Tang Wulin Returns

Tang Wulin's eyes snapped open.

Above him was a grayish-white ceiling. A soul-guided lamp was embedded in the corner, a thin layer of dust gathered along the edge of its shade, casting a dim yellow light. The little bed beneath him was hard, covered with a thin, faded quilt, and a crookedly sewn cloth tiger rested beside his pillow.

He slowly sat up and looked around the room. It was small, barely ten square meters. The little bed occupied nearly half the space, while an old desk stood against the opposite wall, an utterly worn copy of A General History of the Continent spread across its surface. The windowsill was narrow, holding a drooping potted plant with droplets still hanging from its leaf tips from Lang Yue's watering that morning. Outside the window, he could see the wall of the neighboring building, its grimy surface covered in pipes—soul-guided energy pipes, drainage pipes, communication cables—all tangled together in a mess.

He had returned.

This room, this bed, that battered book, and the potted plant on the windowsill that never seemed to survive were all things buried deep in his memories. The civilian district of Aolai City, a living room barely over ten square meters, a tiny kitchen, and two rooms each less than ten square meters. Tang Ziran worked in a mecha repair shop, twisting screws for barely any pay each month. Lang Yue bustled about the kitchen in an apron, occasionally poking her head out to call, "Tang Tang, dinner!"

Tang Wulin looked down at his hands. They were small and chubby, with a bit of skin scraped off yesterday still clinging to one fingernail.

His nose suddenly stung.

"Tang Tang!"

The door was pushed open. Tang Ziran rushed in, sweat still beading on his forehead. The sleeves of his work uniform were rolled up to his forearms, stained black with engine oil. He crossed the room in a few strides and wrapped Tang Wulin tightly in his arms, one rough hand cradling the back of his son's head.

"It's all Dad's fault. Dad just borrowed a hundred thousand." Tang Ziran's voice was muffled, still carrying the breathlessness of his run. "Let's go draw another soul spirit, all right? This time, Dad will definitely get you a good one."

Tang Wulin was held so tightly that he could not move. His face was buried in the work uniform that smelled of engine oil, his nose filled with familiar scents—iron filings, lubricating oil, and the coal smoke of the forging furnace.

At the doorway, Na'er stood gripping the doorframe, her little face taut.

Tang Wulin finally forced his tears back. He remembered now—only a few days after his Blue Silver Grass awakened, Jinyu had just fused with him, and Tang Ziran had borrowed a hundred thousand to draw him another good soul spirit. Everything had only just begun.

"Dad." His voice came out terribly hoarse.

Tang Ziran released him and looked down. His son's eyes were red, tears streaming down his cheeks. It felt as though something clenched Tang Ziran's heart, making his breathing hitch. He hurriedly pulled his son back into his arms, patting his back again and again.

"It's okay, it's okay. Dad's here."

"Did you bully Tang Tang again?"

Lang Yue came over from the kitchen, flour still clinging to her apron. The moment she pushed open the door and saw the scene, her brows shot up. She strode to the bed and grabbed Tang Ziran's ear, her grip remarkably precise.

"I didn't!" Tang Ziran tilted his head in pain, reaching for her hand with a grimace. "I just hugged my son! How did I bully him?"

"Then why is our son crying?" Lang Yue glared at him, then crouched and wiped Tang Wulin's tears away with her fingertips. "Tang Tang, tell Mom. What happened?"

Na'er ran over as well. Her tiny body squeezed between Tang Wulin and Lang Yue as she spread her arms and hugged her brother. "Na'er didn't bully Brother either."

Tang Wulin sniffed and rubbed his eyes hard. He could not talk about that eternal frozen seal, could not talk about Gu Yuena, and could not talk about the Golden Dragon King's seventeen seals—those things were too distant, too heavy. This little body of his could not bear them yet.

"I'm fine, Mom." He grinned, showing a childlike smile. "I just... had a nightmare. I dreamed that you didn't want me anymore."

Lang Yue's eyes reddened too. She reached out and gathered both children into her arms, resting her chin atop Tang Wulin's head. "Silly child, how could Dad and Mom ever not want you?"

"Na'er too." Na'er buried her face in the crook of her brother's shoulder, her voice muffled.

A light cough came from the doorway.

Mang Tian had appeared there at some point, dressed in plain gray clothes with his hands behind his back, his face still wearing that cold, stern expression.

Tang Ziran nearly sprang off the bed. "Mang... Mang Tian! How did you get in?"

"The door wasn't closed." Mang Tian's expression did not change. He stepped into the room and bowed to Tang Ziran and Lang Yue. "Tang Wulin didn't come to forge with me this afternoon. I was worried something had happened, so I came to take a look."

Lang Yue hurriedly stood up from the floor, wiped her eyes, and bowed to Mang Tian. "Teacher Mang Tian, thank you for taking care of our Tang Tang."

"What are you saying?" Mang Tian shifted aside, unwilling to accept her full bow. "Tang Wulin is my student. It's my duty."

"All right, all right." Tang Ziran waved his hand, cutting off the polite exchange. He bent down and patted Tang Wulin's shoulder, his tone changing as barely suppressed curiosity filled it. "Son, show Dad what that soul ring of yours can do. Dad didn't get a good look when you drew it that day."

Tang Wulin froze for a moment. "Huh? Oh, okay."

He circulated his soul power. Blue Silver Grass slowly emerged from his palm, slender vines winding around his wrist. A silver-white soul ring rose beneath his feet—but the instant it lit up, he suddenly sensed something was wrong.

The seventeen seals were all gone.

Not one of those golden chains remained. The violent Golden Dragon King power lurking within him lay quietly there, like a sleeping beast. But it should not have been so quiet. It was supposed to be locked down by the seals.

Everything around him began to darken.

The soul-guided lamp on the ceiling, the potted plant on the windowsill, Lang Yue's apron, Tang Ziran's face leaning close—all their colors were being drawn away, fading. In the end, only a blaze of golden light remained, so bright that he could not open his eyes.

When he opened them again, he was standing in that golden palace.

Beneath his feet was a metal floor covered in dragon-scale patterns. Pillars carved with coiling dragons held up the dome, which was embedded with countless points of golden light, like a starry sky turned upside down over his head. On the steel throne, the Golden Dragon King rested his chin on one hand, crimson eyes lowered toward him. There was none of that suffocating pressure around him.

"Boy, this king has waited bitterly for you." The Golden Dragon King dragged out his words, his tone impatient.

Tang Wulin stared up at him. "You came back long ago?"

"Of course." The Golden Dragon King changed positions and crossed his legs. "This king returned much earlier than you did. Do you remember that blue-haired teacher of yours?"

Tang Wulin's heart skipped a beat. It was as if all warmth had been sucked from his blood in an instant, cold spreading inch by inch through his limbs and bones.

Wu Changkong.

That blue-haired man had stood at the podium with a cold face ever since Class Zero at Eastsea Academy. His words had always been icy, but whenever Tang Wulin lost control while breaking through a seal, Wu Changkong had always been the first to restrain him. To secure him a place at Shrek, he had been willing to kneel outside his teacher's door, crushing his own pride and throwing it to the ground. After Tang Wulin's adoptive parents vanished, Wu Changkong had taken up that responsibility and pushed him, step by step, to where he was today.

In his heart, Wu Changkong was the person who had always stood in front of him.

"You..." Tang Wulin's throat felt full of shattered glass. "What did you do?"

The Golden Dragon King said nothing. He merely raised his left hand and drew it flat across his throat.

"I'll kill you—!"

Golden light exploded from Tang Wulin's palm as the Golden Dragon Spear condensed out of thin air, its three-meter-six shaft brilliant as molten gold. He stamped hard on the metal floor, turning into a streak of golden lightning as he lunged at the throne. The spear tip tore through the air with a piercing shriek, its killing intent so dense it nearly solidified, making even the golden lights in the dome tremble.

The Golden Dragon King did not even raise his eyelids. He casually lifted a finger, and the metal floor beneath Tang Wulin cracked apart with a roar. The phantom of a massive mountain range surged from the fissure and sent him flying. Tang Wulin's chest tightened as he was hurled into the air, the Golden Dragon Spear slipping from his grasp.

The Golden Dragon King clenched his hand in the air. Vast power crushed down from every direction, pinning him in midair.

"Why the rush?" The Golden Dragon King's voice rose from below, tinged with impatience. "This king hasn't finished speaking."

Tang Wulin hung suspended in the air, gritting his teeth as he forced out the words, "Let me go."

"Listen to this king first."

The Golden Dragon King rose from the throne and walked to the center of the hall, looking up at Tang Wulin pinned in midair. He drew a golden arc through the air with one hand. The arc spread open, and a clear fragment of memory appeared before Tang Wulin.

He saw the snowy field. He saw Dark Hummingbird. He saw Wu Changkong holding Long Bing and blocking that attack. He saw crimson-gold eyes shine through Wu Changkong's amber pupils. He saw Dark Hummingbird collapse into the snow, a hole the size of a bowl blasted through his chest.

"This king possessed him," the Golden Dragon King said. "That brat had barely surpassed six rings of soul power at the time, while his opponent was a Titled Douluo. If this king hadn't intervened, he would have ended up like last time."

Tang Wulin stared at the final frozen image in that memory—Wu Changkong lay in the snow, Long Bing beside him, both their chests still rising and falling.

He closed his eyes. His clenched fists slowly loosened. The fire in his chest was still burning, but it was no longer as scorching as before.

The Golden Dragon King was telling the truth. With Wu Changkong's cultivation at the time, he had stood no chance against Dark Hummingbird. If the Golden Dragon King had not possessed him, Long Bing would have died on that snowy day. Yes, Teacher Wu had suffered terribly in the previous life too.

"...Thanks." The words squeezed out of his throat.

The Golden Dragon King waved a hand at him without turning around. "Cut it out. This king helped because I found that brat pleasing to the eye. What did it have to do with you?"

He turned and walked back to the throne. Boundless power poured from his palm into Tang Wulin's limbs and bones—that power was gentle yet tyrannical, like a scalding golden river flowing through his meridians and into his marrow, saturating every inch of muscle.

In midair, Jinyu was stripped from the soul spirit space. His silver-white body shattered, reformed, and expanded inch by inch. His scales grew from tiny fragments into palm-sized plates, his budding horns stretched into branching antlers, and his body lengthened to more than ten meters, covered from head to tail in brilliant golden scales. Ten-Thousand-Year Jinyu slowly coiled through the air and let out a clear dragon roar.

The Golden Dragon King tore a fragment of imperial-gold armor from his chest. The instant it left his body, it transformed into a ball of golden light, restructuring in midair into a complete golden torso bone, its surface flowing with magma-like patterns. Immediately afterward, a pair of golden dragon wings unfolded from the light, their membranes thin as cicada wings, their joints protruding in savage ridges. The two soul bones sank into Tang Wulin's back and chest at once. Agonizing pain exploded from deep within his spine. Every vertebra seemed to be rearranged, every rib smashed apart by a hammer and fused anew. Golden light wrapped him into a cocoon.

The Golden Dragon King leaned back against the throne. After all that effort, he had weakened considerably.

About two hours passed.

The first crack appeared on the cocoon's shell. Golden light leaked through it, followed by a second crack, then a third. The cracking grew denser and denser until an entire side of the cocoon burst apart—a pair of dragon wings snapped open. They had no feathers, only savage bones supporting membranes covered in golden scales. Their wingspan stretched over three meters, every bony spike sharp as a dagger. Tang Wulin hovered in midair, the dragon wings behind him slowly beating as the airflow churned the golden light throughout the palace. He opened his eyes, and crimson-gold light flashed deep within his pupils.

"Time outside has stopped." The Golden Dragon King's voice drifted from the throne, hollow and weary. "And—"

A fragment of memory suddenly flooded Tang Wulin's mind. He saw the altered fate of Wu Changkong and Long Bing. Wu Changkong was alive, and Long Bing was alive too. Fate had been bent around a turn.

"Your soul spirit is ten thousand years old now," the Golden Dragon King's voice grew softer and softer. "Figure out how to conceal the soul ring yourself. Work out the soul bones' abilities and soul skills on your own. This king is tired."

A moment of dizziness passed. Tang Wulin returned to the little room.

The sunlight remained at the same angle. Lang Yue's skirt still hung exactly as it had, and Tang Ziran's smile was still fixed in place. Na'er stood on tiptoe, her big eyes blinking as she waited eagerly to see his soul skill.

Nothing had moved.

Tang Wulin looked down at himself. Nothing had changed on the surface, but he could clearly sense two folded bone wings on his back. The torso bone in his chest pulsed steadily like a second heart. Jinyu rested quietly in the soul spirit space at his waist, his golden scales gleaming.

He took a deep breath and summoned Blue Silver Grass again—circulating only his bloodline power, a pale golden glow seeped from beneath his skin and barely formed a faint soul ring illusion at his feet.

"Tang Tang, didn't you draw a ten-year soul spirit?" Tang Ziran leaned closer, scratching his head. "Why is this soul ring gold?"

Tang Wulin swallowed. He lifted his innocent, childlike face, his large eyes blinking with sincerity. "Uh... it... mutated, maybe."

Mang Tian watched with a frown for a long time but said nothing. Lang Yue, however, scooped Tang Wulin into her arms and planted a hard kiss on his cheek. "Our Tang Tang is the best! I knew my son was a genius!" Tang Ziran chuckled along and reached over to pinch his son's cheek.

Mang Tian spoke, his voice still carrying that hard, cold tone. "Tang Wulin, use a soul skill. Let me see it."

Held in Lang Yue's arms, Tang Wulin's little legs dangled and swung in midair as he secretly clenched his fists.

A soul skill? He had not figured one out yet. But he glanced at the four expectant faces in the room and grinned. "Okay."