The Pillar of Heaven
The silence in Wu Zhangkong's office stretched, thin and taut, after Yao Xuan's refusal. The teacher's stoic face was a mask, but in his dark green eyes, a complex storm brewed—confusion, a flicker of frustration, and beneath it, a stubborn, protective insistence. He had seen a raw diamond; his organization possessed the tools to cut and polish it to a legendary brilliance. To let that potential walk another path felt, to him, like a form of professional negligence.
"The Spirit Pagoda?" Wu Zhangkong finally repeated, the words measured. "A worthy institution. But understand, the organization I speak of… its roots run deeper than the oldest oaks in the Supreme Forest. Its archives hold secrets the Pagoda has never glimpsed. In certain realms, it does not merely rival the Pagoda; it surpasses it." He leaned forward slightly, an uncharacteristic intensity in his posture. "Even if your destination is the Pagoda, would you not first survey all possible paths? Come and see. Let the choice be informed, not instinctive. You owe your potential that much."
Yao Xuan felt the weight of the offer, and the unspoken pressure behind it. A flat refusal now would be more than impolite; it would be a breach of the trust and respect he held for this stern, dedicated man who had shouldered a dragon's wrath for him. 'A look costs nothing,' he reasoned internally. 'And a firm, final no can be given on their own ground.' He met Wu Zhangkong's gaze, his own calm but yielding. "You're right, Teacher Wu. It would be narrow-minded to refuse without understanding. I will accompany you to see this organization."
A subtle release of tension softened the line of Wu Zhangkong's shoulders. He gave a single, sharp nod. "Good. I will make the arrangements. Be prepared."
Time, under the relentless grind of Class Zero's new regimen, became a blur of aching muscles, sudden flashes of insight, and the growing, unspoken language of a team. Two weeks dissolved into a rhythm of predawn conditioning, morning theory, afternoon combat hell under Wu Zhangkong's critical eye, and evening cultivation in the dense, shared energy of their dormitory wing.
The barriers between the six eroded completely, worn away not by idle chatter, but by shared struggle. Wang Jinxi's silent, dogged perseverance earned Tang Wulin's quiet respect. Xie Xie's quick wit and flashes of strategic brilliance during spars softened Zhang Yangzi's initial cool reserve. They learned each other's rhythms: the way Gu Yue's fingers would twitch a half-second before she shifted elements, the slight exhale Wang Jinxi gave before committing to a powerful lunge, the almost imperceptible narrowing of Yao Xuan's eyes when he calculated a counter.
And Gu Yue… she blossomed under pressure. Midway through the second week, during a particularly grueling session where Wu Zhangkong had them channeling soul power under physical duress, a silver-purple glow suddenly haloed her form. The air in the combat room stirred, elements whispering in chaotic harmony before settling into a new, profound order around her. She had broken through. Level 21. A second spirit ring, a deep, vibrant yellow, settled beside her first. Her new skill, Elemental Control, was not a blunt-force tool, but a conductor's baton, allowing her to fine-tune the intensity, shape, and duration of her elemental manifestations with breathtaking precision. Even Wu Zhangkong, sparing with praise, offered a terse, "Efficient. Do not let precision compromise power."
Her eyes had found Yao Xuan's across the room in that moment. She didn't smile, but there was a quiet light of accomplishment in her gaze, and a subtle question: Did you see? He gave a slight, acknowledging nod, a pride for her that was entirely separate from his own journey. It was a silent exchange that spoke of a parallel path, a mutual ascent.
On Friday morning, the routine shifted. Wu Zhangkong entered the classroom but did not turn towards the combat wing. His presence carried a different charge—one of impending experience, not exertion.
"Today, we leave the academy," he announced, his voice cutting through the usual anticipatory silence. "You will be taken to the Spirit Pagoda. Henceforth, every Friday, you will have access to their Spirit Ascension Platform."
The name itself seemed to suck the air from the room, then fill it with a crackle of electric excitement. Xie Xie's fingers drummed a silent tattoo on his desk. Tang Wulin sat up straighter, his eyes wide. Zhang Yangzi and Wang Jinxi exchanged a glance of pure, unadulterated longing.
"The Platform simulates an ancient soul beast habitat," Wu Zhangkong explained, his tone that of a guide outlining a treacherous but rewarding climb. "Within, you will combat simulated soul beasts. Victory grants spiritual resonance energy that can fortify your own soul spirits. It is a space of virtual reality; death there is not permanent, but the lessons, the pressure, the fear—they are real. The academy has invested significant capital and political capital to secure this weekly slot. Waste it, and you answer to me."
For Yao Xuan, the news triggered a silent, internal surge. The Spirit Ascension Platform was more than a training tool. The Super God System's parameters were clear: it recognized the defeat of spiritual energy constructs. The simulated beasts, while not flesh and blood, were concentrations of potent soul force. Defeating them would yield Gold Evolution Points. This weekly pilgrimage would become a vital harvest, a systematic way to feed the insatiable hunger of his Ancestral Dragon bloodline.
Guided by a mix of awe and razor-focused anticipation, they followed Wu Zhangkong out of the academy gates and into the bustling heart of Donghai City. Their destination announced itself long before they arrived.
The Donghai City Spirit Pagoda was not a building; it was a geographical fact. A colossal octagonal spear of white alloy and shimmering crystal-glass thrusting over four hundred meters into the sky, it dominated the skyline. Sunlight fractured across its faceted surfaces, painting rainbows on the surrounding towers. Where the Aolai City branch had been a respectful chapel, this was a cathedral of human and spiritual ambition—one of the famed Eighteen Heavenly Pillars, a direct nerve center of the continent's most powerful organization, rumored to be under the watch of a living Title Douluo.
As they approached, its scale became oppressive, magnificent. The base covered a square kilometer, a fortress of knowledge and power. Yao Xuan felt Gu Yue walk a half-step closer to him, her shoulder almost brushing his. She wasn't seeking protection; it was a shared moment of perspective. "It feels… different from the stories," she murmured, her voice so low only he could hear. "The energy here is… structured. Contained. Like a sleeping leviathan." He nodded, feeling the same hum through his own enhanced senses—a vast, orderly, and immensely deep well of spiritual power.
At the gargantuan main entrance, Vice Dean Long Hengxu awaited them, his usual bureaucratic demeanor replaced by one of solemn occasion. "Teacher Wu. Follow me, please."
Passing through the titanic doors was like crossing a threshold into another world. The interior was a symphony of soaring space and opulent artistry. The floor was a single expanse of midnight-hued stone, polished to a mirror finish that reflected the dizzying height of the vaulted ceiling hundreds of feet above. Enormous pillars, carved with intricate, spiraling motifs that seemed to move in the peripheral vision, held up the dome.
And on that dome was the true marvel: a vast, panoramic mural that told a story in vibrant, lifelike detail. It depicted a young man with intense eyes facing glacial wastes, communing with ethereal spirit beasts, and standing defiant against looming, shadowy threats. This was the legacy of Huo Yuhao, the Ice Douluo, the progenitor of the soul spirit system. The mural wasn't just paint; it was infused with subtle spiritual energy, making the scenes pulse with a silent, heroic vibrancy.
The six students stopped as one, necks craned, mouths slightly agape. The weight of history, of foundational legend, pressed down on them, not as a burden, but as an inspiration. For a long minute, the only sound was the distant, hushed murmur of the Pagoda's immense business.
Wu Zhangkong did not hurry them. He understood the value of this moment. When their eyes finally lowered, brimming with a new kind of resolve, he spoke. "Anchor yourselves. The Platform's illusions are compelling. Remember your training. Trust your senses. And remember," his gaze swept over them, "the Elementary Platform admits only those below the fourth spirit ring. You will enter alone. You are a team out here. In there, you are six individual souls being tested."
Tang Wulin blinked. "You're not coming with us, Teacher Wu?"
Long Hengxu answered, a note of wistful envy in his voice. "I cannot, nor can Teacher Wu. The Platform's rules are absolute. You will have only each other's prior experience and your own wits. Heed the safety protocols. If the spiritual pressure becomes untenable, or you are overwhelmed, the exit command is your lifeline. Use it. Pride has no place in survival training."
At that moment, a Pagoda attendant, dressed in immaculate silver-and-white robes that seemed to glow with their own soft light, materialized beside them. "Honored guests," she said with a shallow, graceful bow. "This way to the descent."
She led them to a circular bank of elevators. The doors sighed open, revealing a cabin lined with soft, pulsating light. They entered. Instead of rising toward the dizzying heights above, the elevator began to sink with a profound, silent swiftness. The light outside the transparent walls shifted from the warm, mural-lit grandeur to the cool, geometric blue of reinforced underground plating. They were diving into the roots of the Heavenly Pillar, away from the realm of public glory and into the sanctum of private, potent practice.
The descent felt endless, a journey into the city's underworld. The air grew cooler, charged with a different kind of energy—older, more concentrated, thrumming with the latent power of countless soul masters who had trained here before them. The doors finally opened onto a vast, stark antechamber of brushed metal and floating holographic displays. At its center, glowing with soft, inviting light, was the entrance to the Elementary Spirit Ascension Platform: a archway of swirling energy, like a vertical pool of liquid silver starlight.
The attendant gestured. "The Platform awaits. Please proceed one at a time. The system will calibrate to your individual spiritual signature."
They stood on the threshold, the hum of colossal spirit guidance arrays vibrating through the soles of their shoes. The comfortable camaraderie of the classroom was gone, replaced by the solemn quiet of astronauts before a spacewalk. They were about to step into a crafted wilderness, a dreamscape of peril and progress. Yao Xuan felt Gu Yue's hand briefly, lightly, touch his wrist—a fleeting gesture of solidarity, gone before anyone else could notice. He met her eyes, saw the sharp, analytical curiosity there, layered over a deep, innate calm. He gave a barely perceptible nod.
Together, the nod said, even though they would walk in alone.
Xie Xie cracked his knuckles, a grin spreading across his face. Tang Wulin took a deep, grounding breath. Zhang Yangzi and Wang Jinxi squared their shoulders in unison.
Wu Zhangkong's final words echoed in the silent chamber. "Begin."