The Almighty Martial Arts System - Chapter 248

The robe was a custom-made garment from the Chinese Medicine Association, identical to the one Jiang Fei had worn during the Sino-Western Medical Exchange.

After becoming the Association’s president, Jiang Fei had several tailored. Today, he chose a pure white robe with the signature cuffs rolled up slightly, the top button left unfastened at the neck. His hair was neatly styled but unstyled—no hair gel, as his hair was naturally short. With a warm smile, he carried an air of effortless wisdom—scholarly yet approachable, dignified yet unpretentious. He moved with the grace of a Confucian scholar, yet there was something undeniably princely about him.

The moment Jiang Fei stepped onto the stage, the auditorium erupted in applause and cheers.

Someone in the crowd broke convention—instead of calling him “Dr. Jiang,” “Master Jiang,” or “Professor Jiang,” they addressed him with the classical honorific:

“Mr. Jiang.”

This wasn’t the spousal “Mr.” (as in husband). It was the traditional term of respect for scholars—a title reserved for those with genuine knowledge and status, like how Lu Xun was often called “Mr. Lu Xun.”

“Mr. Jiang is so handsome!”
“I didn’t expect him to look this good when he’s not playing piano!”
“Now this is a real heartthrob—way better than those flashy celebrities!”
“Who knew traditional robes could look this good? Our literature department should make them our uniform!”

A year ago, standing before a packed auditorium at Peking University would’ve made Jiang Fei nervous. Now? He felt only excitement.

This crowd of 800 was nothing compared to the tens of thousands at Qiao Yiyi’s concert—the infamous “Black Ocean” incident.

But today’s event mattered more.

Not every Peking University student would change the world. Some might even underperform compared to those who never attended college.

Yet right now, they represented the best of their generation—the ones who’d survived the gauntlet of China’s college entrance exams. Statistically, this room held tomorrow’s leaders.

If Jiang Fei could influence even a few of their worldviews, the impact would surpass anything he’d done at the Medical Association. That’s why he’d accepted Vice President Liu’s invitation without hesitation.

Like he’d told Liu Yunduo, the new head of the Swordsmanship Alliance: He’d once been an idealistic patriot. Adulthood had tempered but not erased that fire.

…..

Host Zhang Liwei hurried over to clip a microphone to Jiang Fei’s robe—a necessity in this cavernous hall unless he’d mastered the legendary Lion’s Roar technique.

The audience chuckled at their proximity. Unfazed, Jiang Fei grinned:

“This is my second time at Peking University. The first was during the Medical Exchange. Both visits confirmed what I’d always heard—your university truly embodies inclusivity, academic freedom, diligence, rigor, truth-seeking, and innovation.”

The crowd gasped—he’d flawlessly quoted Peking University’s official motto.

“But there’s one thing that surprised me,” Jiang Fei continued, pausing dramatically as students braced for criticism.

“I never expected so many beautiful women here!” He laughed. “I used to think Peking University students were all bookish, glasses-wearing nerds. You’ve completely changed my mind—apparently, geniuses can be stylish and vibrant too!”

After a beat of stunned silence, the room exploded in laughter and cheers.

Zhang Liwei covered her mouth, giggling. The ice was broken.

Jiang Fei had planned this as an interactive session, not a stuffy lecture. Tradition didn’t have to be boring—even ancient medicine could be taught with humor.

The first segment was an interview: