Instincts, Iron, and Invitations
The primal urge that surged through Gu Yue—the magnetic, almost feral pull toward the radiant aura of Yao Xuan's unveiled Ancestral Dragon form—was as startling to her as it was potent. It was a whisper from the blood, a song from a time when dragons were not spirits in human shells, but sovereigns of mountain and sky. For a single, dizzying heartbeat, the rational Silver Dragon King receded, and the elemental dragoness within yearned to bridge the gap, to taste the purity of that primordial power on her tongue, to press against the source of her own being.
But she was not ruled by instinct. She was its master. The wave of longing crested, then was calmly, ruthlessly compartmentalized. 'Patience,' the strategist within her counseled. 'Recklessness breeds fear. What is sown in frenzy is reaped in ruin.' She understood the delicate tapestry she was weaving with Yao Xuan. He was drawn to her—the bond of their shared, if unremembered, origin, coupled with her own cultivated presence, ensured that. To act on this raw impulse would shatter the careful trust and growing affection. It was a step backward, not forward.
A more elegant path lay ahead. The winter break invitation. A journey to her "family's" home would serve a dual purpose: a formal test to confirm his identity for her people, and, just as importantly, a prolonged, intimate opportunity to deepen their bond away from the academy's bustle. It was a perfect catalyst. She let the dragon's whisper fade into a background hum, a secret warmth in her chest, as she focused on the present.
That present was Yao Xuan, now fully possessed by the Ancestral Dragon, drawing back his shimmering, scaled fist. The air in the testing chamber seemed to hold its breath.
BOOM.
The impact wasn't just a sound; it was a physical event. The reinforced floor transmitted a deep tremor. The massive testing apparatus, built to withstand Soul Elder-level forces, shuddered violently on its mounts. On the screen, the numbers blazed crimson: 7,540 kg. And there, on the indented strike plate of thousand-refined metal, a spiderweb of fine, hairline cracks radiated from the point of impact.
Wang Jinxi felt a hollow sensation in his gut. His own proud 500 kilograms now seemed laughably insignificant. This wasn't just a gap; it was the difference between a creek and a tectonic plate. Zhang Yangzi simply stopped trying to comprehend. The world had revealed a new set of rules, and Yao Xuan was writing them.
Wu Zhangkong's analytical gaze burned with a fierce, almost predatory light. This was no longer just a promising student; this was a unique phenomenon, a tactical puzzle of the highest order. "Your second spirit skill, the Overlord Body, amplifies this further," he mused aloud, his mind racing through combat applications. "And the bloodline ability of your right claw… The synergy is staggering. We will not let this be brute force. We will forge it into precision. Every movement, every ounce of this power, must be under absolute control. Your basic combat training will be my primary focus."
The rest of the tests proceeded, but they were an afterthought. The metrics for speed, reaction, and endurance were all impressive, yet they paled next to the monumental facts of Yao Xuan's spiritual and physical density. When the group finally left for the cafeteria, the dynamic had subtly shifted. Yao Xuan was no longer just the captain; he was the acknowledged nucleus, the sun around which their collective gravity now oriented.
At the cafeteria, a new shock awaited Wang Jinxi and Zhang Yangzi—not from Yao Xuan, but from Tang Wulin. They watched, initially amused, then utterly dumbfounded, as tray after tray of high-energy, soul-nourishing food vanished before their eyes. The sheer, joyful volume of his consumption was a different kind of awe-inspiring. 'Where does it all go?' Zhang Yangzi wondered, his concept of human metabolism forever altered.
The dawn of the next day brought not theoretical lessons, but the promise of sweat and impact. In their spacious classroom, Wu Zhangkong laid out the new law.
"From today, practical training is redefined. You will develop the bedrock upon which all soul skills are built: fundamental combat ability. For this period, soul skills are forbidden. You will fight using only your martial soul's possession state and the body you have forged."
His eyes, like chips of glacial ice, settled on Yao Xuan. "That includes your specialized bloodline transformations. We strip down to the essentials. The method is simple: combat. Your opponent will be me. I will use pressure to expose every flaw, every hesitation, every inefficient motion. You will then correct them. You may also spar amongst yourselves to integrate the lessons."
As they filed out towards the private combat arena, Zhang Yangzi leaned toward Yao Xuan, his voice low with trepidation. "We're… sparring with him? A Soul Emperor?"
Yao Xuan offered a slight, reassuring nod. "He won't use that level of power. He calibrates the pressure—enough to push us to our absolute limits, to the edge of breaking, but not over. It's how he extracts potential. It's how we learned to move as one."
The understanding dawned on Zhang Yangzi's face, replacing anxiety with a spark of eager resolve. "So that's your secret. Not just talent, but… tempering."
In the combat room, the training was relentless. Wu Zhangkong was a phantom of controlled force. He moved with economical, devastating precision, never using more speed or strength than necessary to exploit a gap. For Yao Xuan, the teacher did not hold back as much. Sensing the monstrous resilience within him, Wu Zhangkong raised his suppressed power to the level of a Soul Ancestor. The pressure was immense—a collapsing star of intent focused solely on him.
Yet, within that pressure, Yao Xuan thrived. Each parry forced him to align his overwhelming strength with perfect balance. Each evasion drilled the principles of the Shattering Void Step into muscle memory without relying on its spatial trick. He learned to channel the Ancestral Dragon's innate authority not as a blunt aura, but as a sharp, focused tool to disrupt an opponent's spirit mid-strike.
The others grew around him. Gu Yue's elemental precision was forced into physical expression—her footwork became as fluid as water, her strikes as sudden as lightning. Xie Xie learned that speed without positioning was wasted motion. Tang Wulin's Blue Silver Grass, forbidden from entangling, became a tool for subtle off-balancing and tactile sensing. Wang Jinxi and Zhang Yangzi, their fusion skill off the table, discovered the raw, unadorned power and synergy of their individual forms. A new team dynamic crystallized: Yao Xuan, the unbreakable fulcrum; Gu Yue, the controlling force multiplier; the others, versatile arms striking from the guard he provided.
A week into this grueling new regimen, Yao Xuan was summoned to Wu Zhangkong's office. The room was as spare and orderly as the man himself.
"Yao Xuan," Wu Zhangkong began, steepling his fingers. "Regarding your martial soul… my inquiries have yielded no definitive answers. Descriptions alone are insufficient for a clear identification. For that, I apologize."
Yao Xuan inclined his head. "There's no need for apology, Teacher Wu. Its mystery is part of its nature."
"However," Wu Zhangkong continued, his gaze sharpening, "the report I submitted about your abilities has attracted attention from my… organization. They extend an invitation for you to take their entrance assessment."
He chose his next words with uncommon care, the confidentiality of the Tang Sect a weight in the room. "I cannot divulge its name prior to your successful induction. But as your teacher, I offer my personal counsel: join. The resources they command—ancient cultivation methods, rare materials, repositories of knowledge lost to the wider world—are unparalleled. Contribution earns access. It is a path to power that aligns with your… trajectory."
He studied Yao Xuan. "Are you willing to undergo the assessment?"
Yao Xuan's answer was immediate and calm. "I must decline, Teacher Wu."
A flicker of genuine surprise crossed Wu Zhangkong's impassive face. "May I ask why?"
Yao Xuan had prepared for this. To voice his true reason—his transmigrator's knowledge of Tang San's ruthlessness and hypocrisy, his refusal to serve under such a figure even indirectly—was tantamount to career suicide and potentially dangerous. Wu Zhangkong's loyalty to the Tang Sect, the organization that likely saved or shaped him, was absolute.
Instead, he offered a plausible, forward-looking alternative. "My aspirations are already directed, Teacher Wu. After my advanced studies, I intend to join the Spirit Pagoda. Their research into martial souls and spirit advancement aligns with my own… curiosities." It was a neutral, ambitious goal, one that could not be faulted.
Wu Zhangkong watched him for a long moment, his dark green eyes probing. He saw no deception, only firm resolve. He finally gave a slow nod. The Spirit Pagoda was a rival power, but a legitimate and prestigious one. He could not, in good conscience, fault a student for such an ambition. The Tang Sect's loss would be the Pagoda's gain.
"I see," he said, the subject closed. "Then continue to focus on your path here. Dismissed."
As Yao Xuan left the office, he felt the silent click of a avoided fork in the road. The Tang Sect, with all its hidden burdens and legacy of a god he despised, was behind him. His path forward remained his own—forged in dragonfire, guided by a silver star, and leading toward a destiny he would shape himself. The training, the bond with Gu Yue, the stewardship of his team—these were the pillars of his ascent. The rest was noise.