Why do I have so many masters?

Fufeng Academy, among the top ten repositories of books in the world, offers education to all without discrimination. Young scholars commonly enter at the age of thirteen and leave by sixteen.

Those who have been in the academy for one year all rebuild their foundations, with their cultivation levels all below Ninth Grade.

But a group of martial artists below Ninth Grade, eyeing you with eager anticipation, is enough to send shivers down one's spine. Wang Anfeng had intended to admit defeat just now, but seeing these students' expressions, he certainly didn't want to let them off easily.

If he were to admit defeat, to whom would he lose?

The young man who had descended from the sky seemed fearless. With a tug of his right hand, a nearby tree snapped loudly, and a very fierce and domineering weapon fell down. He grabbed it with ease and with a single swing, a vicious gust of wind sliced through the air.

The weapon had a total length of seven feet, with a blade three feet long and a handle four feet long, its fierce and aggressive presence rushing forth.

The Great Qin Mo Blade.

Advancing like a wall, slicing both man and horse in one sweep!

Seeing the young man wielding such a ferocious and ruthless weapon, those hot-blooded students seemed as if doused with a bucket of cold water, instantly halting their steps. The young man, with thick and unruly eyebrows, though having a peaceful countenance, emitted three parts of fierce energy. His eyes slightly closed, holding the Mo Blade by its handle, he spoke calmly,

"A true man must sometimes stand down, but must also stand up where necessary."

"To forsake justice for gain, to bully the few with the many, these are not the actions of a chivalrous person..."

"Do none of you feel even a trace of shame?!"

His voice was even and calm. Seeing nearly a hundred people surrounding him, yet his facial expression unchanged, the crowd could not fathom his depth and dared not advance. They then saw him effortlessly lift the hefty Mo Blade, its edge spinning once, pointing diagonally toward the ground, with his back to Wang Anfeng, he said,

"Leave this situation to me... you are free to go."

A gentle breeze passed by, lifting strands of his hair, which made the approximately fifteen or sixteen-year-old boy's demeanor appear even more steady and remarkable. Wang Anfeng took a deep breath, held his fists together sincerely, and said,

"Thank you."

Then, taking advantage of the moment when the surrounding students dared not approach, he displayed his Qinggong, stepped directly onto the tree trunk, leveraged it to jump over the high wall beside him, and almost at the same time, the young man pursed his lips, becoming more resolute, opening his eyes, as if feeling helpless, he sighed,

"Ah, truly, how could someone like you leave alone? Well then, you might as well join me..."

"Huh?!!"

"Where is he?"

When the young man turned around, Wang Anfeng's figure was already gone, and his expression became perplexed:

"No."

"I was just being courteous when I said you could go... Brother, don't take it seriously!"

Just then, from within the crowd, an odd shout was heard, "Don't be afraid, folks. That Mo Blade in the kid's hand is just a piece of wood—it looks tough but it's useless!"

"Cut him down!"

Upon hearing this, the young man's expression changed, and although he quickly realized what was happening, the other students had already sensed something was amiss. A nameless rage burned in their hearts, and with a 'ferocious smile' they surrounded him, their foreheads seemingly bulging with veins, ready to deal with this troublemaking stick.

Yet facing these students enclosing him, the young man with thick and unruly eyebrows furrowed them but showed no trace of fear.

With the Mo Blade in hand, he laughed coldly,

"Cut me down? Come on!"

"I've never been a coward in my life!"

Hearing this, the crowd's anger grew even stronger, and they drew their weapons to circle him.

A few hundred meters away, atop a rooftop, a Confucian Scholar in a gray robe, holding a dusty iron pot, squatted indecently on the glazed tiles. He was munching on Medicinal Porridge, and after a moment, he swallowed it and exhaled. He then carelessly wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

Embracing the iron pot, he sat back with abandon, shattering a few glazed tiles, set the black pot beside him, and stroked his chin while his deep eyes focused. A messy bun of hair lay upon his head, with a small titmouse perched on it, pecking occasionally. The Confucian Scholar appeared nonchalant, murmuring to himself,

"This young madman, even at a time like this, still won't use his true skills?"

"Just like Jiang Shouyi, that damned turtle shell."

"I thought, after twenty years, I would witness Master Shouyi's unmatched skill in both the zither and the sword again. I didn't expect another turtle in a shell."

"Hey, I'd like to see how you, kid, wrap this up."

The Confucian Scholar spat to the side, ready to leap into the air, when suddenly remembering something, he carefully picked up the titmouse, gently playing with it, and chuckled,"

"You really are not afraid of people."

"Off you go, I have nothing here to feed you. Don't come so close to humans in the future. If you get close to me again, I'll blast you and have you for a drink!"

The Confucian scholar spoke, and suddenly made a distorted face, scaring the little sparrow so much that it shuddered and flew away. The scholar laughed out loud, casually grabbed the iron pot, and with a leap, decided to see how the little turtle would deal with it.

These students are not easy to dismiss now.

Thinking of the situation, the Confucian scholar chuckled to himself, his eyes and brows expressing sheer delight.

In another place, Wang Anfeng had not been running for long before the sound of shouting echoed from behind. He sharply turned his head and saw a crowd of students, some with elegant movements, others with plain steps, catching up. The robust young man holding a Mo Blade seemed to have been thrown off balance at first glance.

The young man felt a headache coming on, feeling that these students were stickier than the sugar syrups during the New Year festival; he had achieved his goal and bore no grudges, so he had no interest in another confrontation, but the situation was evidently clear as day.

As long as he had not been defeated, these people would certainly continue to chase him.

If he were to fight, given the current chaos, it would undoubtedly be troublesome.

Thinking of the scruffy Confucian scholar, the young man felt an itching in his teeth from irritation. He could see students from various schools all around, clinging like plasters, unavoidable at this point. It was then that a blurred shadow flashed in front of him, indeed, a wooden dagger spinning through the air, barely missing Wang Anfeng's nose. The young man paused in his steps.

And seizing this chance, several disciples had leapt up in front of him, standing on the wall, blocking his path, with others surrounding him from behind and both sides.

The situation had become unavoidable.

A tall young man from the Military Family, holding a long stick, smiled brilliantly:

"Let's fight, Wang Anfeng."

"Running any further will only make things worse for you."

Seeing his confident demeanor, Wang Anfeng had a quick thought, exhaled, and said:

"Not necessarily."

His opponent chuckled lightly and did not reply, simply stepping forward to attack. Wang Anfeng's wrist vibrated, and the Whip Lock shot out like a python, entangling the long stick. The other young man instinctively pulled back, and Wang Anfeng used this force to close the distance quickly. But just as he closed in, he leaped over the few-meter-high wall.

As the Whip Lock was released, the young man drew a perfect arc through the air, landing before a figure in a Confucian robe. He paused briefly to dissipate the force, and his Vigorous Qi spread beneath his feet.

The student above originally didn't mind, but upon seeing the other figure, he had a sudden thought, his face drastically changed, and he shouted:

"No good!"

"Don't do something foolish, Wang Anfeng!"

As his voice fell, he leaped from the wall, swinging his stick down.

Caught off guard, the young man in the Confucian robe remained indifferent, slightly arching an eyebrow, his clear brown eyes looking at the falling Wang Anfeng with amusement.

Wang Anfeng ignored those students howling and rushing at him, and without even getting a clear look at the young man before him, he reached out and grasped the other's hand, saying:

"My apologies."

"I'm giving you an opportunity."

No sooner had he spoken than he steadied the hand against his own throat, his face grinning, rarely so radiant.

"You've won."

Frantic voices and the sound of weapons being slammed to the ground came from behind. Wang Anfeng inwardly relaxed, but the hand he was holding escaped his grip with ease, pulled to his own collar, leaving him slightly taken aback.

The next moment, he was abruptly lifted into the air and forcefully slammed to the ground, his Golden Bell Shield's Inner Strength scattered in disarray, his face showing a hint of stupefaction.

The person in front of him clapped his hands lightly, leaned down, his left hand behind his back and his right hand holding a Folding Fan, he lifted the bewildered young man's face, a smirk on his lips, and said:

"Of course, I've won."

"However, since the last time we parted, it has been eight or nine months. Brother Wang, you've grown taller and your courage has increased considerably."

The voice was familiar and full of banter. Wang Anfeng lay there stunned on the ground, his face as if he had seen a ghost.

"Xue..."

As he began to say the surname, he felt the Folding Fan on his chin press slightly. Giving in, he said:

"...Brother."

The young man in front of him raised his Folding Fan, stood up and smiled:

"Indeed."