The cafeteria air still lingered around Yang Feng as he leaned down to help Zhao Lei to his feet. His hand extended, steady and calm, a contrast to the chaos that had just unfolded moments ago. Zhao Lei hesitated for a moment, his face flushed with embarrassment, but he eventually took Yang Feng's hand.
"Are you okay?" Yang Feng asked, his tone casual, almost disinterested, as though the events of the last few minutes were inconsequential.
Zhao Lei nodded quickly, brushing dust off his uniform. "I'm okay. Thanks." His voice carried a mix of gratitude and awkwardness.
Yang Feng smirked faintly and shrugged. "No problem. I did it for myself anyway."
Zhao Lei glanced at the spilled food that had stained the floor and table, then turned back to thank Yang Feng again—but the space where Yang Feng had stood was empty. He blinked, confused, scanning the cafeteria, only to find no trace of the boy who had saved him. "Heh?" Zhao Lei muttered, his voice tinged with disbelief.
Meanwhile Outside the cafeteria, Yang Feng walked quietly, his steps steady but unhurried. The air outside was cool, a soft breeze carrying faint traces of the evening sky's dimming warmth. Time went on to deplete as he approached the dorms, he sighed and muttered to himself, "What a twist... In the end, I had to step in."
The words hung in the air briefly before a loud cheer startled him. He stopped in his tracks, his sharp hearing picking up the echo of voices that seemed to rise and fall in waves. Then, a louder burst of cheering rolled through the air, carried by an increasing number of voices. His head tilted slightly as he strained to hear more clearly.
The sound of running footsteps followed. A group of students darted past him, their faces lit with excitement and urgency. One of them called out, "Come on! The match between the golden ranks is about to start!"
Another student, running beside the first, shouted, "Hurry, we'll miss it!"
Yang Feng stood still, the words catching his attention. "A match between two golden ranks?" he murmured, his curiosity piqued. His eyes narrowed as he whispered to himself, "Interesting."
Turning in the direction the students had gone, he began walking, his pace calm yet deliberate. As he moved, the noise grew louder, transforming from an indistinct roar to a cacophony of cheers and chants. The students' excitement was contagious, and although Yang Feng's expression remained neutral, the thought of witnessing such a match stirred something within him.
After a short while, Yang Feng arrived at a massive, circular coliseum that loomed before him like a titan. Its towering stone walls were etched with intricate carvings, depicting battles of old. The air vibrated with the crowd's enthusiasm, their cheers reverberating off the coliseum's high arches like waves crashing against the shore.
Yang Feng stopped for a moment, taking in the sheer scale of the structure. The screams of the audience, as loud and piercing as the cries of a phoenix, reached him even outside the coliseum walls. A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "Looks like I'm in for a show," he muttered, striding forward.
As he entered the coliseum, the atmosphere shifted dramatically. The massive arena stretched out before him, its sheer size and grandeur almost overwhelming. The central stage, a circular platform made of polished stone, gleamed under the moonlight pouring in from above. It was surrounded by tiered seating that climbed high into the sky, packed to the brim with students shouting and cheering in eager anticipation.
Yang Feng walked into the crowded stands, blending into the throngs of students who were talking animatedly. His eyes scanned the arena, taking in the sight of the endless rows of spectators, each one immersed in the charged atmosphere. Suddenly, a familiar voice cut through the noise.
"Hey! Hey!"
Yang Feng turned, his eyes narrowing as he searched for the source of the voice. A hand waved enthusiastically from a nearby section of the stands. It was Zhao Lei, grinning broadly and signaling for him to come over.
Yang Feng raised an eyebrow. "Oh, the guy from before. How is he here?" he muttered to himself, his tone laced with mild surprise. Zhao Lei continued waving, his enthusiasm undeterred.
Yang Feng sighed. "Whatever, I should atleast join him," he said quietly, weaving through the crowd toward the spot Zhao Lei had saved for him. He slid into the seat beside Zhao Lei, who turned to him with an apologetic grin.
"Hey,...Sorry if I was being too loud," Zhao Lei said sheepishly.
Yang Feng shook his head, offering a faint smile. "No problem."
Zhao Lei held out a basket of popcorn, his expression earnest. "Here. Take this as an apology for... you know, spilling your food."
Yang Feng blinked in surprise but didn't decline. He accepted the basket, the buttery aroma wafting up to him. "I'll happily accept your apology," he said, a rare hint of warmth in his voice.
Zhao Lei chuckled nervously before shifting in his seat. "I just wanted to say... I'm really thankful for what you did back there. If you ever need something, just find me, okay? I'll help however I can."
Yang Feng raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his expression. "How can I find you when I don't even know your name?"
Zhao Lei rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "Oh, right. Forgive me—I can be forgetful sometimes. My name's Zhao Lei."
Yang Feng extended his hand, his grip firm but not overly so. "Yang Feng. Nice to meet you."
Zhao Lei nodded, his smile widening as they shook hands. But before either of them could say more, a booming voice echoed across the coliseum, amplified by some unseen technique.
"Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the faceoff of the century!"
The crowd erupted into wild cheers, the stands shaking under the force of their excitement. The announcer continued, his voice charged with enthusiasm. "This is gold like you've never seen before—literally! Today, we have a match between two golden ranks. That's right, folks, the elite of the elite, here to put on a show you won't forget!"
Yang Feng's attention shifted to the arena as two figures emerged from opposite sides of the platform. Both wore uniforms marked with golden strokes, their presence commanding respect and admiration from the crowd.
On one side stood a tall figure wielding a spear, its shaft gleaming under the moonlight. The other combatant, slightly shorter but no less imposing, carried a sword that radiated a faint, golden aura.
"May the battles begin!" the announcer declared, his voice drowned out by the deafening roar of the audience.