Martial King's Retired Life

Volume 12 Chapter 10 Quanmu

Lu Feiming, a notorious bully at Daren Academy and second son of the Ministry of Revenue, would pick on anyone at the institute for his own entertainment, yet the voice of the young man in the chair was enough to weaken his legs.

“My orders were to cripple him so that I would never have to breathe the same air as him again, yet you let him off with only one broken leg. Heh, looks like my words are now all but meaningless.”

“But Principal… thinks highly of him. It would cause uproar if I killed him.”

The young man glared at Lu Feiming out of his peripherals. “I don’t recall asking you to speak.”

Lu Feiming shook as though a death god had come for him.

Another youth giddily left the young man’s side. Upon reaching Lu Feiming, he suddenly grabbed Lu Feiming’s finger.

“Mm!” Lu Feiming dropped to his knees where his five fingernails fell and grabbed his fingertip. Even though he was crying, he’d rather dig his teeth in his lips that he’d bleed than make a sound.

Nobody batted an eye from beginning to end.

The young man in the chair then cast his gaze up to the student who just entered. “Zhao Xin, what took so long? And why are you soaked?”

“I ran into a plague at the entrance. Not only did I arrive late because of him. I even fell into the lake. He’s a dead man walking!”

The young man extended a hand. “You’ve obtained Yongheng Bank’s seal, right? Hand it over.”

“Of course. You know you can count on me. Before they realise they have lost their seal, we can…” Zhao Xin’s face froze stiff once he reached into his shirt. “Crap, I… I…”

“You what?”

“Lost it… I think I lost the seal?”

The young man frowned. “I take it you don’t want your fingernails, either.”

“I-I remember now! It was the plague! I lost my belongings after he bumped into me! He must’ve stolen it from me!”

The young man raised an open hand. “What plague?”

“He’s a tall, rat-looking, giddy and awfully hideous guy around twenty-eight. Ah, I remember now. His name is Hong Jiu!”

***

For quite some time during the last dynasty, Confucianism martial arts ruled the pugilistic world and, attributed to their honoured bloodline, were called “Monarch of the Martial World”. Due to the corruption and in-fighting among their ranks, unfortunately, they became their own undoing. They say monkeys scatter when a tree falls, but their disbandment was akin to bandits haphazardly fleeing.

Years following their disbandment, a number of old members by East China Sea calling themselves survivors of the ocean replicated their previous methods to rebuild. Different times call for different approaches, though, so they kept a low profile and spent seventy years building up what would eventually be known as Canghai Sect.

Canghai Sect was viewed as the representative of Confucianism because people believed that they inherited Confucian traditions. Huang Yuzao was the patriarch of Canghai Sect in this generation and the head of Confucianism. Huang Yuzao held the title “Xuanduan Tingshuo”, which implied he inherited Confucianism’s “Monarch of the Martial World” tradition. He was the only person to not be persecuted, and was even trusted, despite his title clashing with the authority of an Emperor.

“Why did they force you to attend school here?” Uncle Huang had, “What the hell” written all over his face.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve met; why do you look like you’re speaking to an enemy? Besides, it was my shifu who got on your nerves, not me,” I responded.

“You’re not that much different from your shifu.” Uncle Huang stole a gander my way, looked away, then looked back. “What’s wrong with you?”

There was nothing surprising about Uncle Huang being able to discern my condition. In any case, it wasn’t convenient to go into detail, so I brushed it off as a small injury. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to care too much.

“Now, I need to tell you which class you’ll be in. Grade one is ‘Quanmu’. Quanmus are those without talent, those who can’t handle big undertakings, so it is a level for the dullest students. Grade two is ‘Banzhu’. Grade three is ‘Yuyan’. It’s said that the names come from Mencius. There is no such thing as superiority in grade four; howbeit, we individualise classes depending on each student’s future path. We separate them into four classes, namely ‘Shiyu’, ‘Guguan’ and ‘Renmin’.”

“What grade am I?”

“Quanmu.”

“Uncle Huang, that’s not nice of you.”

“You’ve never taken an exam nor have any merits. This is normal.”

“I don’t like what I hear. What do you mean I don’t have any merits to my name?”

“A duke rank isn’t a merit. Plus, I’ve researched the reason behind your rank. All the credit belongs to the fact that you’re… not bad at fighting. Literacy competence was never tested.” Uncle Huang really didn’t appear interested in praising me whatsoever. “Anyway, you’re in Quanmu. If you’re attending, the door is over there. If you’re not attending, the door is also over there.”