Winds of Change

The golden hall floated at the center of the Sea of Spirit. Golden specks of light on the dome slowly drifted about, as though held aloft by some unseen force.

Tang Wulin stood in the middle of the hall, his feet planted on the metal floor covered in dragon-scale patterns, which faintly gleamed with a dark golden luster.

He hesitated before finally speaking. "Golden Dragon King, can you still reshape soul bones?" His voice echoed through the hall, and before the lingering sound had fully faded, he stood there at a loss for how to continue. "I'd like to ask you—"

The Golden Dragon King did not wait for him to finish.

With a snap of his fingers, their positions instantly switched. Before Tang Wulin could react, he was already seated upon the Steel Throne. His hands rested on the armrests, and the chill of the metal seeped through his fingertips into his palms. It felt heavier than he had expected, as if the power beneath his fingers was slowly awakening, little by little responding to his body heat.

The Golden Dragon King's voice descended from every direction in the hall at once, as if it had been embedded within the cracks of space itself rather than coming from any particular location. "I'm going to tell you two things now." His voice was neither loud nor soft, carrying an effortless certainty that needed no emphasis. "First, before you lose your value to me, there is no need to beg me with such humility." He paused, as though confirming whether the weight of those words had properly reached Tang Wulin. "Second, you should try it—what it feels like to sit on the throne."

After saying that, his figure faded from the center of the hall like water seeping into dry sand. Only an ethereal echo remained beneath the dome. "Get used to it. This time, it's for that girl named Xu Xiaoyan, isn't it? Don't worry."

Tang Wulin sat upright on the Steel Throne. The metallic texture beneath him transmitted a steady, lingering coolness through his clothes. He lowered his head and looked at his hands—his fingertips were slowly being dyed by faint golden patterns of light. The radiance spread from his knuckles to the edges of his palms, like a layer of fine scales gradually solidifying, their edges gleaming with the dim light of another bloodline.

He felt an unfamiliar power pouring into his body. It shared the same origin as the Golden Dragon King Bloodline within him, yet possessed a subtle difference, like two utterly different currents within the same body of water, churning and testing one another. He fell silent for a moment, then slowly raised his hands, palms upward. Dragon scales emerged from the lines of his palms, their edges sharp and dazzling, like something already carved into shape adapting itself to a new outline. "This is... the power of another Golden Dragon King."

Tang Wulin was worried because everyone else had already improved in this life, but Xu Xiaoyan had not. So he wanted to...

Above Shrek City.

The Golden Dragon King stood in midair. Slowly drifting clouds churned beneath his feet, as though some invisible force was pressing them down, preventing them from crossing the unseen boundary below him.

He looked at the golden motes of light dispersing in the distance—his dissipating people—and his gaze remained fixed there for a long time. He clenched his left hand, his knuckles pressing a curved mark into his palm. His voice was low, as though ground out from deep in his throat. "Boy, what you lost was not just your memories, but also your composure and caution." His gaze pierced through layers of cloud and mist, falling upon a direction he could not directly see.

The erosion of memory had taken more from him than memory alone. Time Reversal had brought back only Tang Wulin, not the Dragon Emperor Douluo who could hold up the heavens.

He paused, as though weighing the placement and weight of those words. "The Spirit Pagoda should have begun making its move." A faint, imperceptible curve entered his voice, as though he had discovered a gap no one else had noticed. "Since you carry this king's bloodline, then—you are this king's subject." Heavy golden light scattered across the sky, the motes drifting like ashes scattered by the wind as they slowly sank toward some invisible distance.

"This king will believe in you one last... time." He sounded as if he were stating an irrefutable fact, yet also as though he were searching for a reason to justify his actions.

The Xu Family of Eastsea City.

The lingering glow of sunset slanted in through the window, spreading a layer of warm yellow light across the floor and landing right along the edge of the windowsill. Xu Xiaoyan leaned against the sill, her chin resting on her folded hands as she watched the outlines of rooftops outside being swallowed by dusk.

She watched for a while, as though confirming that those houses were still where they had always been. Then she drew back her gaze and looked at her fingertips. "Eastsea Academy... they're all so amazing." Her voice was soft, its final note blending into the twilight, as if she were speaking to herself, or asking the light that had yet to return for an answer. "Dad said so too, but it still feels like so much pressure." After saying that, she quietly gazed out the window again, as if waiting for the evening wind to blow down a thought that had not yet taken shape.

There were no windows in the deepest secret chamber of the Spirit Pagoda headquarters.

The dark stone walls absorbed most of the light. Only several soul lamps in the corners gave off a dim, cold glow.

Qiangu Dongfeng knelt on one knee, his hands hanging at his sides and his fingertips pressed against the icy floor. Before him was a mass of slowly churning black mist. It had no fixed shape, its edges constantly shifting between contraction and expansion as though it were breathing. "Honored Pagoda Master," a voice seeped out from the depths of the mist, carrying the strange texture of something transmitted through a layer of water, "please dispatch someone as soon as possible to take up the position of Pagoda Master of the Heaven Dou Sub-Pagoda."

Qiangu Dongfeng kept his head lowered, the veins at his temples faintly bulging. He could feel his fingertips exerting force, the pressure of his knuckles against the ground slowly increasing, a thin tendon beneath his skin twitching. Yet he did not allow that force to spread into his arms. Damn it. If I weren't afraid that old bastard would find out... The dignified Pagoda Master of the Spirit Pagoda had actually been forced into such a position. He had begun to doubt himself. The seat of Pagoda Master that he had occupied for so many years now hung in a darkness above him, becoming the target of some pair of watching eyes. His voice carried a faint tremor. "All right... I understand."

The edges of the black mist began drawing inward, as though it were slowly withdrawing its own existence. "Then I shall take my leave. I'll trouble you, Pagoda Master." The voice vanished into the air so quickly that it was as though it had never existed, leaving behind only a small patch of chill that slowly dispersed, sliding across Qiangu Dongfeng's fingertips along the floor.

Qiangu Dongfeng remained kneeling there in silence for a long time. Then he slowly rose to his feet. He did not use Soul Power or any technique—pure force smashed into the ground. The first punch landed with only a dull thud. The second carried the force of his entire shoulder. The third seemed intent on shattering everything he had been gripping too tightly. His knuckles soon split open, and dark red blood slowly seeped between his fingers, leaving several short, hurried streaks across the floor.

"Shrek! Tang Sect!" His voice was pressed deep in his throat, like an iron blade sharpened and suppressed again and again. "I'll definitely grind all of you beneath my feet!" After his words fell, the room fell silent for several breaths. He used his other hand to brace himself against the floor and stood up, gradually steadying his breathing again.

He straightened up, brushed the dust from his sleeves, and returned to the position where the Pagoda Master of the Spirit Pagoda ought to stand. "And... East Sea." By the time he spoke, his voice had returned to its usual calm, as if nothing had happened.

"Guards."

His voice pierced through more than half of the Spirit Pagoda headquarters. The soul lamps along its path flickered slightly before returning to normal.

Several black-clad figures appeared in the hall. Their bodies were shrouded in darkness, their faces impossible to see. Each was cloaked in deliberately restrained fluctuations of Soul Power, as though carefully maintaining a balance that would not draw attention. Qiangu Dongfeng narrowed his eyes slightly. "Perhaps... our plan should be moved forward." He paused, as though confirming whether certain details were already in place. "If Ye Guojie's matter is exposed, the Spirit Pagoda's reputation will inevitably be affected." One of the black-clad figures shifted slightly but made no sound. After a long while, one of them finally spoke in a low voice. "What you mean is... could it be—"

"Do what is expected of you." Qiangu Dongfeng's voice fell without the slightest warmth. "There is no need to ask about what you should not ask."

The black-clad figures did not speak again. They merely stood quietly where they were, as though waiting for the next order.

Qiangu Dongfeng had already turned away, his back facing them. His gaze fell upon the Spirit Pagoda emblem on the wall—his eyes lingered on its design for an instant without revealing any emotion, then shifted away. He looked farther into the distance, toward an even darker place, like someone who had long since arranged countless possibilities and was merely waiting for one predetermined path to be triggered.