Teacher by day, Farmer by passion

A few minutes passed, and the new batch of herbs was finally brought in.

Lotus crossed her arms, her lips curving into a smirk.

"Well, if these still aren't to your liking, perhaps we should just swap ingredients?"

Following her words, the crowd began to erupt in cheers.

"Hahaha look at him, he's so speechless!"

"The way I see it, he doesn't even know how to use the cauldron."

"Indeed, if professor Lotus lost, I'll run the ground naked three times, you hear me? Three times!"

"Hahaha and I'll eat shit."

No one now believed the newly appointed professor stood a chance.

Meanwhile, in the hastily arranged VIP section, Milson Edinburgh sat alongside Shan Yifeng.

Meanwhile, the two girls who had arrived with Ace earlier had vanished without a trace.

Yet, despite their absence, Milson felt oddly alone, not in a literal sense, but because no one else seemed remotely concerned.

Why is everyone so calm? Did they not notice their Disappearance at all? Or did they not care?

Just then, Shan Yifeng leaned in, his voice lighthearted yet brimming with mischief.

"Mister, why don't you propose a bet to the Headmaster? Bet on my master's victory, and you'll make easy money."

Milson arched a brow. "You ever gambled before?"

Shan Yifeng nodded enthusiastically. "Of course! My father used to take me to these places where you shake dice and pray for numbers. Whenever we were out of food, he took me there, and we always came back full."

Milson blinked. "Oh? So he was an expert?"

Shan Yifeng beamed, his eyes gleaming with pride. "The best."

But as the words left his lips, his mind drifted, tugged back into the past.

A flicker of memory surfaced, a small, dimly lit room filled with the clatter of silver coins spilling onto a rickety wooden table.

His father's laughter echoed in his ears, warm and triumphant. It was one of those nights, the kind where his father walked out of the gambling hall with a full purse instead of empty pockets.

Shan Yifeng, still just a boy, clutched at his father's sleeve, his tiny fingers curling into the worn fabric. "Dad, why are we going to eat chicken today? Shouldn't we save it for later?"

His father ruffled his hair, smiling down at him. "My son, we don't have the luxury to plan for the future. Eat what Daddy gives you. The future is my burden, not yours."

His voice was so certain, so full of quiet strength. At that moment, Shan Yifeng believed him.

The warmth of the memory lingered for just a moment before reality pulled him back.

"Spirit milk…" he murmured absently.

Milson frowned. "Spirit milk? What's that?"

Shan Yifeng blinked, then shook his head. "Nothing. Anyway, can you gamble in my place?"

Milson scoffed. "Hey, I never said I wouldn't gamble."

Shan Yifeng grinned. "Then what are we waiting for?"

Milson glanced toward Headmaster Amon, who was locked in a hushed conversation with one of his professors.

Though a sound-repellent formation was in place, blocking all external noise, voices from the outside could still enter.

With a lazy wave of his hand, Milson called out. "Sir Amon, I have something to say to you."

The headmaster stiffened, snapping his head around before quickly composing himself. "Ah, esteemed guest."

His face stretched into a polite, almost forced smile.

Milson couldn't help but find it amusing.

The Headmaster, one of the most authoritative figures in the academy, trying so hard to act hospitable.

It was both funny and strangely... admirable.

Milson leaned forward, voice laced with amusement. "Shall we make a bet?"

Amon's brow furrowed.

He reached up, already pulling down the sound-repellent formation with a flick of his wrist.

"A bet?" The professor beside him asked. "On what exactly?"

Milson's gaze shifted to the unfamiliar man speaking so casually with Amon. His eyes narrowed slightly. "And you are…?"

Amon gestured dismissively. "Oh, this is my brother, Pot Black. He's also a professor at the academy."

But before he could continue, Pot Black cut in. "Indeed! One of the rarest, I might add. I recently achieved the rank of Grade 4 Formation Master. Decided to lend a hand in managing this academy with my 'younger brother' here."

He patted Amon's shoulder with an exaggerated grin.

Milson barely had time to process before a confident voice cut through the air behind him.

"I bet my master will win the competition. Let's wager 50,000 taels of gold."

All eyes turned toward the source.

Shan Yifeng strolled forward, hands in his pockets, his every step oozing confidence.

Not arrogance but pure unshakable faith.

Pot Black snorted. "Boy, do you even have that much?"

Shan Yifeng shrugged, completely unfazed. "I don't. But my master does."

His smirk widened as he pointed to Milson. "And the Duke's only son here will vouch for me."

Milson froze. His lips parted, but no words came out for a second. Then, blinking in disbelief, he finally managed,

"Wait. What?"

"Interesting. I'll take you up on that," Pot Black said, his lips curling into a knowing smirk.

Amon shifted uncomfortably, clearly wanting to intervene.

His mouth opened, but he hesitated, his gaze flickering toward Pot Black's expression.

Something about it made him pause.

Meanwhile, Shan Yifeng tugged at Milson's sleeve, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

Milson sighed, rubbing his temples. "Yes, yes, fine. I'll vouch for the kid."

Amon, however, wasn't ready to let it go just yet. He stepped forward, lowering his voice as if speaking to a wayward child. "Little boy, shouldn't you consult your master first? 50,000 taels of gold is no small sum."

Shan Yifeng simply tilted his head. "Why? I already know what he'll say."

Amon's brow twitched. "And what exactly is that?"

The boy grinned. "You made pocket money? Keep it."

Amon exhaled slowly, his patience wearing thin. "Even so, shouldn't you be more cautious with such a large bet?"

Shan Yifeng crossed his arms. "Headmaster, are you actually worried that my master might actually win the contest?"