Feng Hao steadied his breathing, clenched his fist, and stepped forward.
He met Wan Shuo’s eyes directly.
“I am not a waste.”
“Ha!”
“Hmph.”
“A toad lusting after swan meat.”
Sneers and snickers rippled through the hall.
Everyone in Yulan City’s power circles knew the Feng family heir was a mediocre talent.
He received the same herbal treatments as the other heirs but remained a full rank behind them.
That took a special kind of failure.
“You’re not a waste?”
Wan Shuo’s lips curled.
“My daughter was born with an ice elemental affinity.
Instructor Yun Ying has accepted her as a disciple.
Do you think you can reach that high?”
A wave of gasps swept the room.
“The Wan girl has an elemental constitution?
And a rare ice type at that?”
“If that’s true…
this changes everything.”
The hall erupted.
The faces of the onlookers had turned sour.
An elemental martial artist was one in ten thousand.
Every elemental warrior could become a ruler in their own right.
The Wan family was about to rise.
Suddenly, it all made sense—why the Wan family had made such a public show of this apprenticeship gathering.
Feng Hao’s face fell at the words.
Yes.
He was just a mediocre waste.
How could he ever be worthy of her?
Meanwhile, members of the Wan family had already ushered Wan Xin into the back hall.
Only Wan Shuo and the icy woman Yun Ying remained seated at the head of the room.
Wan Shuo swept his gaze across the audience, the corners of his mouth lifting unconsciously.
Berating Feng Hao was just a pretext.
His real aim was to spread the news.
In a world ruled by strength, the Wan family had just gained a massive advantage.
Why wouldn’t he use it?
“Hao’er.
Come back.”
Feng Chen stepped forward, placing himself in front of his son.
“Are you his father?”
A cold voice rang out, drawing everyone’s attention.
Yun Ying rose slowly.
An almost imperceptible mist radiated from her body.
“Yes.”
Even faced with this woman, Feng Chen’s palms were sweating.
Anyone who could become an instructor at the Fengyue Martial Academy was unquestionably powerful.
“I won’t waste words.
But if he comes near my disciple again, I won’t hesitate to kill him.”
Her words cut through the air like a winter gale.
Feng Chen’s face went dark.
The other powers in the room watched with barely concealed amusement.
“That’s going too far, isn’t it?”
Feng Hao was the next head of the Feng family.
For her to threaten his life was an insult to the entire clan.
“Hmph.”
Yun Ying’s eyes flashed cold.
She raised a hand and struck toward Feng Chen.
Thud!
One casual palm strike sent the early-stage Great Martial Master staggering back several steps.
He clutched his chest and spat blood.
“Father!”
Feng Hao rushed over, catching Feng Chen.
“Why did you attack him?”
He glared at Yun Ying, his eyes bloodshot.
“The weak must know their place.”
Yun Ying stared down at the boy, her tone flat, unmoved.
Her confidence came from her strength—she was a high-rank Great Martial Master, and an ice-elemental one at that.
“Weak.”
Feng Hao bit his lower lip so hard it nearly bled.
His whole body trembled.
His face twisted.
He had endured years of scorn, of daily mockery and humiliation.
But deep inside, he had his limits.
Seeing his father humiliated so publicly, for his sake—a searing fury erupted from within him.
He clenched his fists, dark flames of rage flickering in his pupils.
He stepped forward, facing Yun Ying directly.
“I, Feng Hao, will remember this humiliation.
In three years, I will come to the Fengyue Academy and find you.”
The twelve-year-old boy, pushed to his limit, finally erupted.
His words rang through the hall, stunning everyone.
The Feng family members could hardly believe it.
The docile mediocrity who had always taken things lying down had just made the first vow of his life—in public, no less.
Three years.
From a third-rank Martial Apprentice to a Great Martial Master.
It was impossible.
No one understood why this boy would make such an absurd vow.
“Hmph.”
Yun Ying narrowed her eyes, her voice frosty.
“If you can withstand a single blow from me by then, I’ll consider it your win.”
In her view, even she—praised as a once-in-a-century genius by her family—had taken six years to reach the Great Martial Master level.
How could a twelve-year-old third-rank mediocrity possibly do it in three?
And in three years, she herself would likely have advanced far beyond Great Martial Master.
“Of course, that’s assuming you can get into the Fengyue Academy in the first place.”
She lifted her chin, utterly dismissing his challenge.
If a candidate hadn’t formed their “martial essence” by the age of fourteen, they weren’t eligible for the academy.
It was a measure the Fengyue Academy used to ensure only the best were trained.
“When that day comes, I will defeat you with my own hands.”
The boy’s face was cold and resolute.
His youthful voice came out biting and clear.
“Father.
Let’s go.”
He turned, supporting Feng Chen, and walked slowly out.
The boy’s silhouette stretched long behind him.
Strangely, no one in the hall felt like mocking him anymore.
Perhaps it was his courage that had moved them.
“If that boy remains mediocre, fine.
But if he ever gains power, he will be dangerous.”
…
Out on the street, the four elders wore sour expressions.
“Third Elder.
Send word.
Summon everyone in the Feng family.
In three days, the Feng clan will hold a new election for family head.”
First Elder Feng Jie spoke darkly to Third Elder Feng Ping.
“Yes.”
Feng Ping took his grandson and left without so much as glancing at Feng Chen.
“Father…
I’m sorry.”
Seeing Feng Chen’s bloodstained robes, Feng Hao’s eyes grew wet.
“In three years, I will wash away this humiliation for you.”
The boy clenched his fists, his jaw tight.
Feng Chen sighed softly, looking at his stubborn son.
He opened his mouth several times.
“I believe you.
Because you’re my son.”
He didn’t understand Feng Hao’s claim—that the herbal essence was never absorbed, but devoured by something inside him.
It was unheard of.
If true, Feng Hao’s talent, while not exceptional, would certainly be no worse than the other heirs.
But his son would face a peak Great Martial Master in three years.
How could he not worry?