slightly; he closed his eyes, chanting,

"One never tires of food that is too fine, nor does one tire of finely minced food... One never tires of food that is too fine, nor does one tire of finely minced food, one never tires of food that is too fine..."

"Not quite clean doesn't mean it'll make you sick!"

Sniffing the enticing aroma, he simply shut his eyes, steeled his heart, vibrated the Qi Force in his palm, causing the medicinal porridge in the pot to roll and bury that thin layer of ash underneath; the fragrance became even more tantalizing. The Confucian Scholar swallowed saliva, picked up the pot of porridge, and was about to pour it into his mouth in one go.

Wang Anfeng, spotting this scene out of the corner of his eye while feeling furious, changed his steps to dodge the spear shadow, and with the momentum of his spinning body, he flung the heavy round iron ladle; it whistled through the air, smashing straight onto the iron pot with a sound akin to a bronze bell vibrating.

The Confucian Scholar's medicinal porridge was about to enter his mouth, but with such a jolt, it smudged all over his face, causing him to cough repeatedly, his appearance disheveled.

Meanwhile, Anfeng's right hand quickly squeezed the hilt of his sword behind him. As the spear shadow closed in with a piercing whistle, his figure slightly bowed, the wooden sword drawn out an inch, directly deflecting the spear edge. Vigorous Qi poured into his body, but it was neutralized by the foundation of his Golden Bell Shield, only stirring up a circle of wind under his feet.

The Military Family descendant's expression momentarily faltered, and then he heard the clear sound of a sword cry. The Eight-Sided Han Sword was already fully drawn, with the Sword Momentum shifting on the sword edge, knocking the spear edge aside.

Wang Anfeng suddenly advanced with his sword, the wooden sword whistling as he chopped down, transitioning from defense to offense, his sword shadows wailing continuously like a crosswise waterfall, aligning with his steps to force his opponent onto the defensive. Abruptly, he shouted,

"We had no grudges in the past, no enmity today, so why do you attack me out of the blue?"

Yi Xiuwei, enraged, gripped his spear horizontally to block the sword edge, and gritted his teeth,

"If it wasn't for what you did last time, why would I be starving and disgraced in public?"

Wang Anfeng was taken aback, then found it both infuriating and funny, saying,

"You chose not to eat, and you forbid others from cooking?"

"I was making soup food beneath the martial field, not breaking any Academy rules. That day there were many onlookers; how come you were the only one with a growling stomach?"

Yi Xiuwei opened his mouth slightly, at a loss for words, while Wang Anfeng caught sight of the Confucian Scholar already wiping his sleeves and the corners of his mouth from the smeared medicinal porridge.

His wrist flicked once more, and the Eight-Sided Han Sword advanced, its style suddenly changing drastically, like a ferocious tiger descending the mountain, fierce and domineering, creating a series of afterimages. Yi Xiuwei, panicked, failed to notice in time and was tapped on the wrist by Anfeng's sword edge, his spear nearly slipping from his grasp, his heart turning cold.

Just then, as the Eight-Sided Han Sword slashed and chopped in rapid succession, transforming into a blur of afterimages that whistled to the left and right, Anfeng's scalp tingled and his heart quivered in fear. Holding his spear and defending in a frenzy, he felt his defeat was imminent when Wang Anfeng suddenly retracted his sword, stepping back and saying:

"Brother, you have impressive martial skills."

"We seem unable to determine a winner at this moment, how about we call it a tie?"

Yi Xiuwei paused briefly, glancing around, and to his surprise, the people surrounding them didn't show any reaction to Wang Anfeng's words.

Just now, the young man's sword momentum had turned fierce and aggressive. He slashed repeatedly, creating sword shadows that obscured the spectators' view. In the midst of it, he had taken advantage of the Rattling Serpent's Tail technique to touch the opponent's wrist with a swift move that was retracted in an instant.

The bystanders couldn't see it clearly and only saw the pair exchanging blows in an exciting bout.

Yi Xiuwei, not being foolish, grasped the meaning behind Wang Anfeng's action, as well as the soreness on his wrist, realizing that the other was much stronger than himself. Taking it in stride and with a sense of gratitude, he clasped his hands and said:

"What Brother Wang said is very true..."

Before he could finish speaking, he saw Wang Anfeng's eyes glitter slightly and with a flick of his wrist, a Whip Lock shot out from the large sleeves of the young man's robe like a python, whistling through the air and coiling toward the right leg of the Confucian Steward with a skillful move that was both domineering and agile.

It seemed even more formidable than his swordsmanship, giving Yi Xiuwei pause.

Meanwhile, Wang Anfeng bit his teeth tightly. With the Whip Lock secured on the Confucian Steward's right leg, he pulled forcefully. The Steward stumbled, his scheme to steal some medicinal porridge once again thwarted, biting down on thin air with a crunch.

During this period, Wang Anfeng had spoken with the Confucian Steward. The two had very different personalities and ages but had taken a liking to each other. Yet, because of that earlier "sneak attack" and the current "hogging" behavior, Anfeng felt his youthful pride stir. He was resolute not to let the man have his way.

As for the Steward, having his food snatched away all three times, he harbored a grudge against this "little lunatic." Being the food lover he was, taking his food was as good as taking his life.
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If it wasn't for being in the Academy, fooled by that old fool, and having willingly set seven rules for himself, with all sorts of restraints and fetters imposed, he would have already taught Wang Anfeng a lesson. Not being able to strike didn't mean he was out of options.

At that moment, he shook his right leg, and the Whip Lock went limp as if a python had been hit in its critical spot. He carried the cauldron backward, shouting at the top of his lungs:

"Listen up, all Fufeng Academy students who have been here for less than a year!"

His voice was deep and clear, displaying highly advanced Inner Strength as it almost echoed throughout the entire Academy.

Academy Disciples, who mostly practiced for four to five years, often spent only three years here before visiting famous teachers to refine their Martial Arts and various skills. Thus, when he called out at that moment, nearly a quarter of the students within the Academy looked up, the voice ringing in their ears.

But hearing that familiar voice, they were shocked and cried out:

"Are you still coming for this, kid? The porridge is now full of ashes, do you still want to eat it? Come again, come again, and I'll beat you to death, you scamp..."

After a flurry of chaos, that voice seemed to have temporarily escaped trouble, urgently crying out:

"All disciples within one year, quickly to the martial arts field!"

"Whoever defeats Wang Anfeng will be exempt from this year's weapons and martial arts examination, and I will give you the scores!"

"Give Superior Rank!"

As the voice faded into grumbles and then died down, the entire Fufeng Academy seemed to have been dropped a Xuanwu that calmed the seas, falling into a momentary silence. After several breaths, figures leapt out from the Wind Character Tower.

Among the young men and women from the Fufeng Six Palaces, practicing the Six Arts, some held long spears and staves, others had wooden swords at their waists as they surged like a torrent toward the martial arts field.

Superior Rank!