Master Talisman

Everything Yang Xing had demonstrated before her just now—turning into birds and snakes, controlling fire and lightning, wind blades that sliced through rooftops—now seemed to her like only the most superficial, crudest applications of the Wind Empress Qimen.

The true Wind Empress Qimen.

Was ten thousand times more vast than all that.

With the heart establishing the central palace, oneself as the focal point of the formation, everything around could be drawn into the board. The flow of time could be minutely adjusted, folds in space could be pinched together, and the form of matter could be reshaped at will.

This was not a soul skill.

It was an entire method for understanding and controlling the world.

Ning Rongrong pressed her lips tightly together.

Yang Xing looked at the deep shock still lingering in her eyes, and an excessively smug smile surfaced on his face.

"My soul skills are all inheritance-type." He crossed one leg over the other, his tone unbearably smug. "You don't need to learn them. Now that I've passed it on to you, just slowly figure out how to use it yourself. How far you can ultimately take it depends on your own fortune."

Ning Rongrong nodded like a rattle drum.

Vigorously. Frantically.

The lofty, scrutinizing look she had worn earlier had completely vanished. In its place was the pure excitement and awe of someone who had been utterly won over.

But as she nodded, her movements gradually slowed.

A different glimmer flashed through her eyes.

Inheritance-type soul skills.

You could master them with a single touch.

There was no need for a learning process.

Didn't that mean this could be passed on to others?

Ning Rongrong's mind began racing. An inheritance-type soul skill this powerful, usable with any martial soul—wasn't this the most suitable means of protecting the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect that they had sought for thousands of years?

If she passed the Wind Empress Qimen on to her father, to the sect's core disciples...

"Oh, right."

Yang Xing's voice cut in at just the right moment. His tone was casual, as if he were merely mentioning it in passing.

"I set restrictions on this inheritance soul skill of mine. You can't explain it verbally to others, nor can you pass it on to anyone else."

Ning Rongrong's face fell.

Instantly.

Like she had swallowed a bitter gallbladder wrapped in sugar.

She puffed out her lips high.

"You're really stingy."

Yet she did not doubt the truth of Yang Xing's words at all, because the Wind Empress Qimen had made her realize that this swindler master before her truly was no ordinary person.

Yang Xing waved it off unconcernedly. Then he stretched lazily again and let out who knew how many yawns he had given that day.

"All right, if there's nothing else, hurry up and go register at that Shrek Academy of yours."

He got up and swayed back toward the bed.

"If you don't go now, you might not be able to register. Stop disturbing your master's sleep."

As he spoke, he had already flopped onto the bed. He lay on his side with his back to Ning Rongrong, finding a comfortable position.

Seeing how little Yang Xing cared about her, his little princess disciple of the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect, Ning Rongrong's teeth began itching again in anger.

She rose and walked to the bedside.

Bang.

She kicked the edge of the bed.

Bang.

Then added two more kicks.

Yang Xing rocked from the kicks without even grunting.

Ning Rongrong deflated. She shook her foot and stood there pondering for two seconds.

She really did need to register. She had asked around before coming; Shrek Academy only accepted entrance assessments at specific times. If she kept dawdling, she really would miss it.

She bent down and leaned close to Yang Xing's ear.

"This young lady will be back soon, so don't you run away, swindler master..."

Yang Xing gave an indistinct hum from the bed, thick with sleepiness.

Ning Rongrong waited another two seconds.

Once she confirmed he had no intention of responding further, she pursed her lips and turned toward the door.

Her hand had just settled on the broken wooden door.

Whoosh.

A streak of white light flew over from behind her and landed with perfect accuracy in her palm.

It was warm, carrying a faint ripple of soul power.

Ning Rongrong lowered her head.

A white talisman seal the size of a fingernail had appeared in her palm. Its sheen was soft, and delicate patterns faintly flowed across its surface.

She clenched the talisman and turned around.

"What is this?"

Yang Xing's voice drifted from the bed, lazy to the extreme, every word drawn out long.

"A Master Talisman."

He rolled over without opening his eyes.

"If you encounter a truly life-threatening crisis, pour soul power into it to activate it, then shout 'Master, Master, Master' three times. I'll instantly appear before you and save my adorable disciple..."

Ning Rongrong held the talisman seal.

She was not touched.

Her first reaction was to cover her chest.

Then, with the look one gave a sewer rat, she stared across the entire room at the humanoid lump lying on its side on the bed.

"This isn't something you made specifically to spy on and peep at this young lady because you think I'm naturally beautiful and gorgeous, is it?"

Her voice was filled with disgust and wariness.

"To satisfy some perverted, ugly desire of yours as a master?"

The bed was silent for two seconds.

Then Yang Xing's flat voice drifted over.

"If you don't want it, I'll take it back."

Ning Rongrong clenched the talisman tighter.

Almost reflexively, she hid it behind her back.

"Hmph."

She turned her face aside, an unnatural flush rising on her cheek.

"It's not like this young lady trusts you, you stinky swindler master."

She pinched the talisman, her fingertips brushing over its patterns.

"I'll reluctantly trust you just this once."

She raised her chin toward the bed.

"You'd better not have added a peeping function. If this young lady finds out, I'll have Grandpa Sword and Grandpa Bone beat you to death."

"Mhm, mhm, mhm..."

Three utterly insincere nasal sounds came from the direction of the pillow.

Ning Rongrong gave that back turned toward her one final glare.

"Hmph."

She pulled open the door and stepped outside.

With a creak, the door shut.

The light in the room dimmed by more than half.

Yang Xing lay on the bed, listening as the sound of her footsteps over the gravel outside gradually faded. Softer and softer. Farther and farther away.

Until he could no longer hear them at all.

His breathing steadied. The taut string that had been stretched inside him all afternoon finally loosened completely at that moment.

Ten years.

From age eight to eighteen.

From inside the village to outside it, from one city to another, from being driven away as a madman to being thrown out of his home by his parents.

Three hundred and sixty-five failed attempts at finding an obedient disciple.

Countless failures, countless rejections, countless times being treated like a lunatic.

Today.

He had finally received one.

With his eyes closed, the corners of his mouth curved up.

In less than two seconds, his breathing became long and even.

Sunlight outside filtered through the cracks in the door, casting several slanted beams across the floor. The scent of wood drifted quietly through the room.

Yang Xing fell asleep.

Who knew how long passed.

Yang Xing woke up.

More precisely, he had been jolted awake by the sound of his own snoring.

The instant he opened his eyes, the room was so dark he could not see his hand in front of his face.

A little moonlight leaked through the hole in the broken window, illuminating a patch of dusty floor.

How many hours had passed?

Yang Xing rolled over and sat up, his mind startlingly clear. It was the feeling of being so thoroughly rested that every pore seemed to be breathing, running from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet.

No.

It was not just that he was well-rested.

That power was still inside him. The presence of the nine soul rings occupied his meridians clearly, like nine steady stars each suspended in their designated orbit.

The Qi Body Origin Stream circulated soundlessly, continuously drawing the spiritual energy of heaven and earth, invisible to the naked eye, from the surrounding air into his body.

It wasn't a dream.

Yang Xing sprang from the bed. The moment his feet hit the ground, he clenched his right fist fiercely.

The soul power in his palm surged forth, flooding his entire arm with a roar. That sense of fullness made the blood throughout his body boil.

"Ahhh!"

Yang Xing threw back his head and let out a howl that burst from the depths of his soul. The sound pierced through the wooden walls of the dilapidated house, through the alley, and through the night sky over the entire shantytown.

"What are you howling about in the middle of the night?!"

"Are you sick?!"

"I've got to set up my stall tomorrow! Keep yelling and I'll knock your teeth out!"

Curses from every direction poured over him like water.

Yang Xing shut his mouth.