The bald instructor, preoccupied with Zhong Yun, had lost control of his force; everyone else, save Zhong Yun, buckled under the ravaging cold and collapsed.

Just as Fei Liming was about to succumb, one instructor felt the bald man had gone too far and called out a warning.

In that split second of distraction, Zhong Yun sensed a momentary lapse in the oppressive cold that had been crushing him. His experience, forged in countless life-or-death sparring matches against stronger opponents in the "Practical Simulation Training," immediately registered the opening.

Pure defense and waiting for death were never his style; he had been eager to counterattack, knowing that only aggression offered a chance to turn defeat into victory, but he had been pinned down too tightly to find an opening.

Now that the opponent showed a crack, Zhong Yun acted without hesitation, stepping forward. A surge of purple light erupted from his body, tearing a fissure through the white mist.

The Yuan within Zhong Yun began to spin at incredible speed at his core, drawing everything inward, condensing into a tightly compressed sphere of Yuan.

"Break!"

With a heaven-shaking roar, the Yuan sphere shot down his arm, visibly swelling it by a full circumference as he unleashed the punch.

Sensing the shift in Qi dynamics, the bald instructor instantly grasped Zhong Yun’s intent, but it was too late. Zhong Yun’s advance, the piercing of the cold energy, and the punch were executed seamlessly, taking less than half a second. He only managed to throw his arm up defensively before his body.

With a sharp crack, the bald instructor was struck as if by a high-speed armored vehicle, spinning wildly as he was flung backward. A violent torrent, originating from Zhong Yun’s fist, formed a miniature horizontal cyclone, whipping up dust and causing the bonfire to sway wildly.

With a swish, every instructor snapped instantly to attention, their mouths gaping wide in stunned disbelief.

The scene fell into a terrifying silence, broken only by the sharp, rhythmic sound of gasping breaths.

The trainees were slow to react, frozen in place, staring at the young man who still held the posture of a completed swing. Each one looked as if struck by lightning, rendered speechless.

What had just happened? The bald instructor had been sent flying by that boy? It happened too fast, like a flash of lightning. None of the trainees saw the mechanics; it seemed the boy had only just managed to hold his ground, and in the next blink, the instructor was airborne.

The bald instructor groaned, “Mph-hmm,” bracing himself with one hand on the ground, struggling to rise. Midway through, his arm gave out, and he slumped back down.

The other instructors finally snapped out of their trance. Two rushed forward immediately to examine his injuries.

"Heh heh—" Zhong Yun, still holding his striking pose, suddenly let out a strange, harsh laugh that cut off abruptly after only two sounds. Then, perfectly straight, he pitched backward, landing with a heavy thud that kicked up a cloud of dust.

“Whoosh!” A figure, almost too fast for the naked eye to follow, darted out, snatched the fallen Zhong Yun, and vanished in just two blinks.

A slightly anxious voice echoed through the air: "I'm taking him to the doctor. You maintain order here."

The trainees finally shook off their shock, and a loud, buzzing clamor of discussion immediately erupted, everyone talking about the sudden turn of events.

However, the noise was swiftly quelled by the instructors. Under the weight of their established authority, the trainees quieted down, and order was restored.

The instructors quickly arranged for the bald instructor and the other eleven new trainees to be sent to the infirmary. The bonfire party ended abruptly, and all the schools returned to their respective dormitories.

In the infirmary, Yang Siqing looked at Zhong Yun, who lay on the white bed, her expression grave. His face was as pale as paper, completely drained of color. His lips were tinged purple, and a layer of white frost clung to his eyebrows. His body was trembling slightly.

Standing beside the bed, a young female doctor in a white gown frowned slightly, reaching out a slender, fair hand to test Zhong Yun’s forehead, then carefully examining his pupils.

"Undress him," the doctor said, her brow still furrowed, indicating the situation was far from optimistic.

Two nearby nurses helped lift Zhong Yun, removed his top, and gently laid him flat again. His well-proportioned upper body revealed an alarmingly unnatural pallor.

The female doctor reached out once more. Her fair palm was encased in a thin, pale blue, translucent film of energy. This energy seemed almost alive, constantly flowing. It was clean, transparent, without a single impurity—much like her delicate hand.

That slender hand pressed against the area over Zhong Yun’s heart. The pale blue energy flowed willingly from Zhong Yun’s skin into his body. A miraculous sight ensued: wisps of white vapor began to erupt from every pore on Zhong Yun’s body. The two nurses nearby felt the room temperature instantly plummet to freezing, shuddering involuntarily.

Yang Siqing waved her hand, signaling them to leave. Having witnessed countless inexplicable things here, the two nurses wisely departed.

This white mist was the residual Cold Energy ability—the cold-natured Yuan unique to the bald instructor—still lingering inside Zhong Yun. It had been destroying his tissues. If left inside, it could become life-threatening.

As the female doctor forced it out, Zhong Yun’s skin began to regain its color, and a flush returned to his cheeks.

Two minutes later, the doctor withdrew her hand, and the blue light vanished completely. She checked Zhong Yun’s forehead again, and her brow finally smoothed out.

"He’s fine now. Just ten days of proper rest, and he’ll be fully recovered," the doctor said, pulling the sheet up over Zhong Yun's bare torso.

"You instructors are something else, using such heavy-handed tactics on a child," she expressed her disapproval once she felt reassured. "If he hadn't been brought in immediately, this boy would have been ruined."

Yang Siqing managed a wry smile internally. Who could have guessed he was so fiercely stubborn? That spirit of fighting to the death had shaken even her deeply.

Before the female doctor could say more, the door was pushed open, and a nurse rushed in breathlessly: "Doctor Shui, you need to come quickly, we have another dozen injured trainees."

The female doctor shot Yang Siqing a sharp glare, but saving lives took precedence. She hurried out with the nurse.

Yang Siqing stood by the bedside, gazing at Zhong Yun's peaceful sleeping face, countless questions bubbling up inside her that she couldn't suppress. What secrets did Zhong Yun truly harbor?

A fifth-level martial artist at seventeen, possessing top-tier techniques; that single punch had severely wounded the bald man, who was several times stronger. Even acknowledging the bald man’s carelessness, such a disparity in power—the outcome was previously unimaginable.

Then, recalling his knowledge that surpassed even Elder Huang, the master of botany, and the machinery that drove B-grade mechanics to frenzy…

Zhong Yun truly was a monster who overturned everything people thought they knew.

P: Not pushing for the charts tonight, but updates will proceed as scheduled. A heads-up in advance.