The air fell silent.
Ning Rongrong's mind stopped working for about three seconds.
Can be taught.
Those four words echoed through her mind.
In her twelve years of understanding, a Soul Master's soul skills were bound to their Soul Rings. Whatever Soul Ring you obtained determined what soul skill you possessed. Every person's soul skill was unique, like a fingerprint—impossible to copy or transfer.
That was common sense.
An ironclad rule that had never been broken in thousands of years across Douluo Continent.
But then, a term surfaced from the depths of her memory.
Self-Created Soul Skill.
Her father, Ning Fengzhi, had once mentioned the concept to her late one night.
Ning Rongrong had heard it by accident while pestering her father to tell her stories.
Self-Created Soul Skills were something only a tiny number of exceptionally gifted Soul Masters could comprehend.
They did not depend on Soul Rings, but on a Soul Master's own unique understanding of power.
And because Self-Created Soul Skills were created by oneself, they could theoretically be taught to others.
Ning Rongrong's eyes lit up for an instant.
"A Self-Created Soul Skill?!" she blurted out, unable to suppress the excitement in her voice. "Yours is a Self-Created Soul Skill? That's why you can pass it on to other people?"
Yang Xing shook his head.
The excitement on Ning Rongrong's face visibly dimmed.
"This isn't a Self-Created Soul Skill," Yang Xing corrected her. "This is a perfectly legitimate Soul Ring skill of mine."
Ning Rongrong frowned. "Then what did you mean when you said it could be taught? How can a Soul Ring skill be taught?"
Yang Xing did not answer immediately.
His expression changed.
His brows drew together slightly, his gaze turned distant, and a faint curve appeared at the corner of his mouth.
His entire demeanor abruptly shifted from the frivolous grin of moments ago into something profoundly unfathomable.
He was putting on an act.
Two hundred percent putting on an act.
But he had to admit, he did it extremely well.
"To put it simply," Yang Xing said, lowering his voice slightly as he spoke slowly, "the core of this Wind Empress Qimen lies in understanding change. It isn't a fixed move, but a method."
He looked at Ning Rongrong.
"A method is naturally something that can be taught to others."
He raised one finger.
"As long as you learn this way of understanding change, you can use it yourself. You don't need my Soul Ring or my Martial Soul. Use your own Soul Power and follow the path I teach you, and you can accomplish the same things."
Ning Rongrong stared at his raised finger, her mind racing.
Yang Xing suddenly tilted his head, assuming a puzzled expression.
"Oh, right." His tone suggested he had only just remembered something. "Miss Ning Rongrong, haven't you always wanted to become an assault-type Soul Master?"
Ning Rongrong's breathing paused for half a beat.
"Controlling fire, controlling lightning, wind blades, transformation." Yang Xing counted them off on his fingers, his tone casual. "If you learned these, would you still be considered a pure support-type? If you used them well, it'd even be entirely possible for you to become far stronger than those dedicated assault-type Soul Masters."
He lowered his hand.
His calm gaze settled on Ning Rongrong's face.
"Or is it that you don't like it?"
Ning Rongrong's lips moved.
Her breathing quickened. The obsession she had buried in the deepest part of her heart ever since her Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Pagoda awakened at age six was suddenly dragged out and laid bare before her.
She wanted to be an attack-type Soul Master.
She had wanted it ever since she was six.
On the day the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Pagoda awakened, everyone had celebrated. Her father had spun her around three times in his arms, while Sword Grandpa and Bone Grandpa had both smiled at the same time for the first time ever. The entire Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect had erupted in excitement, calling her a genius seen only once in a century. With innate rank-nine Soul Power, she was destined to lead the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect to new heights.
But six-year-old Ning Rongrong had stood amid the crowd and felt only that while the glazed pagoda floating behind her was beautiful, it was not what she wanted.
She wanted a Martial Soul that could fight.
One that could shoot fireballs, throw lightning, or send bad people flying with a single punch.
Not one that stood in the back and buffed others.
She had never told anyone about this thought.
Although she had been spoiled since childhood, she knew that there was no point bringing up anything that touched her father's or the sect's bottom line.
The Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Pagoda was a support-type Martial Soul. That was an unchangeable fact.
Thousands of people throughout the sect expected her to carry the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Pagoda forward. No one cared whether she wanted to be an attack-type Soul Master.
So she buried that thought in the deepest part of her heart.
Ning Rongrong stared fixedly at Yang Xing.
Her face was filled with conflict.
Reason told her that this man was a fraud.
A fraud from beginning to end.
His public fortune-telling had been a scam, his apprenticeship contract had been a trap, and perhaps everything he had displayed before her was some kind of illusion as well.
But another voice told her otherwise.
Those flames, that water, lightning, and wind blades were real. The hole above their heads, sliced open by the wind blade, was real.
The little bird she had touched with her own hands was real.
If all of this was real.
If she truly could learn it.
Ning Rongrong's throat moved.
She realized she could not say the words "I don't like it."
Yang Xing watched her expression without saying anything. He did not even curl his lips into a smile.
He simply stood there, his hands hanging naturally at his sides, his gaze calm.
He did not urge her, tempt her, or press her for an answer.
He simply waited.
That attitude was deadlier than any sweet talk.
Because if he said even one more word now, Ning Rongrong would reject him on reflex. That was just her temperament—the more someone pushed her, the less she would yield.
But if he said nothing.
If he handed the choice entirely to her.
Then she had no way to pin her reason for refusing on someone else.
Ning Rongrong clenched the hem of her skirt.
The silence lasted about five seconds.
Then she spoke.
Her voice was very soft, so soft it was nearly a murmur to herself.
"Can you really teach me?"
Yang Xing heard her, but did not answer directly.
He merely looked at Ning Rongrong, an unreadable smile on his lips, and slowly nodded first.
A glimmer of light had just flashed in Ning Rongrong's eyes.
Then he shook his head again.
That glimmer froze.
Ning Rongrong's brows immediately knitted together. The softness that had just appeared on her face, nearly expectant, cooled at a visible speed.
She clenched her back teeth.
What did that mean?
She was the dignified young miss of the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect. How had she even managed to say that just now? It was practically the first time in her life that she had asked someone to confirm something in such a low posture, with such a gentle tone.
And his response had been to nod, then shake his head?
Was he treating her like a monkey?
A surge of anger shot up in Ning Rongrong's chest. The humiliation of being played for a fool mixed with the frustration of lowering herself at last only to be indirectly refused, rushing straight to her head.
"What exactly do you mean?"
Her voice rose. Her delicate little face was drawn tight and pale, and her almond eyes were full of displeasure.
"If you can teach me, then say you can. If you can't, then say you can't. What's with nodding and shaking your head? Is it that you can't teach me, or that you don't want to?"
She stepped forward, her finger nearly poking Yang Xing in the chest.
"Then why did you go on and on about all this?! Turning into birds and snakes, making fire and controlling lightning—you put on this whole show! Just so you could laugh at me, right?!"
Yang Xing looked at her flushed little face and remained completely unruffled.
He had long figured out Ning Rongrong's temper, ready to explode at any moment. It came quickly and went quickly, like June weather; she changed her face faster than turning a page.
He spoke unhurriedly.
"I never said I wouldn't teach you."
Ning Rongrong's anger stalled.
"Nor did I say I would," Yang Xing added, with the kind of composure that made people want to punch him.
Ning Rongrong clenched her fists.
Yang Xing waved a hand and continued at an unhurried pace. "That Wind Empress Qimen I just demonstrated is only one of my eight soul skills that can be taught."
He raised one finger.
"One."
Ning Rongrong's anger was derailed for an instant by those words.
Yang Xing watched the change in her expression, and the curve of his lips deepened slightly.
"I have seven other soul skills. Not a single one is inferior to Wind Empress Qimen. Is Miss Ning sure you don't want to see them all? You can make your choice after you've seen everything."
Before you continue