The morning sun spilled across the plaza of Beijing No. 3 High School, casting long, slanted shadows over the neatly paved paths.
On the surface, it was an ordinary weekday—students arriving in clusters, teachers greeting one another, the distant hum of traffic beyond the gates.
Yet the air carried a difference.
The global disturbances of the previous day had not fully dissipated. What remained was not chaos, but a faint, lingering tremor—subtle enough to escape conscious notice, yet present all the same. For a few sensitive students, it felt like a low vibration beneath their skin, a quiet pressure in their chest that came and went without explanation.
Inside the classrooms, something stirred.
The young prodigies of this generation—still unaware of the awakening awaiting them—shifted restlessly in their seats. A barely perceptible hum resonated through bone and blood alike, a whisper from the returning spiritual tide. It did not announce itself loudly. It waited.
Anomalies began to surface.
A desk shuddered once, then stilled. A ceiling fan rotated slowly despite the power switch remaining off. Along the windowpanes, faint motes of light danced and faded, as though reflections without a source.
"Did you feel that?" "Was that… just me?"
"Something's different today."
Whispers spread, half-joking, half-nervous.
Fang Ze moved through the hallways with his hands in his pockets, his steps unhurried. His gaze swept calmly across the surroundings, noting each fluctuation—the unstable energy coiling around a timid student, the suppressed excitement of those whose bodies were beginning to resonate naturally with the spiritual field.
To ordinary eyes, he was simply composed.
To those sensitive enough, he was something else entirely.
Where the spiritual currents grew turbulent, they softened in his vicinity. Where chaos threatened to bloom, it receded. He was not suppressing the tide—only guiding its flow.
Su Qingxue walked beside him, her attention drifting between her classmates. She could feel it now more clearly than before—a subtle pull within her own cultivation, gentle yet persistent. Her breathing quickened as she lowered her voice.
"Fang Ze… is it really starting here? At school?"
He glanced at her, his expression tranquil, almost detached. "Yes. The Spiritual Era is returning. Today, the resonance is clearer. Not everyone will awaken—but those with affinity will feel the first stirrings."
By mid-morning, the initial awakenings appeared.
In the back row of one classroom, a timid boy gasped softly as energy surged from his dantian, spilling outward in flickering strands of light across his fingertips. He panicked, clenching his hands—only for the phenomenon to vanish moments later.
In the art room, a girl unconsciously traced patterns in the air, leaving behind faint green streaks that dissolved as quickly as they formed. She stared at her empty fingers, heart racing.
Each awakening was crude. Unstable. Incomplete.
Yet the potential was undeniable.
Sensing the rising fluctuations, Fang Ze guided Su Qingxue toward a quieter courtyard at the edge of the campus. The noise of the school faded into the background, replaced by rustling leaves and open sky.
"Focus," he said softly. "Do not force the flow. Feel it. Listen to it."
Su Qingxue closed her eyes, recalling the cultivation method Fang Ze had entrusted to her the previous week—a technique designed to be gentle yet resilient, harmonizing body and spirit rather than overwhelming it.
Her breathing slowed.
A faint glow gathered at her palm as the energy aligned naturally with her aura. This time, the sensation did not scatter. It condensed.
Her cultivation pulsed—quietly, decisively—pushing past the limits of the second layer.
She opened her eyes, breath unsteady, but her gaze was firm.
A breakthrough.
Meanwhile, within secured observation rooms, HSAB monitors registered unusual spikes centered around the school. Data streams showed brief distortions, abnormal readings, and fleeting anomalies. Analysts exchanged glances—but no intervention was authorized.
There was no violence. No collapse. No loss of control.
And so, the Bureau observed.
Unnoticed by them all, Fang Ze remained the calm eye of the storm.
By evening, the courtyard lay peaceful once more. Students carried with them a lingering sense of serenity, unaware that a seed had already been planted within their bodies—a first connection to the returning world.
Fang Ze returned home and guided his sisters through careful meditative breathing, ensuring their foundations remained stable. Across the city, Su Qingxue mirrored the same rhythm in her own room, her heart still racing with the quiet thrill of awakening.
The Golden Era continued its slow, relentless advance.
Today, its first ripples had reached the younger generation.
And as always, Fang Ze stood at the center—not as a beacon drawing attention, but as the unseen hand ensuring that the awakening did not descend into chaos.
Not yet.