The next afternoon, Southland University dormitory building.
Chirp, chirp.
A couple of birds passed by outside the window, as if just returning to their nest, infusing the afternoon with a serene and tranquil atmosphere.
From outside the window, a breeze drifted into the dorm room.
It swept through the dormitory, reaching Andrew Han as he sat in the small common area.
“This breeze... is really comfortable.”
A faint smile curved Andrew Han’s lips. He glanced past the dorm room door at the lazy afternoon sunlight, feeling a rare sense of tranquility and leisure—a mood reminiscent of watching clouds drift by.
He closed his eyes,
and extended his right palm,
carefully feeling the changes in the air currents.
This was the movement of the wind, and also the power of nature itself.
“Every technique has its corresponding underlying order.”
“As for Cascade of Three Thousand Streams, I was mistaken about it. If a cascade can be a waterfall, why can’t it be a stream of wind?”
A quiet sense of understanding dawned in Andrew Han’s heart, bringing a faint, contented joy.
He finally understood why his Master insisted he come to Southland University—not just for the peaceful environment that allows relaxation, but for the knowledge it offers.
Every technique is the summary of vast knowledge.
This knowledge can be the fundamental laws of nature, the distilled essence of human emotion, or even the structures governing the body’s movements.
“That’s it.”
“To create a technique, one doesn’t need to grasp its principles completely—only to understand its order. That’s why a top-tier educational environment like Southland University, with its subtle influence, is truly invaluable.”
If one fully comprehends the principles, then one stands above techniques themselves.
As for techniques of the Three Realms of Martial Arts, they are simply the recognition of order, plus induction and summary. But Andrew Han is still far from being able to create a technique of his own.
This has nothing to do with talent, but is a matter of accumulated time.
Andrew Han was sitting with his eyes closed, quietly sensing the flow of the breeze. Beside him sat the silent Kevin Lin, quietly observing.
He clicked his tongue at Andrew Han’s dedication to martial arts.
It was as if he had truly fused martial arts into daily life, never letting a single moment go by without practice.
“Terrifying.”
“No wonder Andrew Han is a Peerless Prodigy.”
Kevin Lin leaned lightly against the back of his chair, idly flipping through his phone screen... Yes, this is what it means to be a Peerless Prodigy. Perhaps it’s precisely this mindset that makes someone truly peerless.
After a while,
when Andrew Han opened his eyes again, Kevin Lin finally asked in a low voice, “Andrew?”
“Hmm?”
Andrew Han gathered his thoughts and looked at Kevin Lin.
Since the start of the semester, Kevin Lin had often sought advice from Andrew Han, and gradually, they had become familiar with each other.
“The university forum is about to explode. Starting from last night, more than half the posts have been discussing you.” Kevin Lin pursed his lips, casually scrolling through his phone.
He didn’t know how to put it.
But that was the truth—these posts were mixed, some wildly enthusiastic, some reverently awed, some disdainful and scornful, and some fiercely critical.
Clearly,
it was a highly controversial topic, and many students had joined the debate. Among them, philosophy and Chinese majors stood out, their replies especially eloquent.
“Let them talk.”
Andrew Han waved his hand with a cheerful smile.
Regardless of praise or criticism, it’s already a settled fact.
Let the wind and rain come; better to remain unmoved.
In this life, since I no longer worship rigid hierarchies, I should walk forward freely and with conviction. Of course, this freedom must be built on a foundation of principle.
“But.”
“Honestly, deep down...” Andrew Han pursed his lips, covered his face, and sighed, “I really admire my own courage. If it were before, I’d probably have gone weak in the knees.”
“Ha, that’s just narcissism.” Kevin Lin scoffed.
“No, I was just thinking—when I was young, I used to fantasize about being in the spotlight like this. But when I grew up, I thought it was childish and foolish.” Andrew Han suddenly frowned. “So is it that we grew up, or that we changed?”
...
Kevin Lin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
How did the conversation turn to philosophy? He had no way to answer such a profound question about life. But Kevin Lin thought, it was both growing up and changing.
He only hoped,
none of them would become what they once despised.
Swipe, swipe.
He flipped through countless posts, suddenly grinning widely: “There’s a post saying you’re arrogant, and a philosophy major replied... ‘Either vulgar or lonely.’”
“And, and look at this one.”
“This post says you’re just seeking attention, trying to gain fame, and the philosophy major replied... ‘Not knowing one’s own ignorance is double ignorance.’”
Kevin Lin recounted these with obvious delight.
Beside him,
Andrew Han asked curiously, “Are they really philosophy majors? Those two lines are pretty deep.”
“Yeah, yeah.”