The Hall of Spirits in Maple Leaf Town was nothing more than an old stone house at the west end of town.
Its plaster was peeling, and the emblem carved into the lintel had worn smooth with age.
Usually deserted, it was packed to overflowing only during these few days at the start of spring.
The air inside was thick with sweat, cheap tobacco, and a restless energy.
Lu Yuan stood near the back of the line.
He was small and gaunt, his face sallow.
His father, Lu Qinghe, stood half a step behind him, a heavy, calloused hand resting on his shoulder with considerable weight.
Lu Yuan did not look back; he squinted as he observed the front of the room.
The Spirit Master in charge of the awakening ceremony was a man in his nineties in gray robes, wearing a faded single-ring badge on his chest.
His face bore no expression, his movements practiced to the point of numbness.
Six jet-black stones were arranged in a hexagon on the floor, and a pale gold barrier of light rose above them.
A faint phantom of a small scythe floated above the palm of a child standing in the center.
“Tool Martial Soul, Scythe,” the gray-robed Spirit Master said in a flat voice, pulling out a transparent crystal ball.
“Test your innate spirit power.” The child grasped it.
The sphere flickered weakly with light.
“Innate Spirit Power: Level 0,” the Spirit Master noted down.
“Next.” A few sighs rippled through the crowd.
The child was dragged away by his father, who muttered a low curse under his breath.
The line moved forward.
A hoe, a grass rope, a house sparrow…
Four or five children in a row awakened ordinary Martial Souls.
Only the girl who awakened the house sparrow had an innate spirit power of Level 1.
The impatience on the gray-robed Spirit Master’s face grew increasingly obvious, and the atmosphere in the room turned heavy and somber.
Then it was Lu Yuan’s turn.
Lu Qinghe lifted his hand from his son’s shoulder and gave him a gentle nudge.
Lu Yuan took a deep breath and stepped into the stone circle.
The stones were icy cold.
“Hand.” Lu Yuan held out his right hand.
It was thin, his knuckles distinct.
Warm golden light wrapped around him.
A faint current of air rose from his palm, and he focused his mind to catch it.
In his palm, a dull, dark-green hue emerged, spreading until it condensed into the shape of a single stalk of grass.
Its leaves were slender with curled edges, colored a withered dark green with blurry veins.
The entire plant drooped limply, utterly devoid of vigor.
The gray-robed Spirit Master raised his head, his brow furrowing slightly.
“Mutated Blue Silver Grass.” A hushed commotion stirred in the crowd.
Blue Silver Grass was already known as a waste Martial Soul—and this one was a *mutation*?
Lu Yuan’s heart sank.
He stared at the dull, lifeless stalk in his palm, feeling the feeble, powerless fluctuations of spirit power against his fingertips.
A cold empty feeling welled up from his stomach.
*Why?* Before the thought could fully form, the crystal ball was held out to him.
“Grasp it.” Lu Yuan took hold of it with his left hand.
It was freezing cold.
He guided that pathetically weak spirit power into the orb.
Deep within the crystal, a tiny speck of light flickered as if struggling for breath.
It was so faint it seemed like an illusion, barely holding on to life.
The gray-robed Spirit Master glanced down, the corners of his mouth turning downward.
He pulled the crystal ball back and announced clearly, “Innate Spirit Power: half a level.” He paused, then added, “A waste Martial Soul.” *Boom—* Giggles, hushed discussions, and sympathetic sighs erupted all at once.
“Half a level?” “Blue Silver Grass is bad enough, but a mutated version…
What a pity for Old Lu’s kid.” “He’ll just have to stick to farming from now on.” The words felt like sharp, fine needles.
Lu Yuan stood in place, the dim phantom of the Blue Silver Grass in his palm not yet dissipated.
His father made no sound behind him.
A wave of immense disappointment and despair threatened to swallow him like cold mud.
And in that exact instant— *Hum!* Deep within his mind, without the slightest warning, an explosion tore through his consciousness!
Countless fragmented images, voices, symbols, and formulas…
mixed with intense emotions—a lifetime of total dedication, the pure ecstasy of discovering truth, fury when hitting impenetrable walls, the loneliness of being cast aside, and finally, a deep, unresolved regret of dying with his grand ambitions unfulfilled—all condensed into a massive flood that brutally smashed through the mental barriers of his six-year-old self.
Lu Yuan groaned quietly.
His vision went black, and his body swayed.
An agonizing headache struck him, making the voices around him sound distant and muffled.
He “saw” it all.
A figure writing furiously under a solitary lamp late at night.
Complex spirit power flow models constructed, calculated, and collapsed in the void.
Sheets of paper covered in deductions violently swept onto the floor.
Cold, sneering faces.
Accusations of being a “heretic” who “shook the foundations.” A gasping, dying man on his deathbed gazing out the window into a pitch-black void.
*So unwilling…* That soul’s final sigh echoed like a thunderclap across his sea of consciousness.
The flood receded, leaving behind a vast, systematic repository of knowledge: core models of spirit power, structural hypotheses of Martial Souls, spirit ring matching functions, meditation optimization paths, attribute counter charts, experimental design sketches for inducing Martial Soul mutations…
It was a researcher’s entire life’s work.
The headache faded, replaced by a cold, transcendent clarity.
The ambient noise of the outside world grew crisp again.
His father’s hand supported his arm—warm, with a faint tremor.
Lu Yuan slowly stood up straight.
He looked down, casting his gaze back toward his right palm.
The dull, withered mutated Blue Silver Grass was still there, barely sustained by his half-level of spirit power.
However, the despair and confusion that had once filled Lu Yuan’s eyes were now wiped completely clean.
Gone.
In their place was extreme composure and an almost cold, clinical scrutiny.
He narrowed his eyes slightly, an old scar on his left eyebrow subtly showing.
His gaze scanned the plant like a precision probe—from the tip of the leaf to the veins, down to the spirit power connection nodes.
He was no longer looking at a “waste Martial Soul” that dictated his destiny.
He was looking at a phenomenon.
An “anomalous data sample” that contradicted standard models.
A “research topic” with a unique structure and weak energy signature, but one that might hide unknown variables…
The surrounding noise, his father’s worry, the Spirit Master’s indifference, the children’s sneers…
all of it suddenly lost color, pushed far into the background.
His entire focus narrowed down to this tiny, condemned stalk of grass in his hand.
Unconsciously, his index finger tapped lightly against his other palm.
The rhythm was steady, carrying the cadence of deep thought.
“What are you standing there for?
Step down,” the gray-robed Spirit Master said impatiently.
Lu Yuan raised his eyes and met the Spirit Master’s gaze.
His expression was too calm, too deep—nothing like that of a six-year-old child who had just suffered a devastating blow.
The Spirit Master froze for a second, a strange, inexplicable chill creeping up his spine.
Without saying a word, Lu Yuan closed his hand, and the phantom of the Blue Silver Grass dispersed.
The spirit power fluctuations retracted back into his body.
He turned and walked off the stone platform.
His steps were steady.
Lu Qinghe met him at the bottom.
His lips trembled, but in the end, he merely clapped a heavy hand on his son’s back, his voice hoarse.
“…Let’s go home first.” Lu Yuan nodded and let his father take his hand.
The hand was large, rough, warm, and gripped him tightly.
He turned back one last time to glance at the dilapidated stone house, at the indifferent profile of the gray-robed Spirit Master, and at the lingering glares of pity and mockery from the crowd.
There was not a single ripple in his eyes.
There was only a pool of deep composure, and at the very bottom, a tiny, barely perceptible spark quietly bursting into flame.
In this life, the road ahead seemed completely blocked.
But with this extra knowledge in his head…
perhaps he could pry open a crack?
He thought silently to himself as his father pulled him into the dispersing crowd.
His thin, small figure gradually receded into the chill of the early spring wind.