Ning Rongrong’s pupils dilated slightly for an instant.
Eight?
She had seen many Soul Masters in her life.
Grandpa Sword had nine Soul Rings and nine Soul Skills, and so did Grandpa Bone.
But most of those Soul Skills were extensions within the same system, essentially following a single path.
The Wind-Queen’s Mystic Gate this person had just demonstrated, however, contained transformation, elemental manipulation, and spatial displacement within just one Soul Skill.
If his other seven Soul Skills were on the same scale…
Impossible.
Ning Rongrong shook her head, dismissing the thought.
“You’re just bragging,” she said, crossing her arms and lifting her chin, returning to her haughty, scrutinizing posture.
“I’ll admit this Wind-Queen’s Mystic Gate of yours has some merit.
But if you’re saying you have eight more Soul Skills just like it… Forget whether you even have that many Soul Skills.
If they’re all this absurd, I don’t believe it.”
She tilted her head, her gaze critical.
“Besides, if the rest are just ordinary Soul Skills, this young lady isn’t interested.”
Yang Xing smiled.
It was a smile carrying a certainty Ning Rongrong couldn’t quite describe, as if he had expected her to say exactly that.
“I guarantee every single one is extraordinary,” he said, his tone disarmingly straightforward.
“Disappointing Miss Ning is something this master would never do.”
“Who’s your disciple?!
Who are you calling ‘master’?!”
Yang Xing pretended not to hear.
He raised his right hand, extended his index finger, and traced a line in the air.
Ning Rongrong instinctively took half a step back.
Last time, this guy had flicked her forehead with his finger and turned her into a bird.
But this time was different.
The path Yang Xing’s fingertip traced through the air left behind a faint, shimmering golden trail.
The light trail hovered in the air, not dissipating.
Ning Rongrong’s attention was immediately drawn to it.
The golden trail curved and extended in the air.
Yang Xing’s finger moved as if holding an invisible brush, writing something in the void.
Three strokes, five strokes, seven strokes.
A complete, intricate symbol she had never seen before took shape.
The symbol glowed with flowing golden light, suspended mid-air, emanating an indescribably ancient aura.
“This is…” Ning Rongrong’s lips parted.
Before she could finish, Yang Xing flicked his finger.
The golden symbol detached from its suspended position and shot straight toward Ning Rongrong.
Ning Rongrong’s pupils contracted.
She instinctively wanted to dodge, but the symbol was too fast.
In the blink of an eye, it attached itself to her.
Hum.
A low, resonant vibration rose from beneath her feet.
Before Ning Rongrong could process what was happening, her vision darkened.
Like an inverted bell, seamless and airtight.
She pushed against the barrier.
Her fingertips met a wall of earth as hard as iron.
“Hey!” Ning Rongrong’s voice came from inside the earthen dome, muffled.
“What are you doing?!
Let me out!”
The earthen dome dissipated.
It vanished as quickly as it had appeared, lasting no more than three seconds.
Ning Rongrong’s hair was slightly mussed from being confined, her face full of annoyance.
She was about to start scolding him when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Yang Xing’s finger move again.
This time, he was drawing a blue symbol.
Faster than before.
With fewer strokes.
The moment the symbol was complete, Yang Xing casually tossed it upward.
Ning Rongrong looked up.
A dark cloud materialized three feet above her head.
It was only the size of a washbasin—a small, heavy, ink-black mass suspended precisely above her.
Then, it began to rain.
Not a light drizzle, but a torrential downpour that poured straight down.
It was unnervingly precise, drenching her alone without a single drop splashing anywhere nearby.
“Ah!”
Ning Rongrong screamed, covering her head with her hands.
But it was useless.
The cloud seemed to have eyes, sticking to her as she moved.
If she ran left, it drifted left; if she dodged right, it shifted right.
Within three seconds, Ning Rongrong was soaked from head to toe.
Her white dress clung to her body, her short hair dripped water, and droplets hung from her eyelashes.
She looked as pitiful as a drenched kitten.
“Yang Xing!
You just wait!!”
Her voice was a shrill shriek forced from her throat.
Splashing through the puddles, she charged toward Yang Xing, her fists clenched so tightly her knuckles turned white.
Yang Xing moved his fingers again.
A crimson talisman shot out, landing precisely one foot in front of Ning Rongrong.
A wave of gentle heat instantly washed over her.
Ning Rongrong’s steps faltered.
It was hot, but not scalding—just the right temperature, like the warmth of sitting by a stove in winter.
Her soaked hair and the white dress clinging to her body visibly dried as the moisture evaporated under the heat.
Two seconds.
Her clothes were dry.
Even the stray strands that had stuck to her cheeks from the rain now fluffed back up.
Ning Rongrong stood frozen in place, looking down at her sleeves, now dry and clean as before.
Her charge toward Yang Xing had been interrupted.
Her fists were still clenched, but she couldn’t take another step forward.
She didn’t know whether to hit him first or ask what this was.
Yang Xing didn’t give her time to hesitate.
His fingers traced through the air continuously, one glowing rune after another flying out.
A pale purple talisman drifted to Ning Rongrong and attached itself to the center of her forehead.
A cool sensation spread from her brow, like drinking a chilled plum soup.
The fury that had surged after being drenched uncontrollably subsided a little.
“Mind-Clearing Talisman,” Yang Xing’s voice was lazy.
“For calming anger.”
Ning Rongrong’s eyelid twitched.
A white talisman circled around her once.
After a flash of white light, all the marks on her clothes—from rolling on the ground earlier, being dusted with dirt, or brushing against benches—vanished completely.
Her white dress was pristine as new, even the wrinkles smoothed out.
“Clothes-Cleaning Talisman.”
Another gold-red talisman attached itself to the back of her hand.
A surge of strength spread from her arm throughout her body, and Ning Rongrong’s eyes instantly lit up.
She could clearly feel her Soul Power being elevated, as if lifted a notch.
“Strength-Boosting Talisman.
Lasts for a quarter of an hour.”
Yang Xing withdrew his hands, interlacing his fingers in front of him, and smiled as he looked at Ning Rongrong.
Ning Rongrong remained standing where she was.
Her mind was racing.
Earth Evasion, rainfall, high-temperature evaporation, mind-clearing, clothes-cleaning, strength-boosting.
Six completely different effects, corresponding to six completely different talismans.
Each one was drawn by Yang Xing on the spot in mid-air, used immediately with instant results.
This was different from the Wind-Queen’s Mystic Gate.
The Wind-Queen’s Mystic Gate achieved various effects by manipulating changes through oneself.
Essentially, it was a direct control over space and matter.
But this—it released different abilities by drawing different symbols.
The symbols themselves were the medium, the weapon, the vessel.
The systems were entirely different.
One worked from the inside out.
The other used talismans as conduits.
Ning Rongrong completely forgot the grudge from being drenched just moments ago.
Her eyes sparkled as she stared at Yang Xing, her lips slightly parted, her words spilling out with barely contained urgency.
“What Soul Skill is this again?”
She took two steps forward.
“Can this be taught as well?”