The change began with something almost trivial.
Fang Ze noticed it during morning reading class, right after the bell rang. Sunlight slanted through the classroom windows, catching the dust in lazy, drifting motes. Everything appeared ordinary—students hunched over books, teachers muttering instructions—but through the lens of the Spiritual Listening Gathering Technique, the world felt… subtly off.
Not dangerous.
Just… unfamiliar.
It was like the air carried a faint echo, barely there, a quiet pulse almost imperceptible unless one truly listened.
Fang Ze turned a page slowly, eyes calm. This was the kind of irregularity that marked the earliest stirrings of an era shift: weak nodes forming and dispersing naturally, unnoticed by ordinary perception. Most people would never feel it.
A yawn sounded two seats away. A boy scratched his head, still oblivious.
During physical education, a few students complained of feeling lighter while running laps. One of them laughed, claiming he nearly jumped too far during a long-jump attempt. The teacher scolded him, dismissing it as childish exaggeration.
Fang Ze observed quietly. Nothing to panic over. Just small ripples of change brushing against the world.
Near the edge of the sports field, an old row of trees swayed gently though no wind stirred the leaves. The ground beneath them felt faintly warmer. A weak spiritual convergence, barely enough to register, yet undeniably present.
At lunch, Su Qingxue leaned across the table, her voice barely above the chatter of the cafeteria. "Do you feel it?" she asked. "Like… today is different."
Fang Ze nodded once, serene as always. "It'll pass."
She studied him for a moment, eyes curious, then smiled faintly. "You always say that."
After school, Fang Ze took the long way home, walking past the unused storage shed near the back of the campus. The place had been ignored for years; weeds sprouted unevenly, some leaves unnaturally green.
He stopped.
Raising his hand casually, he traced a near-invisible Sword-Draw Gesture. No sound. No flare. Only a gentle thread of Qi spread, seeping into the faint spiritual concentration around the shed, loosening it, settling it naturally, like mist drawn apart by sunlight.
Problem solved. For now.
Two students passed by, arguing animatedly about starting a "jump training club" because everyone had been feeling inexplicably energetic lately. Fang Ze walked past them, expression calm, steps measured, as if the ordinary noise of the world could not touch him.
That evening, at home, his sisters complained about sleeplessness, their bodies humming with unusual vitality. Fang Ze guided them through a few simple breathing exercises, subtle adjustments to calm their qi, nothing more.
Later, lying by his window, Fang Ze listened to the world again. The city hummed quietly under the fading light. The wind carried faint, almost imperceptible vibrations—tiny ripples in the spiritual fabric of reality.
The Golden Era wasn't roaring.
It was knocking—politely.
And this school had simply been among the first to hear it.
Fang Ze's lips curved slightly. No rush. No noise. The era would unfold in its own time.
And when it did, he would already be waiting.