This Moment... Was the Time to Cultivate!

The nightmare was over.

He could have slept forever. He could have lived like an ordinary nine-year-old, attending class, eating, sleeping, never needing to squeeze out every last bit of strength in cultivation, never needing to sit alone by his bed in the silent depths of night.

He could have put down that spear and cast aside the responsibility called "reviving the Fighting Dragon Clan."

The Dragon Fighting World had already been destroyed. Those God King Dragons and Star Dragons were nothing more than lingering souls. No one in this world was waiting for him.

He was merely an orphan. No one had placed great hopes on him.

No one demanded that he grow stronger.

No one forced him to fight.

He could stop.

But—

Would that truly be right?

Zhong Shenxiu gazed at the moonlight. There was no confusion or hesitation in his golden vertical pupils, only a profound, quiet scrutiny.

He was asking himself that question.

He was not asking about right or wrong, but about his true heart.

Nine years of slaughter had taught him one truth: strength itself had no meaning. What mattered was why one wished to become stronger.

Back in the Dragon Fighting World, he had no choice.

Every time he entered a dream, every battle, every death, had been forced upon him.

They had been trials, selections, shackles fate had placed upon him.

But now, the shackles had been undone.

If he chose to stop, no one would blame him.

If he chose to give up, no one would force him onward.

But—

He remembered the desolate land of the Dragon Origin Realm, the dark red sky, the ruined altar, and that crystal on the verge of going dark.

He remembered the sixteen silent statues in the starry space: the East Sun King Dragon, the Luo Sea God Dragon, the Overlord God Dragon, the Heavenly Mountain King Dragon, and the Twelve Star Dragons. They had once guarded a world and fought until their final moments, then fallen into a long slumber, placing their hopes upon the soul of a stranger from another world.

He remembered the words he had spoken when he awakened:

"Revive the Fighting Dragon Clan. Then I will revive it."

That was not a forced promise, not a shackle, not fate.

It was a path he had chosen himself.

Everyone had moments of uncertainty. Uncertainty was not frightening; what was frightening was failing to make a choice while lost in it.

Because once one made a choice, there would be no more uncertainty. One would proceed according to the direction already decided.

Zhong Shenxiu slowly withdrew his gaze from the window, lowered his head, and looked at his open hands.

These hands had broken Wang Hao's fingers, slapped Lin Xuan's face swollen, and sent Xie Xie flying with a punch.

They had torn apart countless enemies' throats in the Dragon Fighting World, and they had also hung limp and powerless when death came.

These were not the hands of an ordinary nine-year-old child.

But they were his own hands.

He chose to fight with these hands.

He chose to shoulder that heavy responsibility.

He chose to embark upon that path destined to be lonely, difficult, and opposed by the entire world.

Since that was the case—

The night wind brushed past the window lattice, and moonlight spilled over the ground like mercury.

Zhong Shenxiu rose from beside the bed, walked to the balcony, and pushed open the half-closed window.

The deeper moonlight reached half the homes; the Northern Dipper stood upright, the Southern Dipper slanted.

Dragon bones lay buried beneath old earth for a thousand miles; nine years of soul-dreams carried him to the ends of the world.

His spear had pierced the galaxy, but the stars had shattered; blood stained his scales, their wounds not yet scabbed.

Do not ask of the wind and dew tonight. At this moment—

He turned around, returned to the bed, sat cross-legged, and closed his eyes.

Within his dantian, the golden Dragon Origin Core slowly revolved like an eternal star.

The Eternal Myriad Dragon Source Art began to circulate.

The world's vital energy flowed in like tiny streams converging into the sea, passing through his skin, flesh, and bones before being greedily devoured, refined, and converted by the Dragon Origin Core into strands of pure energy that tempered his bloodline and honed his body.

The Soul Power vortex slowly expanded, and the barrier at rank seventeen gradually loosened under the constant impact.

This moment... was the time to cultivate!

After class the next day, Zhong Shenxiu went to find Wu Zhangkong.

It was the first time since school began that he had taken the initiative to seek out a teacher.

Wu Zhangkong had just stepped out of the teachers' office. His sky-blue short hair gleamed faintly beneath the sunlight in the corridor, while the hem of his white trench coat swayed gently with his steps.

"Teacher Wu."

Zhong Shenxiu's voice came from behind him, neither rushed nor slow, neither high nor low.

Wu Zhangkong stopped and turned around.

Golden vertical pupils met sky-blue eyes.

Both were cold, both taciturn, both kept others at a distance. Yet somehow, an unusual understanding arose between them.

"What is it?" Wu Zhangkong asked.

"Does the academy have an internal workshop where students can make their own Soul Tools?"

Zhong Shenxiu went straight to the point. "I would like to rent one."

Wu Zhangkong froze.

He had just been about to speak, but the words reached his lips and stopped.

Because he realized that... he did not know.

Ever since arriving at Eastsea Academy, he had cared about only one thing: how to teach his students well. Courses, training, practical combat, Soul Power circulation techniques—he knew all of those like the back of his hand. But where the student workshops were, how to apply for one, and how much they cost, he knew none of it.

So the two simply looked at each other.

Silence.

Deeper silence.

Other students passed through the corridor. Seeing this scene, they instinctively softened their footsteps.

Teacher Wu Zhangkong was already someone strangers dared not approach, while Zhong Shenxiu's golden vertical pupils made people even less willing to meet his gaze.

With the two of them standing together, it was as though an invisible layer of frost had formed within ten meters.

No one dared to approach.

Time passed second by second.

For once, Wu Zhangkong felt a trace of... awkwardness.

His brows furrowed slightly, as though he were trying hard to excavate relevant information from the depths of his memory.

But after searching for five seconds, he found nothing.

"Cough." He cleared his throat. "Wait a moment."

He took out a communication Soul Tool from his coat, his long fingers swiftly sliding across the screen.

Zhong Shenxiu stood quietly without urging him or looking around. His posture was straight, his shoulders relaxed, and his hands hung naturally at his sides, yet he gave the impression that he could seize a spear and fight at any moment.

Wu Zhangkong glanced at him.

There was something strange about this child's temperament—not the steadiness someone his age should possess, nor the artificial profundity of adolescents pretending to be mature. It was something more fundamental: he knew what he wanted, and he knew what to do.

Many adults did not possess such clarity.

Thirty seconds later, Wu Zhangkong put away the communication Soul Tool.

"The Academic Affairs Office has an application process for student workshops."

He said, "Director Long Hengxu handles this matter. You can go find him."

"Alright." Zhong Shenxiu nodded and prepared to leave.

"Wait."

Wu Zhangkong called after him.

Zhong Shenxiu stopped and looked back.

Wu Zhangkong looked at him. In those sword-sharp eyes was a trace of barely perceptible confusion. "Why do you want to make Soul Tools yourself when things are going so well?"

His meaning was simple.

Zhong Shenxiu's talent was not bad. It could even be called exceptional.

The Radiant King Dragon martial soul, rank-seventeen Soul Power, combat awareness far surpassing his peers, and physical qualities strong to an absurd degree.

A seedling like him was exceptionally rare throughout the entire East Sea region.

With the guidance of a renowned teacher and suitable resources devoted to him, growing stronger would only be a matter of time.

Reaching three rings in three years, challenging five rings in six, entering the Spirit Pagoda headquarters or Shrek Academy—none of that was impossible.

A genius like this should devote all his energy to cultivation.

Soul Tool crafting was indeed a skill, but it required a tremendous investment of time and effort to study, while offering limited improvement to a Soul Master's own combat strength.

Wu Zhangkong did not understand.

Zhong Shenxiu was silent for several seconds.

He understood what Wu Zhangkong meant. Though this cold-faced teacher never said anything warm, behind that question—"Why do you want to?"—was concern.

He was afraid Zhong Shenxiu would take the wrong path.

He was afraid Zhong Shenxiu would waste his talent.