# 460
Chapter 460 – Social Anxiety
“So it was supposed to be combat training, but he just beat us up for no reason, then walked off without a single pointer…” Cao Yuan shook his head. “I don’t get him.”
Baili Pangpang nodded vigorously. “I swear the Sword Saint’s brain is wired differently from normal people.”
“What kind of normal guy becomes a waiter after turning into a Sword Saint?”
“And I keep feeling he doesn’t really want to talk to us.”
“Same here.”
“…You think he’s got social anxiety?” Baili Pangpang asked, face twisted in disbelief.
Cao Yuan shot him a look. “He’s a Human Apex. Being aloof is normal. No way he’s socially anxious.”
“……”
“Besides, what socially-awkward person insists everyone call him ‘Sword Saint’?” Cao Yuan added. “That chuuni title doesn’t sound like something a shut-in would pick.”
“But he really is the Sword Saint.” Baili Pangpang sighed. “Honestly, in this day and age, the mere existence of a Sword Saint blows my mind. Aren’t those guys supposed to be in ancient times or fantasy worlds?
It’s hard to picture a modern city of steel and glass where some guy in a shirt and sneakers walks out of a greasy-spoon diner, draws his sword, and lops a god’s head off…
The whole vibe feels wrong.
As for Sword Immortals—don’t even dream.”
“Keyboard saints everywhere, Sword Immortals nowhere,” An Qingyu dead-panned.
“Whatever the case, the Sword Saint is a genuine Human Apex,” Lin Qiye said slowly. “His personality’s a puzzle, but his strength is real. Commander Ye paid a steep price to bring him here; he must believe we can learn something.”
Everyone nodded.
Lin Qiye glanced at the sky. “Let’s call it a day. Get some rest. Tomorrow will probably hurt just as much…”
……
Next morning.
Lin Qiye’s alarm yanked him awake. He rolled out of bed, washed up, and hurried to the open space in the center of the warehouse.
Learning from yesterday, the group had agreed to get up earlier; a Human Apex shouldn’t have to wait for them.
Yet when Lin Qiye arrived, he realized he’d still been naïve.
Zhou Ping was already standing in the middle, wielding a feather duster from nowhere, meticulously dusting a corner. Dark circles ringed his eyes, yet he looked alert.
“…Good morning, Senior Sword Saint.” Lin Qiye checked the time—six a.m., the sun not fully up—and twitched.
Zhou Ping gave a small nod and a grunt.
Then returned to his dusting.
“You can sleep in. Class starts at eight.” Having finished one corner, he moved to the next. “When I worked at the shop, Third Uncle got up early to prep ingredients. I’d clean before opening. Years of habit.”
“Running a diner needs a predawn start?”
“Third Uncle is a details man. He spends more time prepping than cooking, which is why he only serves a few dishes a day.” Zhou Ping’s tone was flat. “Quality over quantity.”
Lin Qiye nodded thoughtfully.
Soon the others trickled in, all wearing odd expressions at the sight of Zhou Ping working.
“Qiye, shouldn’t we help?” Cao Yuan whispered.
Lin Qiye shook his head. “I offered. He wouldn’t let me…”
“So we just watch?”
“Looks like it.”
Each grabbed a small stool and sat in a row, silently observing Zhou Ping’s focused figure.
He stayed busy, pouring total concentration into whatever he did. Every grout line had to be spotless; every wall smudge erased, even if it took ten, twenty, thirty wipes…
No repetition bored him; he threw his whole being into each motion.
It felt less like cleaning and more like carving a masterpiece.
They stared, transfixed. Light brightened; sunbeams slanted through high windows, gilding the floor. Soap suds and mist caught the rays, forming faint rainbow glints.
Before they knew it, eight o’clock arrived.
Zhou Ping rolled his sleeves down, stowed the supplies, and faced them.
“This morning: read.” He spoke slowly. “But read with total focus. Immerse yourselves. Become the characters. Feel everything they feel. Understood?”
They nodded.
Each pulled a book from the crate and returned to their stools. Lin Qiye picked *The Smiling, Proud Wanderer*. He’d read most of it before, but that didn’t matter.
As Zhou Ping said, he wasn’t just reading—he was stepping into the role.
He inhaled, opened to the first page, and began, word by word.
Zhou Ping took *The Legend of the Condor Heroes*, sat by the warehouse door, and read in earnest.
Silence. Only the occasional rustle of pages.
Hours later Lin Qiye closed the book.
He stared at the publisher and price on the back cover, dazed. A storm of emotions churned inside.
He had followed Zhou Ping’s instruction, thrown himself into Linghu Chong’s skin, lived the ups and downs, felt every feeling—never had he read a novel like this.
Yet the “power” Zhou Ping spoke of remained elusive.
He glanced at the others; identical frustration stared back.
They were about to speak—then froze.
By the doorway, framed in sunlight, the solitary reader sat clutching his book…
Tears streaming down his face.