Resurrection?

Two auras of Super Douluo-level soul power unfurled like a tidal wave, forming an invisible barrier around the grave.

Within a radius of several miles, even the chirping of insects fell silent.

The wild dogs howling in the distance seemed to have their throats constricted by something, letting out a whimper before scattering in a frantic flight.

Qiangu Jun's Coiling Dragon Staff hovered in mid-air, his soul power slowly seeping into the ground.

According to his original plan, simply imprinting their auras into the soil around the grave would be enough to deter any beasts or petty scoundrels from approaching.

As Super Douluos, they were capable of sensing the essence of heaven and earth; the residual aura they left behind would keep ordinary soul beasts from stepping even half a step closer, even after eight or ten years.

However—

The very moment his soul power permeated the soil.

Qiangu Jun's hand suddenly froze.

His pupils contracted sharply, and the composed expression of one who had seen all the vicissitudes of life developed a microscopic crack.

"Brother."

Qiangu Jun's voice dropped, his tone carrying a gravity that even he found inconceivable.

"Wait."

Qiangu Po was crouching before the grave, carefully gathering the scattered incense ash back into place. Hearing his elder brother's voice, he stopped his movements and looked up.

"What is it?"

Qiangu Jun did not answer immediately.

He splayed his fingers slightly, palm facing downward, and closed his eyes. His soul power transformed into an invisible net, delving layer by layer into the soft, fresh soil to precisely probe every inch of space inside the grave.

Three seconds.

Five seconds.

Ten seconds.

Qiangu Jun's eyes snapped open.

In those eyes, usually so deep and restrained, a rare flicker of shock emerged.

"Inside this grave—"

His voice was low, enunciating every word.

"—there is a pulse of life."

The night wind abruptly ceased.

Even the wild grass on the hillside seemed to solidify at that moment.

Qiangu Po was stunned.

He straightened up, looking at his elder brother with a face full of disbelief.

"Brother, what kind of joke is this?"

He turned around, pointing toward the grave, his tone hurried.

"That child—you and I both saw it with our own eyes today! He slashed his own throat with a sword, fell in a pool of blood, and had no breath left! He was gone on the spot!"

"His mother held him for so long; the child didn't have a shred of breath left. He lost so much blood. The wound on his neck—"

He paused, his brows knitting together.

"Brother, a seven-year-old child with no martial soul and no soul power, who slit his own throat and bled dry—how could there possibly be a pulse of life?"

Qiangu Jun glanced at his younger brother.

The look was calm, but the meaning it contained made Qiangu Po's heart skip a beat.

"Are you questioning my senses?"

Qiangu Jun's voice was not heavy, but every word was clear.

Qiangu Po opened his mouth, but the words on the tip of his tongue were forced back down.

It wasn't that he didn't believe his brother.

On the contrary, it was precisely because he understood his elder brother's strength so well that he was this shocked.

Qiangu Jun, Thousand Might Douluo, a level 96 Super Douluo.

Although the two brothers were of the same soul power rank—both level 96—Qiangu Po knew clearly that his elder brother's strength was always a cut above his own.

Especially in terms of sensory perception.

If his brother said there was a pulse of life—

Then there was.

Qiangu Po took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the confusion filling his chest.

"Then... what should the two of us do?"

Qiangu Jun looked down at the grave beneath his feet. Moonlight spilled over the freshly turned yellow soil, where the deep knee prints left by the mother when she knelt still remained.

He remained silent for a few breaths.

"Dig up the grave."

Qiangu Po was stunned.

"Dig it up?"

He instinctively glanced at the bluestone slab engraved with "Tomb of Ning Zha" at the head of the grave, his face showing hesitation.

"This... Big Brother, the child's mother buried him with her own hands. If we dig up the grave, this... it's somewhat..."

He didn't say the word "desecration," but the meaning was clear enough.

After all, this was the flesh and blood a mother had buried in tears. A mother who had lost her son, who had finally managed to find a place for him to rest, digging the pit and covering the soil with her own hands. She had kept looking back as she left.

And now, they were going to dig it up?

Qiangu Jun clearly thought of this as well.

His brows furrowed for a moment, but they quickly smoothed out.

"If I truly sensed it wrong—"

His voice was steady and firm.

"Then I will personally rebury the child's body exactly as it was. Not a handful of soil will be missing, not a single hair will be out of place."

He paused, a touch of resolve entering his tone.

"If it comes to it, I will go find the child's mother myself—and apologize to her face."

A level 96 Titled Douluo, a dignified Elder of the Spirit Hall's Offering Hall.

Saying the words "apologize to her face."

Qiangu Po looked at his brother's profile and remained silent for a moment.

Then, he nodded heavily.

"Alright!"

No more hesitation.

The two of them crouched down at the same time.

They did not use their spirit power.

With the spirit power of a Titled Douluo, this small mound would have been leveled in an instant. But they did not do that.

They dug with their hands.

Handful by handful, the yellow soil was carefully scraped away from the grave.

Two Super Douluos, crouching in the moonlight on the desolate slope, dug the earth with their bare hands like two ordinary farmers.

Their movements were extremely light and slow.

They were terrified of hitting what lay beneath.

As the yellow soil was stripped away layer by layer, the outline of a crude, thin coffin gradually emerged.

The coffin was made of the cheapest white wood planks, and the lid wasn't even painted. Muddy water seeped through the gaps between the boards. It was clearly made in a hurry, barely even qualifying as a real coffin.

It was more like a... wooden box.

When Qiangu Po saw the coffin, the corners of his mouth twitched violently, and a deep, intense sorrow flashed in his eyes.

These people—they wouldn't even give this child a decent coffin.

Qiangu Jun did not speak. He cleared away all the mud around the coffin, then placed his hands on the lid.

At this moment, his hands paused for a split second.

Then—

He lifted it.

The lid was gently pried open and set aside.

Moonlight poured in, illuminating everything inside the coffin.

Both men widened their eyes at the same time.

Inside the coffin, a child lay quietly.

The two topknots had been neatly redone by his mother. The vermilion dot between his brows remained vivid, as if it had been painted on with blood.

The small body was dressed in clean, plain clothes—likely changed by Yin Suzhi before the burial.

And what shocked the two of them the most was—

The child's wounds.

They had all vanished.

The wound on his left arm that had cut to the flesh—it was gone. The skin and flesh were intact, smooth as before, without even a trace of a scar.

The bloody hole in his chest that had reached the bone—it was gone. Beneath the plain clothes, his chest was smooth and level, rising and falling slightly as if he were breathing...

Breathing?!

Qiangu Po's pupils contracted violently.

Almost instinctively, he reached out and gently placed two fingers against Ning Zha's wrist.

One breath.

Two breaths.

Thump.

An extremely faint pulse emanated from that slender wrist.

Thump. Thump.

Though weak, though slow.

It was indeed—a pulse.

The pulse of a living person!

"Big Brother!"

Qiangu Po jerked his head up, his face filled with disbelief.

"There really is a pulse! He's still alive! This child—he's still alive!"

His voice was trembling. Demon Subduing Douluo, a level ninety-six Super Douluo, found his hands shaking at this very moment.

Qiangu Jun stared intently at Ning Zha in the coffin.

Although the child's complexion was pale, it lacked the grayish decay of a corpse. It was a pallor akin to deep slumber, as if the blood and qi within his body were circulating once more in a slow, mysterious rhythm.

He reached out, hovering his palm three inches above Ning Zha's body, his soul power seeping in like a thin thread to investigate.

A moment later.

Qiangu Jun withdrew his hand, the expression on his face—

Indescribable.

"What is it?" Qiangu Po asked urgently.

"His body..." Qiangu Jun weighed his words, his voice slow. "There is an extremely peculiar power within him. It is not soul power, nor is it any form of energy I have ever encountered. This power... seems to have fused with his physical body, surging spontaneously from his bone marrow, blood vessels, and internal organs, repairing all of his wounds."

"That fatal wound on his neck—"

Qiangu Jun's voice paused.

"It has completely healed. Even the texture of the skin is exactly as it was before, as if that sword had never struck."

Qiangu Po stood frozen in place.

He had been a soul master for the better part of his life, a level ninety-six Super Douluo with vast experience; what strange occurrences had he not witnessed?

But this—

A seven-year-old child with no martial soul and no soul power, who had slit his own throat, was now healing his own wounds and returning from the dead?

This exceeded the limits of his understanding.

Far exceeded it.

"Big Brother." Qiangu Po took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. "Since the child is still alive... shouldn't we notify that woman from earlier? Let her take the child back?"

Qiangu Jun slowly turned his head to look at Qiangu Po.

Under the moonlight, his gaze was as calm as a pool of deep water, revealing no bottom.

"Take him back?"

His tone was calm, yet carried a hint of coldness.

"Take him back where? Back to that branch of the Seven Treasures Glazed Sect? Back to her husband's side? Back before those clan elders?"

Qiangu Po opened his mouth.

"And then what?" Qiangu Jun's voice remained calm, but every word was like a stone, accurately striking the lake of Qiangu Po's heart.

"Let the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Clan know the child isn't dead? Let that old thing surnamed Yu come for him again?"

Qiangu Po's expression shifted.

"By then—" Qiangu Jun looked at the quietly sleeping Ning Zha in the coffin, his voice dropping low.

"Would this child have to slit his throat a second time?"

The words hit like a basin of ice water poured over his head.

Qiangu Po stood rigid, unable to speak for a long time.

Indeed.

Sending him back was equivalent to sending him to his death.

Was the very reason the child had carved his flesh and severed his bones, drawing his sword to end his life today, not because he had been left with no other path in that environment?

His father viewed him as discarded footwear. The clan elders wished for nothing more than his early death. The Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Clan demanded his life as payment.

Even if we send him back—then what?

Repeat today's scene all over again?

Or perhaps something even worse?

Qiangu Po remained silent for a long time.

The night wind swept across the grassy slope, blowing his loose hair against his cheeks. He kept his head bowed, looking at the small figure in the coffin, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"Then tell me... what should we do?"

Qiangu Jun gently replaced the coffin lid and straightened up.

He looked toward the distant direction of Heaven Dou City. The firelight on the city walls formed a thin ribbon of light in the night, like a line of charcoal about to extinguish.

"We will take this child back to Spirit Hall first."

Qiangu Po was slightly startled.

"Take him back to... Spirit Hall?"

"Yes." Qiangu Jun nodded, his tone steady and decisive. "Let the Grand Elder see what exactly is going on."

"The power within this child—it is far from ordinary. I have cultivated for nearly a hundred years and have never seen such a constitution. He clearly possesses no martial soul and no innate soul power, yet he has a self-healing ability that even Title Douluo would marvel at."

"There must be something strange about this."

"The Grand Elder is knowledgeable and experienced; perhaps he can discern the truth."

Qiangu Po thought for a moment and nodded heavily.

"Fine!"

He bent down, carefully reaching his hands into the coffin to lift Ning Zha, along with the coarse cloth beneath him, holding him steadily.

The seven-year-old child was unbelievably light. Held in his arms, he felt almost weightless.

Qiangu Po looked down at the sleeping Ning Zha in his arms.

The small face was pale and quiet. The two topknots swayed slightly in the night wind, and the vermilion mark between his brows was particularly striking under the moonlight.

His breathing was extremely light and shallow, but it was there.

His chest rose and fell slightly, like a fledgling bird curled up in its nest for hibernation.

"Good child," Qiangu Po whispered, his voice warm and thick, carrying a softness he hadn't even noticed himself. "This time, no one will be able to bully you again."

Qiangu Jun walked to the side of the coffin, pushed the simple white wooden casket back into the pit, and then struck it with his palm, his soul power surging.

The yellow earth filled back in silently, restoring the grave to its original appearance.

The shape of the mound, even the crooked marks, were exactly the same as when Yin Suzhi had piled it up.

Not a single detail was off.

The slab of bluestone serving as a tombstone was set back up. The four characters "Tomb of Ning Zha" still faced east—the direction of the sunrise.

Qiangu Jun took one last look at the empty grave and bowed his head slightly, as if paying his respects.

"Your mother buried you here, saying that flowers would bloom in the spring."

His voice was very soft, as if speaking to the wind.

"She will never know that you are no longer here. But at least—this grave will guard you well. It will keep the incense and tears she brings every time she visits."

"When you grow up, when you have the ability—you come back and tell her yourself."

Having said this, he turned around, his black robes snapping in the night wind.

Qiangu Po held Ning Zha, standing shoulder to shoulder with his older brother.

The two exchanged a glance.

And then—

Two figures soared into the sky, breaking through the air and vanishing.

The wild grass on the slope was flattened by the shockwave, as if bowing one last time.

The moonlight shone on the empty grave, quiet and still.

The three incense sticks had burned out.

But where the wind passed, a faint wisp of smoke seemed to linger.

It did not dissipate for a long time.