It Turns Out The Master's Wife Is Actually Me [GL] - Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Cheng Fu gritted her teeth behind a polite smile.

To keep up with the curriculum and avoid looking foolish in front of her peers, she had spent the entire morning frantically skimming through basic theories of sword cultivation. She had swallowed the information whole, barely digesting a fraction of it.

As for the underlying principles of how a magic cultivator (Dafa) drives a sword? She was truly  ten holes open with nine plugged completely clueless.

Before Cheng Fu could gather her thoughts, Du Minglan began his questioning with a kind air:

Tell me, in the sword techniques of splitting, hacking, pointing, and stabbing when driving the sword with spiritual power, what specific paths does that energy take through the meridians? And approximately how much force is required for control?

The hall fell into a dead silence.

Those capable of studying within the Zhiwang Academy were the cream of the crop among cultivators of their age, both in theory and practice. Sword theory was something they usually had at their fingertips.

However, a magic cultivator practicing the sword was a very niche branch, and not many present understood the underlying mechanics.

Still a disciple accepted by the Sword Sovereign despite being a magic cultivator must surely have done some research in this area, right?

For a fleeting moment, the room was still.

Everyone waited in tense anticipation for Cheng Fu’s performance. Would she answer with flamboyant confidence or composed elegance?

Regarding the conduct of the Sword Sovereign’s disciple, the students didn’t gossip openly, but they were young curiosity was bound to simmer beneath the surface.

Under the watchful eyes of the crowd, Cheng Fu’s expression remained unchanged, her gaze calm as she looked directly at the gentle, smiling young man holding the scroll on the podium.

She parted her lips and confessed with blunt efficiency: I don’t know.

As the words fell, an uncontrollable low hiss of disappointment rippled through the classroom.

They had imagined a thousand different scenarios for the Sovereign’s disciple, but being unable to answer wasn’t one of them.

Beyond the shock, a wave of deep disappointment washed over the crowd; their evaluation of Cheng Fu plummeted to rock bottom.

This disciple of the Sword Sovereign was among the first to arrive at the academy today. She looked so diligent, yet she couldn’t even explain the basic theory of the core subject she was supposed to major in?

Inwardly, they compared themselves to her and they weren’t half bad.

This Cheng Fu was only at the early stage of Golden Core (Jindan), which placed her at the tail end of the academy’s rankings.

They had assumed she must be exceptionally outstanding in other areas, but finding her theoretical knowledge mediocre made it difficult to see what made her special at all.

The students began to doubt the truth of the rumors they had heard.

What exactly did the Sword Sovereign see in such an ordinary female magic cultivator?

As these thoughts echoed in everyone’s minds, the smile in Du Minglan’s eyes faltered slightly. He waved his hand, maintaining his amiable facade: In that case, please sit down.

Cheng Fu acted as if she hadn’t heard him. She remained standing straight, her eyes clear as she gazed at Du Minglan.

Du Minglan’s brow twitched: “If you cannot answer, do not remain standing you are blocking the view of the classmates behind you.

Suddenly, Cheng Fu raised her hand. Her voice was slow, enunciating every word: I do not know what the theory is. But, if you are asking how to demonstrate the splitting, hacking, pointing, and stabbing with spiritual power in a space as cramped as this classroom, and how to control the force.

Without the ritualistic gestures typical of magic cultivators casting spells, she simply hovered her fingertips in the air. A stream of pale green spiritual power flowed out like a trickling brook, circling gracefully and effortlessly around the heads of everyone in the hall.

The path of the spiritual power was intentionally routed through numerous obstacles. Every time it was about to collide, it would bank and pivot at the very last second, narrowly avoiding impact.

After the pale green stream completed its leisurely demonstration, it headed straight for Du Minglan. It mimicked the movements of splitting, hacking, pointing, and stabbing against his crown, shoulders, chest, and lower back respectively.

The force was controlled to perfection; just like before, it veered off at the final moment.

After the entire demonstration, the spiritual circulation was so refined that it didn’t even ruffle a single corner of Du Minglan’s robes.

The entire classroom went silent. It was a masterful display of precision control.

There was no heavy, overbearing surge of power, no shocking display of brute force conquering all it was simply the ultimate expression of exquisite and accurate spiritual manipulation.

And this was precisely what sword arts emphasized most.

The reason the sword is considered the Gentleman of Weapons isn’t just because it looks decent and elegant.

More importantly, a practitioner of the sword must focus on detail and technique, emphasizing control over the minute and observation of the situation.

To a sword cultivator, cultivation realm is merely the foundation of strength; the refinement of sword skill and the execution of techniques are not dictated solely by one’s rank.

It is precisely because sword cultivators are skilled at observing details and controlling the flow of battle that they find it easier to spot an opponent’s weakness.

In battles across different cultivation realms, those who create miracles are often the sword cultivators with hearts as meticulous as fine silk.

The silence was suddenly broken by a few crisp sounds.

Du Minglan’s smile actually grew more radiant. He began to clap slowly, appearing to highly approve of Cheng Fu’s performance, showing no trace of anger or embarrassment at having his authority challenged.

He signaled for Cheng Fu to sit with a beaming face, praising her with apparent sincerity: As expected of the Sword Sovereign’s disciple, gifted indeed. At a bone age of only eighteen an age where the bones haven’t even fully hardened you can control spiritual power with such autonomy. Truly, heroes come from the youth, Young Lady Cheng.

The young students in the hall fell into an even deeper silence.

Outside, they were all minor geniuses in their own right. Cultivators have long lifespans; living for a thousand years is nothing out of the ordinary.

Most of the disciples present had a bone age of around thirty, already considered the youngest of the young geniuses.

Eighteen? At eighteen, they were likely still in the Foundation Establishment stage. In terms of sword technique and control, most of them wouldn’t have even scratched the surface.

What kind of monster was this Cheng Fu?

Being an eighteen-year-old Golden Core was one thing, but her control was more exquisite than theirs and they were sword cultivators who practiced every single day?

The students who had initially felt contempt for Cheng Fu’s lack of theory now felt like they had failed to recognize a diamond in the rough.

At a bone age of eighteen with this level of control, who cares about theory?

Theory is a guide for students who haven’t found their way.

Geniuses are different. Geniuses don’t need a guide; they perceive the path themselves.

Du Minglan chuckled and continued his lecture.

The morning classes passed quickly.

Because of her young age and that display of peerless control, Cheng Fu’s reputation was mythologized as it spread like wildfire through the academy.

She listened with a face full of shame to the whispers of her classmates, wishing they would lower their voices.

Gossiping right next to her was bad enough, but did they have to speak so loudly? Were they afraid she wouldn’t hear?

Cheng Fu’s ears were filled with rainbow farts lavish praise like genius of control and the light of magic cultivators. She was so embarrassed she wanted to dig a hole and live as a quiet little mole.

In truth, she hadn’t intended for this to happen. It was just that the teacher, surnamed Du, had such a punchable smile.

Cheng Fu hadn’t been able to help herself and used her control to silently shut him up.

Normally, this wouldn’t be a big deal, but the problem was she already had a reputation to uphold, and now she had effectively cemented it.

Cheng Fu, feeling drained of life, dragged her weak legs toward the dining hall.

She hadn’t gone far when a slightly familiar voice, breathless, rang out behind her: Hello! Are you that disciple of the Sword Sovereign Cheng Fu?