Beside the waterfall, Yang Chang'an stood on the bank, his gaze fixed on Qianjun Douluo in the distance. Even his breathing had grown exceptionally soft.
Qianjun Douluo stood quietly on the water without any Soul Skill beneath his feet, steady as Mount Tai. He held only an ordinary wooden stick and looked utterly unremarkable, yet the aura radiating from him weighed heavily over the entire valley.
Qianjun Douluo glanced at the intently focused Yang Chang'an and said in a ringing voice:
"Chang'an, your mastery of spear techniques stands among the finest of your generation. As your teacher, I have nothing to teach you in that regard. What I will teach you is the spirit to battle heaven and earth!"
Then he slowly raised the wooden stick in his hand. "Everyone knows that my Martial Soul is the Coiling Dragon Staff. With one strike, heaven and earth tremble. It can split mountains, sever seas, and challenge every mighty warrior beneath the heavens."
Qianjun Douluo gently turned the stick between his fingers, his tone even. "But they do not know that the foundation of staff techniques lies neither in the staff, nor in strength, nor in the might of a Martial Soul. It lies in intent."
"Fighting spirit, will, and the heart's intent... only when these three become one can they be called the will to battle heaven and earth."
The instant his words fell silent.
Qianjun Douluo took a gentle step. There was no eruption of Soul Power, not even the slightest surge in his aura. Yet the moment his foot came down, the air throughout the valley seemed to freeze. The once-gentle breeze abruptly stilled, and the surrounding plants bowed slightly, as though lowering their heads before some invisible force.
Yang Chang'an felt an incomparably domineering presence engulf him in an instant.
It was neither the pressure of Soul Power nor the suppression of rank, but an unshakable will that came from the depths of the soul, tempered through countless battles of life and death.
Qianjun Douluo still held only that ordinary wooden stick.
Yet the moment he raised his hand, the stick seemed to cease being a mundane object, becoming a divine weapon capable of holding up the heavens and splitting the earth.
"Watch closely."
The next moment, Qianjun Douluo flicked his wrist and swung the wooden stick, its shadows circling his body.
His movements were not fast. They could even be called slow. Every move, every form, unfolded clearly before Yang Chang'an's eyes, with nothing held back.
In his hands, the stick sometimes thrust straight like a spear, pointing toward the heavens with a keenness that could pierce the clouds; sometimes it swept like a great staff, scouring every direction with the dominance to subdue the eight wilds; sometimes it struck like crashing thunder, heavy as a mountain, with the ferocity to crush everything; sometimes it darted like a roaming dragon, nimble and unpredictable, with the abandon to range freely through heaven and earth.
Every move and every form was plain and unadorned, without a single flourish or unnecessary motion.
Yet Yang Chang'an's eyes widened further and further, while towering waves surged through his heart.
He saw it with absolute clarity: what Qianjun Douluo held was no mere wooden stick.
In his eyes, that stick had already become a Coiling Dragon Staff that pierced heaven and earth.
This was no display of technique, no flaunting of power, but an outpouring of will.
It was the fighting spirit that refused to retreat a single step before a mighty enemy,
the will that would never bow its head in a hopeless plight,
the resolve to hold up heaven and earth with a single staff, even if the sky collapsed and the ground caved in.
Yang Chang'an involuntarily tightened his grip on the Soul Breaking Spear, his knuckles whitening slightly from the force.
As he watched that plain yet incomparably domineering figure and the wooden stick dancing gently in the wind, the confusion and uncertainty in his heart rapidly melted away.
But in the distance, Qianjun Douluo continued demonstrating the will that belonged to him alone.
The stick flicked upward, like a coiling dragon raising its head to soar into the highest heavens;
the stick smashed sideways, like a mountain bearing down overhead, impossible to evade;
the stick wheeled back, like a coiled dragon and a crouching tiger, guarding every direction;
the stick shot out, carrying the indomitable dominance of an advance that accepted death and left no path back to life.
Yang Chang'an's breathing involuntarily rose and fell with Qianjun Douluo's staff techniques. He felt as though his soul had been completely enveloped by that will to battle heaven and earth.
And his eyes grew brighter and brighter.
At the same time, the Soul Breaking Spear in Yang Chang'an's hand seemed to sense the change in its master's heart. Its tip trembled slightly, giving off a faint hum, as though responding to the unyielding will contained within the Coiling Dragon Staff Technique.
The Soul Breaking Spear broke enemies, broke defenses, and broke through adversity.
The Coiling Dragon Staff subdued mountains, subdued rivers, and subdued hearts and souls.
An unknown amount of time passed.
The wooden stick in Qianjun Douluo's hand paused gently.
All the staff shadows vanished at once, and every trace of his presence withdrew. The will that had suppressed the valley receded like the tide, leaving no trace behind. It was as though those soul-shaking demonstrations had never happened.
The valley returned to its original tranquility.
Qianjun Douluo still stood where he had been, holding that ordinary wooden stick, his expression calm, as though he had merely done something insignificant.
Yang Chang'an, however, remained in the same posture, utterly motionless, staring blankly ahead. He was wholly immersed in his revelations, unable to pull himself free.
In his mind, every move and every form Qianjun Douluo had demonstrated replayed again and again.
Plain staff techniques and an ordinary branch had contained a will that could shake heaven and earth.
It was neither technique, nor strength, nor rank, but a conviction that sank into the marrow and was carved into the soul-no matter how powerful the enemy, how desperate the circumstances, or how dark and difficult the road ahead, he would never bow his head, never retreat, and never give up.
To subdue mountains and rivers with a staff was to be unyielding;
to break all arts with a spear was to be fearless.
Yang Chang'an gripped the Soul Breaking Spear tightly, his knuckles white and his arms trembling slightly-not from fear, but from excitement, from awe, and because the flame that had long lain dormant in his heart had finally been fully ignited.
He had grown up in Spirit City, accustomed to the oppressive might of the powerful and the crushing struggles between factions. He had always been cautious, as though treading on thin ice, seeking only to survive in a world of turmoil and protect the last of his clan's bloodline. He had thought survival was his only goal.
But only now did he truly understand.
Survival did not mean clinging ignobly to life, swallowing humiliation for the sake of compromise, or bowing his head to fate.
It meant relying on the spear in his hand, the intent in his heart, and the fierceness in his bones to carve a path to survival through a world of turmoil, hold up a stretch of heaven and earth, and safeguard a haven of peace.
The Soul Breaking Spear's edge was not merely for breaking enemies. It was for breaking deadlocks, breaking fate, and breaking the lowliness and helplessness that had weighed upon the Breaking Clan for countless years.
Qianjun Douluo watched Yang Chang'an remain silent for a long time, a trace of satisfaction appearing in his eyes.
He did not speak to disturb him, but simply stood quietly to one side, allowing Yang Chang'an to remain immersed in his own world.
For a Soul Master, a single revelation that touched the soul was far more precious than countless rounds of tedious training or the aid of countless heavenly treasures.
A long while later.
Yang Chang'an let out a long breath of stale air, and his gaze became completely clear again.
Compared with before, he seemed to have been reborn.
The uncertainty and anxiety in his eyes had vanished, replaced by clarity and resolve. Like the tip of the Soul Breaking Spear, they were sharp, steadfast, and would never bend. His entire bearing was quietly changing as well.
He slowly raised his head and looked at Qianjun Douluo, his eyes filled with respect and gratitude.
Without any unnecessary words, Yang Chang'an bent deeply at the waist, offering a bow with the utmost solemnity.
"Thank you for your guidance, Teacher!"
Qianjun Douluo nodded lightly and casually tossed the wooden stick aside, his tone as even as before. "Your spear has an edge, but no soul. What I showed you today was not staff technique, but the heart."
"The spearhead may snap, the shaft may break, but the spear's heart must never be extinguished."
"Remember, the soul of the Breaking Clan lies not in the spear, but in its people. As long as your will remains standing, you can break your enemies even without a scrap of iron in your hands; even in a hopeless plight, you can find a way to live."
Yang Chang'an nodded firmly, carving every word into his heart. "I will keep your teachings in my heart and never forget them for as long as I live!"
The tip of the jet-black Soul Breaking Spear in his hand trembled slightly, humming without cease.