Monkeying Around

The air fell silent.

Ning Rongrong's mind stopped working for about three seconds.

Could be taught.

Those four words echoed through her mind.

In her twelve years of understanding, a Soul Master's soul skills were bound to soul rings. Whatever soul ring you obtained determined what soul skill you possessed. Every person's soul skills were unique, like fingerprints—impossible to replicate or transfer.

That was common knowledge.

An ironclad rule that had never been broken in the thousands of years of Douluo Continent's history.

But then, a term surfaced from the depths of her memory.

Self-created soul skills.

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 rely on soul rings, but on a Soul Master's unique understanding of power.

And precisely because self-created soul skills were created by oneself, they could theoretically be taught to others.

Ning Rongrong's eyes lit up for a moment.

"Self-created soul skills?!" she blurted out, unable to suppress the excitement in her voice. "Is that what yours is? Is that why you can pass it on to others?"

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. "It's a proper 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 seemed to linger at the corner of his lips.

His entire demeanor abruptly shifted from playful frivolity to an unfathomable air that was hard to put into words.

It was an act.

Two hundred percent an act.

But he had to admit, Yang Xing played the part remarkably well.

"To put it simply." Yang Xing lowered his voice slightly and 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, naturally, 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 won't need my soul ring or my martial soul. Use your own soul power and follow the path I teach you, and you'll be able to do the same things."

Ning Rongrong stared at his raised finger, her mind racing.

Yang Xing suddenly tilted his head, putting on a puzzled look.

"Oh, right." His tone suggested he had only just remembered something. "Miss Ning Rongrong, haven't you always wanted to become an attack-type Soul Master?"

Ning Rongrong's breath caught 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 all that, would you still count as a pure support type? And if you used them well, it would be entirely possible for you to become far stronger than those full-time attack-type Soul Masters."

He lowered his hand.

His calm gaze settled on Ning Rongrong's face.

"Or do you not like it?"

Ning Rongrong's lips moved.

Her breathing grew hurried. The obsession that had been buried in the deepest part of her heart ever since the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Pagoda awakened when she was six was suddenly yanked into the open and laid bare before her.

She wanted to become 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 cheered. Her father had lifted her up and spun her around three times, while Grandpa Sword and Grandpa Bone had both smiled at the same time for the first time in ages. The entire Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect had erupted in excitement, calling her a once-in-a-century genius. Innate soul power level nine—she was destined to lead the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect to new heights.

But six-year-old Ning Rongrong, standing amid the crowd, had only felt that although the glazed pagoda floating behind her was beautiful, it was not what she wanted.

What she wanted was a martial soul that could hit people.

One that could shoot fireballs, hurl lightning, or send bad guys flying with a single punch.

Not one that stood in the back and buffed everyone else.

She had never told anyone about this thought.

Though she had been spoiled since childhood, she knew there was no point in bringing up anything that touched upon 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.

The thousands of people in the sect were all counting on her to carry forward the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Pagoda. No one cared whether she wanted to be an attack type.

So she had 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 liar.

A liar from beginning to end.

The fortune-telling in public had been a scam. The disciple-taking contract had been a trap. Even everything displayed before her might be some sort of illusion.

But another voice told her—

Those flames, streams of water, lightning, and wind blades were real. The hole above her head, sliced through by a wind blade, was real.

The little bird she had touched with her own hands was real.

If all of this was real...

If she really could learn it...

Ning Rongrong swallowed.

She realized she could not say the words "I don't like it."

Yang Xing watched her expression without saying anything. The corners of his lips did not even lift.

He merely stood there, his hands hanging naturally at his sides, his gaze calm.

No urging, no tempting, no pressing for an answer.

He simply waited.

That attitude was more deadly than any honeyed words.

Because if he said even one more word now, Ning Rongrong would reject him on reflex. That was just her personality—the more someone pushed her, the less she would comply.

But if he said nothing.

If he placed the choice entirely in her hands.

Then she would have 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 soft, so soft it was almost a murmur to herself.

"Can you really teach me?"

Yang Xing heard her, but did not answer directly.

He merely looked at Ning Rongrong with an inscrutable smile on his lips, then slowly nodded.

A glimmer of light had just flashed in Ning Rongrong's eyes.

Then he shook his head.

The light froze.

Ning Rongrong's brows immediately knitted together. The softened expression on her face, nearly one of anticipation, turned cold at a visible pace.

She clenched her back teeth.

What did that mean?

How had she, Ning Rongrong, the dignified young miss of the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect, managed to utter those words just now? It was practically the first time in her life that she had used such a lowly posture and such a gentle tone to seek confirmation from someone.

And his response had been to nod and shake his head?

Was he treating her like a monkey?

A blaze of anger shot up in Ning Rongrong's chest. The humiliation of being toyed with like a fool mixed with the frustration of finally lowering herself only to be rebuffed, surging straight to her head.

"What exactly do you mean?"

Her voice rose. Her delicate little face had gone pale with tension, and her almond-shaped eyes were filled with displeasure.

"If you can teach me, then you can teach me. If you can't, then you can't. What's with nodding and then shaking your head? Is it that you can't teach me, or that you don't want to?"

She took a step forward, her finger nearly poking into Yang Xing's chest.

"Then why did you tell me all this nonsense?! Turning into birds, turning into snakes, making fire, controlling lightning—you put on a whole show! Was it all just to laugh at me?!"

Yang Xing looked at the flushed little face before him and remained completely unruffled.

He had long figured out Ning Rongrong's temper, which could explode at any moment. It came quickly and went quickly, like June weather—her moods changed faster than the pages of a book.

He spoke at an unhurried pace.

"I never said I wouldn't teach you."

Ning Rongrong's anger stalled.

"Nor did I say I would," Yang Xing added, with the maddening composure that made people want to punch him.

Ning Rongrong clenched her fists.

Yang Xing waved a hand and continued unhurriedly. "The Wind Empress Qimen I demonstrated just now is only one of my eight soul skills that can be taught."

He raised one finger.

"One."

Ning Rongrong's anger was diverted for a moment by those words.

Yang Xing watched the change in her expression, the curve of his lips deepening slightly.

"I still have seven other soul skills. Not a single one is inferior to Wind Empress Qimen. Is Young Miss Ning sure you don't want to see them all? You can make your choice after you've seen everything. There's still time."