Everything Yang Xing had just demonstrated before her—turning into a bird or a snake, controlling fire and lightning, wind blades slicing through the roof—now seemed to Ning Rongrong like the most superficial, most crude applications of the Wind-Queen’s Mystic Gate.
The true Wind-Queen’s Mystic Gate.
Was ten thousand times more profound than all of that.
By anchoring the Central Palace within the heart, using oneself as the pivot of the formation, and drawing everything in the surroundings into the layout.
The flow of time could be finely adjusted, the folds of space could be pinched together, and the forms of matter could be reshaped at will.
This was not a Soul Skill.
It was an entire system for perceiving and manipulating the world.
Ning Rongrong pressed her lips tightly together.
Yang Xing looked at her eyes, still filled with profound shock, and a smug, almost excessive smile spread across his face.
“My Soul Skills are all of the inheritance type,” he said, crossing his legs, his tone unbearably cocky.
“No need to learn.
Once I teach it to you, you can slowly figure out how to use it yourself.
How far you ultimately go depends entirely on your own destiny.”
Ning Rongrong nodded her head vigorously.
Nodding hard.
Nodding frantically.
The condescending scrutiny from before was completely gone from her expression, replaced by pure excitement and awe, the kind that comes from being utterly convinced.
But as she kept nodding, her movements gradually slowed.
A different kind of light flickered in her eyes.
Inheritance-type Soul Skills.
Learned instantly.
No learning process required.
Couldn’t this thing be passed on to others?
Ning Rongrong’s mind raced.
Such an inheritable Soul Skill, so powerful, and usable by any Martial Soul—wasn’t this exactly the most suitable method for protecting the sect that the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect had been searching for over thousands of years?
If she passed the Wind-Queen’s Mystic Gate to her father, to the core disciples of the sect…
“By the way.”
Yang Xing’s voice cut in at just the right moment.
His tone was casual, as if he were just mentioning it in passing.
“I’ve placed restrictions on this inheritance Soul Skill of mine.
You can’t verbally explain it to others, nor can you teach it to anyone else.”
Ning Rongrong’s face instantly soured.
It soured in an instant.
Like biting into a sugar-coated gall bladder.
She pouted, her lips jutting out high.
“You’re so stingy.”
Yet she didn’t doubt the truth of Yang Xing’s words in the slightest, because the Wind-Queen’s Mystic Gate had already made her realize that this swindler master of hers was indeed no simple figure.
Yang Xing waved a hand dismissively.
Then he stretched out with another big yawn, his who-knows-how-many-th yawn of the day.
“Alright, if there’s nothing else, hurry up and go register for that Shrek Academy of yours.”
He stood up and swayed his way back toward the bed.
“If you don’t go soon, you might miss the registration.
Don’t disturb your master’s sleep.”
With that, he was already lying down on the bed.
He turned on his side, his back to Ning Rongrong, and found a comfortable position.
Ning Rongrong watched Yang Xing’s utterly dismissive attitude toward her, a little princess disciple of the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect, and felt her teeth itching with irritation again.
She stood up and walked to the bedside.
Thump.
She kicked the edge of the bed.
Thump.
She added two more kicks.
Yang Xing swayed from the kicks but didn’t even grunt.
Ning Rongrong deflated, shook her foot, and stood there thinking for a couple of seconds.
I really should go register now.
Before coming, I had heard that Shrek Academy only accepts enrollment exams at specific times.
If I dawdle any longer, I might really miss it.
She bent down and leaned close to Yang Xing’s ear.
“This young lady will be back soon, you liar of a master better not run away…”
Yang Xing grunted from the bed.
It was muffled and heavy with sleepiness.
Ning Rongrong waited another two seconds.
Confirming that he had no intention of saying more, she pursed her lips, turned around, and walked toward the door.
Her hand had just touched the old wooden door.
“Whoosh.”
A streak of white light flew from behind, landing perfectly in her palm.
It was warm, carrying a faint ripple of Soul Power.
Ning Rongrong looked down.
In her palm was now a white Talisman Seal the size of a fingernail.
It had a soft luster, with intricate patterns faintly flowing across its surface.
Clutching the talisman, she turned around.
“What is this?”
Yang Xing’s voice came from the bed, utterly lazy, each word dragging out with a long tail.
“Master Talisman.”
He turned over, still not opening his eyes.
“If you ever encounter a truly life-threatening crisis, pour Soul Power into it to activate it, then shout ‘Master, Master, Master’ three times.
I’ll instantly appear before you and save my adorable little disciple…”
Ning Rongrong held the Talisman Seal.
She wasn’t moved.
Her first reaction was to cover her chest.
Then, with a look one might give a sewer rat, she glared across the entire room at the human-shaped lump lying sideways on the bed.
“This isn’t something you made because you saw this young lady’s natural beauty and charm, specifically to spy on and peep at me, is it?”
Her voice was full of disgust and wariness.
“To satisfy your perverted, ugly desires as a master?”
There was silence on the bed for two seconds.
Then Yang Xing’s flat, unemotional voice drifted over.
“If you don’t want it, I’ll take it back.”
Ning Rongrong’s hand tightened around the Talisman Seal.
Instinctively, she hid it behind her back.
“Hmph.”
She turned her face away, a faint, unnatural pink tinting her cheek.
“This young lady isn’t entirely distrustful of you, you liar of a stinky master.”
She pinched the Talisman Seal, her fingertips tracing the patterns on it.
“I’ll reluctantly believe you this once.”
She tilted her chin toward the bed.
“You’d better not have added any peeping functions.
If this young lady finds out, I’ll have Grandpa Sword and Grandpa Bone beat you to death.”
“Mhm, mhm, mhm…” Find the original chapter at g.com.
Three utterly insincere nasal sounds came from the direction of the pillow.
Ning Rongrong shot one last glare at the back turned toward her.
“Humph.”
She pulled open the door and stepped out.
With a creak, the door closed.
The light in the room dimmed considerably.
Yang Xing lay on the bed, listening to the sound of footsteps on the gravel path outside gradually fading away.
Growing softer.
Growing more distant.
Until they disappeared completely.
His breathing evened out.
The tension that had been coiled tightly inside him all afternoon finally relaxed completely at this moment.
Ten years.
From eight years old to eighteen.
From inside the village to outside, from one city to another, from being driven away as a madman to being sent away from home by his parents.
Three hundred and sixty-five failed attempts at taking a disciple.
Countless failures, countless rejections, countless times being treated as a lunatic.
Today.
Finally, he had succeeded.
He closed his eyes, the corners of his mouth curling upward.
Within seconds, his breathing became long and steady.
Sunlight from outside filtered through the cracks in the door, casting a few slanted beams of light on the floor.
The scent of wood floated quietly in the room.
Yang Xing fell asleep.
He had no idea how much time had passed.
Yang Xing woke up.
To be precise, he was jolted awake by the sound of his own snoring.
The moment his eyes opened, the room was pitch black, so dark he couldn’t see his own hand in front of his face.
A sliver of moonlight leaked through a hole in the broken window, casting a dull, grayish glow on the floor.
How many hours had passed?
Yang Xing rolled over and sat up, his mind startlingly clear.
That sensation of being fully rested, where every pore seemed to breathe freely, coursed from the crown of his head down to the soles of his feet.
No.
It wasn’t just being well-rested.
That power within him was still there.
The presence of the nine Soul Rings was distinctly anchored in his meridians, like nine steady stars each suspended in their own fixed orbits.
The Origin of Qi was circulating silently, and the invisible Heaven and Earth Spiritual Qi in the surrounding air was being continuously drawn into his body.
It wasn’t a dream.
Yang Xing sprang up from the bed, and the moment his feet touched the ground, his right fist clenched violently.
The surge of Soul Power erupted from his palm, flooding his entire arm with a roaring force.
That feeling of fullness made his blood boil throughout his body.
“Ahhh!”
Yang Xing threw his head back and let out a roar that erupted from the depths of his soul.
The sound pierced through the wooden walls of the dilapidated house, through the alleyway, through the night sky of the entire shantytown.
“What are you howling about in the middle of the night!”
“Are you insane?!”
“I’ve got to set up my stall tomorrow!
Keep yelling and I’ll smash your teeth in!”
Curses poured in from all directions like a bucket of cold water.
Yang Xing shut his mouth.