Wharton

The afternoon sunshine was just right in Wushan Town. Golden light filtered through the Chinese parasol leaves, casting dappled light and shadow across the old residence's courtyard like fine flecks of gold scattered over the ground. Cicadas sang among the branches and leaves, their overlapping calls weaving the languid rhythm unique to summer. Now and then, wisps of wind swept through, lifting the linen drying in a corner of the courtyard with a soft rustle.

A boy of about seven stood bare-chested, rising onto his toes as he punched the wooden post before him. The post stood half a person's height, its rough bark covered in fist marks of varying depths, clearly left by years of blows. It rubbed his palms red and even scraped the skin slightly. Yet he kept his chubby little face taut, his expression showing a seriousness beyond his years. His small brows drew together, and his eyes stayed fixed on the center of the post. His little fists were clenched tight, his knuckles white with effort. Every punch carried a reckless ferocity, and the dull thuds of his fists striking wood echoed through the courtyard, revealing an unyielding stubbornness beneath his childishness.

This boy was Hogg's second son, Wharton.

Sweat slid from his temples down his round cheeks and dripped onto the bluestone paving, spreading into small, dark patches. The wisps of hair at his temples were soaked as well, sticking to his flushed skin. Yet he did not even blink, continuing the monotonous strikes, punch after punch. The sustained exertion brought a faint, healthy flush to his little arms and legs. Occasionally, a punch went astray and struck the hard paving, making him bare his teeth in pain as his eyes instantly reddened. Still, he bit his lower lip and forced back the sob about to escape. He merely lowered his head, rubbed the reddened back of his hand, took a deep breath, and clenched his fist again, adjusting his stance before throwing another punch.

Ever since Hogg had awakened his dragon blood and advanced to an Eighth-level Warrior, the old residence's courtyard had become a shared training ground for father and son. Every day, Wharton got up before dawn, carried out his little wooden folding stool, and sat obediently in a corner of the courtyard, watching eagerly as his father meditated cross-legged and practiced his punches and qi. He watched the Battle Qi around his father sometimes turn into streams of blue-gold light that lingered around his fingertips, and sometimes carry a faint Dragon's Might, allowing a single punch to leave deep marks in the courtyard wall. Those astonishing sights were like a burning seed that took root and sprouted in his little heart, filling him with an almost obstinate yearning for the words "Dragonblood Warrior." He always secretly imitated his father's punching stance, practicing against the air and hoping that one day he, too, could possess such formidable strength.

"Whoosh-" A heavy punch missed, and Wharton stumbled, staggered two steps backward, and landed on his bottom on the bluestone paving. The hard stone jarred his back painfully. He could not help baring his teeth, and his eyes reddened at once. But he bit his lower lip and refused to let his tears fall. He merely looked down at his reddened little fists and muttered, "Why can't I hit it properly...? Father can smash the post with one punch. Why can't I even hit it right...?"

"Take a break." Hillman's voice came from the courtyard entrance. He carried a bamboo basket lined with a few fresh green parasol leaves, with wild fruit he had just picked from the hill behind the residence resting on top. The red ones looked like agates and the purple ones like crystals, tempting at a glance. A gentle smile touched his eyes as he looked at Wharton's stubborn expression. He walked over and offered him a bright red fruit. "You're only seven. You don't need to push yourself so hard. This post really is a little too tall for you. Give it another two years. Once you're stronger, you'll naturally be able to hit it properly."

Wharton took the fruit and bit off a large mouthful. Sweet juice instantly spread through his mouth, easing the pain in his palms. He raised his head, his eyes like black grapes filled with sparkling light, and asked Hillman, "Uncle Hillman, I want to awaken my dragon blood too. I want to become as powerful as Father. If I drink dragon blood and eat blue heart grass, will I be able to smash this post with one punch?"

Just then, Hogg emerged from the main hall. He had just finished a round of training, and the blue-gold Battle Qi around him had not yet fully subsided. His expression held the relaxed vigor of someone brimming with strength. His steps were steady and powerful, each one making the bluestone paving tremble slightly. Hearing his son's words, he paused, then strode to the center of the courtyard and beckoned to Wharton. His voice was gentle, yet carried an unquestionable solemnity. "Wharton, come here."

Wharton immediately scrambled up, brushed the dust off himself, and pattered over to Hogg. He tilted his little face up toward his father, his eyes full of anticipation, his small hands unconsciously gripping the hem of his clothes.

Hogg crouched and gently rested his rough palm on Wharton's head, slowly channeling a gentle current of Battle Qi into his body. Carrying a faint lingering trace of dragon blood, it flowed like warmth through Wharton's limbs and body, gently completing a circuit through his meridians and leaving a warm sensation wherever it passed. The moment he lifted his palm from Wharton's head, a flash of surprise and delight crossed Hogg's eyes that he could hardly conceal. He turned to Hillman, his voice carrying excitement he could barely suppress. "This child's bloodline purity... is even higher than mine was when I was young! When my Dragonblood Battle Qi passed through his meridians just now, there were actually faint signs of resonance. The blood energy in his meridians surged with extraordinary activity."

Hillman was somewhat surprised as well, then smiled in understanding. "Naturally. You're an awakened Dragonblood Warrior now, and your bloodline power is several times stronger than before. Wharton inherited your bloodline, so of course his foundation wouldn't be poor. This child was born with tenacity. His future achievements may not fall short of yours."

Wharton looked at the two men with only a hazy understanding, his little hands gripping Hogg's hem tightly. His voice was clear and somewhat urgent. "Father, when can I drink dragon blood and eat blue heart grass? I want to become powerful. I want to protect Wushan Town, and protect you and Uncle Hillman."

Seeing the pure anticipation in his son's eyes, Hogg felt warmth in his heart and could not help reaching out to ruffle his soft hair. He stood and looked toward a room deep within the old residence that had long lain sealed in dust. The words "Ancestral Hall" were carved above its doorway, their weathered strokes bearing the marks of time. His tone was utterly solemn. "Come. I'll take you to the ancestral hall."

The ancestral hall's door was made of thick, solid wood, carved with ancient dragon patterns and covered in a thin layer of dust. Having gone unopened for years, its hinges creaked as they turned. Hogg pushed the wooden door open, and a scent mingling sandalwood and age washed over them. The hall was dim, with only a few shafts of sunlight slipping through gaps in the window lattice and illuminating the dust drifting in the air. The ancestral tablets of the Baruch Clan stood in the center of the hall. Made of ebony, they bore names carved in gold. The writing on the uppermost tablet had already become illegible; presumably, it belonged to the most distant ancestor. An old wooden box sat on the offering table before the tablets. Inside lay a slender silver needle about a finger's length, its shaft engraved with intricate dragon patterns. It was the Dragonblood Needle passed down through the clan, said to have been left behind by an ancestor specifically to test the bloodline purity of the clan's descendants.

"This is the Dragonblood Needle." Hogg picked up the slender silver needle, his fingertips gently brushing the patterns on its shaft. His voice was low and held a measure of reverence. "According to our ancestral teachings, only descendants with sufficiently pure bloodlines can make it react. I tried once when I was little. The needle only gave off a faint glimmer before it went out."

He took Wharton's little hand and gently pressed the needle against his fingertip. The instant its point touched his skin, the previously dull silver needle suddenly erupted with dazzling blue-gold light! The dragon patterns seemed to come alive, winding and circling over the shaft with a faint hum. A trace of Dragon's Might spread outward, making even the candle flames in the hall flicker several times as dust showered down from the window lattice. More astonishing still, the blue-gold light slowly climbed Wharton's arm from the needle's tip, gathering at his wrist into a faint dragon-scale mark. The mark was lifelike, flickering for several breaths before slowly fading away.

Hogg and Hillman exchanged a glance, each seeing shock and wild joy in the other's eyes.

"To think... to think it would react so strongly!" Even Hogg's voice trembled. He stared fixedly at the fleeting mark on Wharton's wrist, his fingers shaking slightly. "This child's bloodline purity far surpasses that of all our ancestors! He doesn't need dragon blood or blue heart grass to help him at all. With proper guidance, he can undergo Dragonform transformation directly! He's a born Dragonblood Warrior!"

Hillman drew in a sharp breath and hurried forward, studying Wharton closely, his eyes full of wonder. "The aptitude to awaken naturally... the Baruch Clan is finally going to have a true genius!"

Wharton looked down at the Dragonblood Needle against his fingertip, his eyes round and wide, his little face full of curiosity and excitement. He shook Hogg's hand, his voice clear as a bell. "Father, this needle is so bright! Does that mean I'll be as powerful as you soon?"

Hogg bent down and lifted his son into his arms, the excitement in his eyes almost overflowing. He raised a hand to wipe the corners of his eyes, his voice both choked and resolute. "Yes, my son. You'll be stronger than your father. You'll become the Baruch Clan's most dazzling glory."

Carrying Wharton, he walked up to the ancestral tablets and said quietly, "Ancestors above, I, Hogg, swear here that I will devote everything I have to teaching Wharton to master the power of dragon blood and make the name of Baruch resound throughout the continent!"

Wharton reached out a little hand and touched a tablet on the offering table. Feeling the cold grain of the wood beneath his fingertips, he suddenly experienced an indescribable feeling, as though countless ancestors were watching him and taking pride in him. Just then, the bloodline within him seemed to ignite. A hot current surged from his chest, and the dragon-scale mark reappeared on his wrist, faint blue-gold light enveloping his little hand.

Sensing the change, Hogg's eyes flashed with surprise and delight. "His bloodline is awakening on its own... Wharton, concentrate. Follow my guidance and feel the power inside you!"

Sunlight passed through the window lattice, falling on the gleaming Dragonblood Needle and on Wharton's little face, filled with longing. Amid the sandalwood fragrance and shifting light of the ancestral hall, this seven-year-old boy's journey as a Dragonblood Warrior had quietly begun.