A gust of wind swept through the courtyard, carrying with it several clear whistles of a spear cutting through the air, mixed together with a youthful yet spirited shout that echoed throughout the yard.
Yang Chang’an stood firmly in a horse stance, his small body stretched perfectly straight.
The baby fat on his face trembled slightly with his movements, and although his cheeks were puffed out, the hands gripping the spear remained steady and powerful.
The wooden spear in his hands stood more than half a head taller than he was, yet he wielded it with vigorous force.
Whenever the spear tip swept across the ground, it sent tiny fragments of stone scattering into the air.
Every strike and movement was broad and open, yet all of them followed clear structure and discipline.
Slashing, thrusting, lifting, sweeping—every movement was clean and decisive, completely lacking the clumsy awkwardness of a child.
Instead, there was a faint trace of the imposing aura that only came from repeated refinement.
At such a young age, he already carried a hint of a true master’s bearing.
The bluestone tiles of the courtyard were damp from the morning dew, and every now and then the shaft of the wooden spear scraped lightly against the ground, producing soft scattered sounds that intertwined with the whistle of the spear, forming a rhythm unique to the courtyard.
No one knew how much time had passed before the final strike slammed heavily into the ground.
The wooden spear shaft trembled faintly as Yang Chang’an withdrew the spear and stood upright, one hand resting the spear against the earth while his small figure stood as steady as a pine tree.
“Not bad, not bad.
Little Chang’an has improved quite a bit compared to a few days ago.” An aged voice came from the courtyard entrance.
Yang Chang’an immediately opened his eyes and turned to look, only to see an elderly man with white hair and a long beard slowly walking in.
The old man wore a faded gray cloth robe that had clearly been washed countless times.
His steps were calm, and his aura appeared completely ordinary, no different from any elderly man one might encounter on the street.
Only deep within those profound eyes lingered an unmistakable trace of loneliness.
“Little Great-Grandpa.” Yang Chang’an immediately put down the wooden spear and hurried over on his short little legs.
This old man was Yang Quji, the youngest among the generation of Yang family great-grandfathers.
In terms of seniority, he was Yang Chang’an’s great-granduncle, though in reality he was only around ten years older than Yang Chang’an’s grandfather, Yang Wushuang.
But within the clan, seniority outweighed everything.
Even if Yang Quji did not appear much older than Yang Wushuang, Yang Chang’an still had to respectfully address him as Little Great-Grandpa.
Yang Quji chuckled cheerfully as he bent down, reaching out to lift Yang Chang’an into his arms.
He bounced him lightly a couple of times before teasing with a grin: “Oh?
Little Chang’an has gotten heavier again.
Looks like these past few days of meals weren’t wasted.” The smile on his face was genuine, so much so that even the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes gathered together, dispersing much of the gloom hidden in his gaze, while even the aura around him softened slightly.
There were quite a few children in the Yang family’s younger generation, and every one of them was sensible and obedient, but among them all, the only one who had managed to grow plump and fair was Yang Chang’an.
It was not that the other children lacked food or clothing.
Rather, the clan’s descendants all trained from an early age, so most of them possessed lean and agile physiques.
Only Yang Chang’an, no matter how exhausted he became, always ate with a hearty appetite, causing his body to grow sturdier than children his age, while the baby fat on his face made him especially lovable.
Yang Chang’an struggled slightly in Yang Quji’s arms, kicking his little arms and legs a few times, yet it accomplished absolutely nothing.
Though Yang Quji appeared thin and frail, his strength was genuinely formidable.
Even though Yang Chang’an had trained since childhood and possessed a foundation far beyond that of ordinary children, before Yang Quji he still had no ability to resist whatsoever.
“Little Great-Grandpa.” Yang Chang’an called out helplessly, finally giving up struggling.
His small face was filled with resignation, and the expression immediately caused Yang Quji to burst into loud laughter.
Still laughing, Yang Quji raised a hand and gently patted Yang Chang’an’s little head, his fingertips carrying a slightly rough touch.
“Hahaha, this little fellow really can’t take a joke.” As he spoke, he reached out again and rubbed Yang Chang’an’s round little cheeks.
The soft, squishy feeling made the smile on his face deepen even further before he finally set him back down.
After putting Yang Chang’an down, Yang Quji looked at his still slightly puffed-up cheeks and muttered to himself: “How boring.
The old Little Chang’an was much more fun.” Hearing this, Yang Chang’an could only smile bitterly inwardly.
In the past, it was never that he was “fun,” but simply that he was young, weak in strength, and had no ability to resist.
“By the way, Little Great-Grandpa, where is Grandfather?” Yang Chang’an suppressed the thoughts in his heart and quickly changed the subject, raising his small face to look at Yang Quji, his eyes carrying a hint of inquiry.
At the mention of Yang Wushuang, the smile on Yang Quji’s face faded slightly.
He let out a soft sigh and looked toward a room deep within the courtyard.
“He… should still be studying those prescriptions right now.” Ever since what happened back then, Yang Wushuang had completely lost his spirit.
Once, he was also the pride of the Yang family, gifted beyond ordinary people, and at a young age had already made a name for himself in the Spirit Master world.
But after that great battle, all of his pride was shattered.
In the years since, not only had his cultivation shown no progress, it had even faintly shown signs of decline.
He spent his days shut away in the medicine hut, studying those healing prescriptions, as though he were atoning for sins, or perhaps simply escaping from reality.
Everyone in the clan understood that this was not Yang Wushuang’s fault, and no one blamed him.
But in the end, he could not overcome that inner barrier himself.
Yang Chang’an fell silent.
His small body stood in place, head lowered, the liveliness from before gone without a trace.
He had already lived in this world for five years and had long since integrated into the Yang family, treating Yang Wushuang as his real grandfather.
He had heard from the elders in the clan about how spirited and extraordinary Yang Wushuang once was, and he had also seen the grandfather he had now.
Day after day of silence, his brows always filled with exhaustion.
The contrast between the past and present only made one’s heart feel increasingly bitter.
Seeing Yang Chang’an fall silent, Yang Quji also realized he had spoken out of turn.
He should not have mentioned such troubling matters in front of a child.
An awkward expression appeared on his face as he quickly patted Yang Chang’an’s shoulder and changed the topic.
“Didn’t you say early this morning that you wanted to go out and take a look?
It’s getting late now, hurry up and go.” “Mm.” Yang Chang’an nodded, suppressing the emotions in his heart.
He raised his eyes toward Yang Quji, forcing out a faint smile, then turned and walked toward the main gate.
Standing where he was, Yang Quji watched Yang Chang’an’s departing figure as the small silhouette slowly walked out of the courtyard.
In the end, he could only shake his head gently and murmur under his breath, “What a pity.” A pity for Yang Wushuang’s talent, a pity for the glory of the Yang family, and even more so, a pity for this child, Yang Chang’an.
Gifted with intelligence from a young age and possessing spear talent that was one in a million, yet he was born into such a time.
At such a young age, he already had to carry burdens that others could not understand.
After leaving the Yang family’s gates, Yang Chang’an paused for a moment and turned back to look at the ancient residence behind him.
The estate was quite vast, built with blue bricks and dark tiles, adorned with carved beams and painted rafters, every corner revealing the foundation of a Spirit Master clan.
Yet above the main gate, it was completely empty, without a single plaque hanging.
That plaque had long since shattered together with the glory of the Breaking Clan in that great battle years ago.
He looked for a long time, until the morning breeze lifted the hem of his clothes, before finally withdrawing his gaze and walking toward the street.
Yang Chang’an had not originally been from this world; he was once an ordinary man from the mysterious East.
In an accident, he had drowned while trying to save a stranger who had fallen into water, and never woke again.
When he opened his eyes once more, he had already arrived in this strange yet familiar world—Douluo Continent.
He had become the legitimate grandson of the Yang family, the grandson of Yang Wushuang.
In fact, in this life, his original name had been Yang Mingfeng.
It was only after that great battle that Yang Wushuang changed it for him, renaming Yang Mingfeng as Yang Chang’an.
He still clearly remembered how, at that time, Yang Wushuang forced a smile as he spoke to several elders of the clan: “There’s no need to be so sharp and aggressive.
Long-lasting peace and safety are enough—that is good enough.” At that moment, the light in Yang Wushuang’s eyes had already dimmed, and the sharpness in his aura had completely dissipated, even more so than the loneliness now seen in Yang Quji’s eyes.
And so, the name Yang Mingfeng became the past.
From that day onward, he was Yang Chang’an.
Chang’an, Chang’an—may it be long peace, may it be lasting safety.
This was Yang Wushuang’s expectation for him, and also the most humble prayer of this man, the Second Chief of the Breaking Clan, who carried endless self-blame in his heart.