Gu Yue's Question

Zhong Shenxiu walked out of the Academic Affairs Office building, the sunlight somewhat dazzling.

He narrowed his eyes and tucked the borrowing pass and application form into his storage bag.

Room 207 had already been rented. He could move in tomorrow. He also had a way to learn about formations now, and could go to the library tonight.

Everything was progressing according to plan.

He headed toward the teaching building along the tree-lined path. There was still a theory class that afternoon.

Halfway there, he saw a familiar figure ahead.

Long, glossy black hair; a cold and aloof temperament. She stood beneath a parasol tree, seemingly waiting for someone.

Gu Yue.

Zhong Shenxiu did not slow down and prepared to go around her.

But Gu Yue suddenly spoke.

"Zhong Shenxiu."

Her voice was quiet, yet exceptionally clear.

Zhong Shenxiu stopped and turned his head toward her.

This was their first private conversation.

"Is something wrong?" Zhong Shenxiu asked.

Gu Yue looked at him, her eyes as deep as the night sky.

As the Silver Dragon King, her perception of dragon auras far surpassed anyone else's.

During that practical combat class, she had vaguely sensed a special draconic pressure from Zhong Shenxiu—not the aura of any known dragon on Douluo Continent, but something older, purer, and... more powerful!

She did not know why, nor did she know what that sensation meant.

But she wanted to know.

"Your Martial Soul..." Gu Yue carefully chose her words. "Where did the name Radiant King Dragon come from?"

Zhong Shenxiu looked at her.

Golden vertical pupils met violet eyes.

Several seconds passed in silence.

"I don't know," Zhong Shenxiu replied. "I just knew it when it awakened."

Gu Yue frowned slightly. She could sense that Zhong Shenxiu was not lying, but that did not explain the strange resonance she had felt.

"You..." She wanted to ask more.

"Gu Yue."

Another voice came from behind them.

Tang Wulin hurried over. Seeing Zhong Shenxiu there as well, he looked somewhat surprised.

"What are you two talking about?" Tang Wulin asked gently.

"Nothing." Gu Yue withdrew her gaze. "I was just asking something."

Zhong Shenxiu neither explained nor lingered. He turned and continued toward the teaching building.

Behind him, Tang Wulin and Gu Yue spoke softly about something.

He paid them no mind.

He only recalled the way Gu Yue had looked at him just now—that was not ordinary curiosity between classmates, but a deeper gaze filled with inquiry and scrutiny.

"Silver Dragon King..." Zhong Shenxiu murmured inwardly.

Had the Silver Dragon King sensed something?

He did not know.

But no matter what Gu Yue had sensed, it did not matter.

He would not explain, admit, or tell anyone about the secrets of the Dragon Fighting World and the Myriad Creation Dragon God.

That was his responsibility, and also his destiny.

It had nothing to do with anyone else.

At dusk, Zhong Shenxiu arrived at the workshop.

Room 207, a small ten-square-meter space.

He took out the materials and tools he had bought that day from his storage bag and arranged them neatly on the workbench.

Refined iron, Glimmer Stones, carving knives, testing instruments, formation templates—everything was put in its proper place.

Then he sat before the workbench, picked up a carving knife, and began his eleventh practice session of the day.

The carving knife moved across the metal surface, etching smooth lines one after another.

His wrist was as steady as stone, his gaze as focused as a hawk's.

Ten minutes later, the formation was complete.

He embedded a Glimmer Stone and injected Soul Power.

"Buzz—"

A gentle light came on.

Another lighting Soul Tool had succeeded.

Zhong Shenxiu placed it in the finished-products area and picked up another piece of refined iron.

The sky outside gradually darkened.

Moonlight streamed through the small window and spilled across the workbench.

The boy lowered his head as he carved. The faint scrape of metal against knife sounded especially clear in the silent room.

He did not know how many he would make that night, how much these Soul Tools could sell for, or how far he still was from the one hundred units of energy needed to repair the Dragon Origin Realm.

But he knew that, at this moment, he was doing the right thing.

One step at a time.

Slowly.

The night grew deep.

Zhong Shenxiu set down his carving knife, looked at the seven finished products and five failures lined up neatly on the workbench, and flexed his slightly stiff fingers.

He had made twelve lighting Soul Tools today, with a success rate close to sixty percent.

Wu Zhangkong was very happy.

That description sounded absurd—a man who was icy year-round, dressed in snow-white clothes, with a hint of chill even in his speech. How could he possibly be associated with the word "happy"?

But the truth was that he really was happy.

Eastsea Academy, an ordinary Intermediate Soul Master Academy where he had only intended to stay during this lost period of his life, ready to leave at any time, had unexpectedly allowed him to uncover three geniuses with tremendous talent and potential.

Zhong Shenxiu, Gu Yue, and Tang Wulin.

In his ranking, even Xie Xie—the genius youth with Twin Martial Souls and Innate Full Soul Power—could not compare to those three.

It was not that he looked down on Xie Xie.

Twin Martial Souls were rare in any era. If the combination of the Light Dragon Dagger and Dark Dragon Dagger were developed to its fullest, it would be enough to place him among the top Soul Masters.

What Xie Xie lacked was only time and training.

But talent was not measured solely by Martial Souls and Soul Power.

Wu Zhangkong had traveled the Soul Master world for more than ten years and seen far too many so-called geniuses.

Some possessed Innate Full Soul Power, yet remained unknown twenty years later; others had mediocre Martial Souls, yet rose with mortal bodies to become Title Douluo.

He had gradually come to understand a truth: a Soul Master's talent lay not only in the amount of Innate Soul Power they possessed, but also in their understanding of the essence of their own Martial Soul and the essence of Soul Power.

That was inborn. It could not be taught or learned.

Some people could spend their entire lives without ever touching that threshold.

Yet others, the first time they held a spear, condensed a sword, or controlled an element, were already standing upon that threshold.

Gu Yue was the latter.

The first time Wu Zhangkong saw Gu Yue release her Martial Soul, he nearly thought his eyes were playing tricks on him.

Ice, fire, earth, wind, light, and space—six elements rotated and shifted at her fingertips, as natural and effortless as moving her own limbs.

That was not a skill acquired through cultivation.

It was instinct engraved in her bloodline.

Wu Zhangkong had once thought that encountering Gu Yue was already an unprecedented stroke of fortune.

Then, on a whim, he took away the orphan who had been locked in solitary confinement for three days.

Zhong Shenxiu.

During the first test, this nine-year-old child released his Martial Soul before him.

Pale golden dragon scales, brilliant golden dragon horns, and something Wu Zhangkong could not understand burned within those molten-gold vertical pupils.

That was not the pressure of a dragon-type Martial Soul—Wu Zhangkong had seen many dragon-type Martial Souls, from earth dragons to true dragons, from frost to flame, yet none had given him such an unfamiliar and ancient feeling.

It was spear technique.

Not a Soul Skill, not a set pattern, but a combat art pure to the extreme, born solely for slaughter.

The moment Zhong Shenxiu thrust out the Sky Light Dragon Spear, Wu Zhangkong had the vague illusion that he was facing a savage beast tempered by countless battles, one that had crawled out from mountains of corpses and seas of blood.

This child's understanding of the essence of combat had already surpassed more than ninety percent of adult Soul Masters.

He too stood upon that threshold.

No, he had already stepped beyond it.

Wu Zhangkong was very happy.

But at the same time, he was deeply confused.

He frowned more and more often, frequently standing alone by the office window and staring blankly at the training grounds. His fingers unconsciously rubbed his thigh, a habitual gesture whenever he was thinking.