Awakening Depths
The silence after Wu Zhangkong's departure was a tangible thing, thick with the scent of sweat, ozone, and fading cold. For a long moment, the only sounds in the advanced training arena were the ragged draws of breath and the soft drip-drip of melting ice from Xie Xie's uniform.
Though his soul power reserves hadn't swollen from the brutal half-hour, Yao Xuan felt a fundamental shift within. His reactions had sharpened, his control over the surging, primordial energy of his soul had gained a finer edge, and his combat intuition now hummed with a new, instinctive frequency. He estimated his practical effectiveness had grown by a fifth—not through raw power, but through integration.
Across the arena, Wu Zhangkong watched the four students recover, his face an impassive glacier. Yet beneath the ice, a seismic shift of recognition had occurred. He had witnessed Yao Xuan's adaptation in real-time—not the clumsy adjustments of a student following instruction, but the organic, self-directed evolution of a predator learning its own strength. No guidance had been given, only pressure, and from that pressure, Yao Xuan had forged improvement. This transcended talent. This was the hallmark of a once-in-an-era vessel, capable of not just entering Shrek Academy, but of someday casting a shadow within the hallowed Sea God Pavilion itself. Yao Xuan was no longer just a promising student; he was a cosmic restitution, a rough-hewn masterpiece placed upon his anvil. Polishing him was no longer just a duty; it was a form of atonement.
"Hmm." The sound, a controlled exhalation, drew their bleary eyes to him. "Performance: minimally acceptable. Deficiencies: numerous. I will now catalog them."
He proceeded, his voice dissecting their teamwork with surgical coldness. Yet, for those listening closely, the absence of scathing contempt was itself a form of high praise. For a first coordinated effort against a foe like him, their cohesion—particularly the intuitive, non-verbal support between Yao Xuan and Gu Yue—had exceeded his severe expectations. Even Xie Xie's harassing maneuvers and Tang Wulin's stubborn, adaptive nuisance-work showed a spark he could fan into flame.
His gaze then fell on Tang Wulin, who was gingerly flexing his hammer-hand. "Tang Wulin. Your forging. Explain."
Tang Wulin stiffened, bracing for the familiar dismissal of his secondary path. "I... I have studied forging, Teacher Wu." A defensive pride tightened his voice.
"Indulgence," Wu Zhangkong stated, the word a verdict. "With a martial soul requiring exceptional dedication to overcome its… common perception, you scatter your focus? This is illogical."
Tang Wulin's eyes dropped to the scarred arena floor, the weight of his teacher's judgment pressing down his nascent pride.
"Teacher Wu," Yao Xuan's voice, calm but firm, cut through the chill. "Tang Wulin's talent in forging is genuine. He has reached Level 2 and shares my master, Mu Chen."
A barely perceptible ripple crossed Wu Zhangkong's features. "Mu Chen's apprentice? Both of you?" His eyes narrowed, recalculating. "The Saint Craftsman accepts no idle hands. Very well." He looked back at Tang Wulin. "If the path is open, then walk it with purpose. Forging can be more than a distraction; it can be an engine. Use it to fuel your ascent. Amass resources, commission spirit ascension platforms, seek out heaven-sent treasures to nourish your Blue Silver Grass. Your second profession must serve your first. Is that understood?"
The dismissal transformed into a daunting assignment. Tang Wulin's head snapped up, hope and determination blazing in his eyes. "Yes, Teacher Wu! Understood!"
"Your energy is depleted. Tonight concludes. Reflect. Iterate. Improve. Dismissed."
The soul-guiding shield around the arena hummed and fell. The oppressive, concentrated energy dissipated, leaving only the normal coolness of a large, empty space. Wu Zhangkong led them out into the corridor, the echoes of their footsteps a stark contrast to the earlier cacophony.
"Goodbye, Teacher Wu," they chorused, their voices layered with fatigue and a newfound, wary respect.
"Tomorrow. Same time. Do not be late. We begin with an assessment of mental fortitude." With that, he turned, his form melting into the shadows of the corridor.
Yao Xuan's gaze found Gu Yue. In the dim hallway light, her amethyst eyes seemed to hold fragments of the arena's vanished elemental storms. "You fought well today, Gu Yue. Your control is astonishing."
A faint, unexpected warmth touched her cheeks. His praise, unlike the teacher's analysis, felt… personal. "Your resilience is equally noteworthy, Yao Xuan. Until tomorrow." She offered a small, graceful nod, then turned, her footsteps silent as she moved toward the wing housing the girls' dormitory.
Yao Xuan watched her go for a second, then gently nudged the staggering Xie Xie. "Come on. Let's get you horizontal."
Back in the sanctuary of Dormitory 205, the familiar smells of wood and laundry were a balm. Xie Xie collapsed onto his bunk, muttering incoherently about "ice" and "swords" before almost instantly succumbing to sleep. Tang Wulin sat heavily on his own bed, methodically massaging his sore arms, his mind clearly churning over Wu Zhangkong's daunting new directive.
Yao Xuan sat cross-legged on his mattress, the day's exhaustion a deep ache in his bones. He closed his eyes, not to sleep, but to look inward.
A surge of pure satisfaction washed through him. The brutal training was a forge, and Evolution Points were the precious metal it produced. 'Conflict, challenge, pushing beyond limits… this is the most efficient path. The system rewards growth, not just existence.'
His focus shifted to the core of his being—the slumbering, immense power of the Ancestral Dragon Bloodline. He directed his intent.
'One hundred twenty points for a single percent,' he mused, a tactical frown touching his lips. 'The cost scales dramatically. Every point becomes more precious, every decision more critical.' There was no hesitation. "Confirm."
The change was not explosive, but profound. The 120 points dissolved not into light, but into a river of pure, primordial potential that flowed into his meridians. It was absorbed hungrily by the ancient strands of power woven into his very cells. He felt it not as a shock, but as a deep, resonant unfolding.
His bones hummed with a subtle, increased density. His muscles fibers, still aching from the fight, seemed to knit themselves back with a tougher, more resilient pattern. A wave of warmth radiated from his core, and when it passed, his dantian and meridians felt… roomier, as if they had expanded to accommodate a larger, more turbulent sea of soul power. His baseline physical strength, tested by countless forging strikes, now settled at a solid 2,500 kilograms—a tangible mark of the dragon's legacy stirring closer to the surface.
The dawn of the second day broke with the same cruel clarity. On the sun-baked playground, Class 5 groaned into motion under Wu Zhangkong's frosty gaze—all except one.
"Yao Xuan." The teacher's voice halted him as he moved to join the run. "Your physical regimen is inadequate. You will train with me."
While his classmates embarked on their grueling laps, Yao Xuan found himself once again in a secluded corner of the field, facing Wu Zhangkong. There were no spectators this time, only the two of them and the rising sun.
"Attack. Use everything you comprehend from yesterday."
For twenty minutes, it was not a lesson, but a distillation. Wu Zhangkong was a relentless mirror, reflecting every flaw in Yao Xuan's newfound instincts, forcing corrections through sheer, repetitive pressure. It was exhausting, depleting his soul power and burning his muscles to trembling protest.
But as Yao Xuan finally sank to one knee, gasping, the system's chime was a sweet reward.
The afternoon's collective physical training broke several students. As the third boy collapsed, Wu Zhangkong surveyed the field of heaving, defeated forms. "Enough. From tomorrow, physical conditioning is morning only. Afternoons will be dedicated to combat theory and technique. You lack the foundation to sustain this. Dismissed."
When evening bled into dusk, the four assembled once more outside the advanced training arena. Wu Zhangkong appeared precisely on time. But instead of leading them to the familiar gates, he turned.
"Follow. We begin with an assessment your bodies cannot provide."
He led them to a different structure on the academy grounds—a tall, windowless tower of dark stone, emanating a faint, psychic hum. The door swung open silently at his approach.
"Mental fortitude is the scaffold upon which power is built. Tonight, we measure yours."
As Yao Xuan crossed the threshold into the cool, silent darkness of the tower, he felt a new kind of anticipation. The training of the body had been fierce. Now, the refinement of the mind would begin. His bloodline thrummed in response, a deep, eager chord struck in the hidden places of his soul.