Dragon scales. How could there be dragon scales? How could such a thing be possible?
Divine beasts were notoriously difficult to propagate. Even among the royal family, a single egg might take centuries to appear. These dragon eggs were incredibly fragile and temperamental from the start, and it was common for them to lose their vitality and become dead eggs during the incubation process for various reasons.
Because of this, the moment a dragon egg was laid, it would be reported immediately to the clan leader. The royal family would dispatch dragons to guard the egg around the clock to ensure it remained viable. For thousands of years, every single egg had been strictly registered and managed. There was no possibility of an egg being lost, and thus, no possibility of a dragon cub being found wandering outside the clan.
Yet, the moment that cub fell into the water, Ruan Wei had clearly seen dragon scales upon him. Moreover, those scales had shimmered with a cold, pure light, devoid of any impurities. This was clearly the bloodline of a purebred dragon, not some hybrid between a dragon and another species.
With this realization, instinct—the drive to protect the young of his own kind—kicked in. Ruan Wei swam with all his might, diving beneath the cub to cushion his sinking body. He wrapped his tail around the child, hoisted him onto his back, and surged upward, breaking through the surface of the water with a splash.
As they broke the surface, the cub instinctively coughed, spitting out the water he had swallowed. He crawled onto the bank in a pathetic, drenched mess. He sat there, staring blankly ahead, his gaze unfocused and distant. He stared at Ruan Wei for a long time, as if frightened out of his wits, unable to utter a single word.
Ruan Wei transformed back into his human form. The moment he did, he lunged toward the cub’s hand. He grabbed the cub’s arm, his eyes frantically scanning the skin, desperate to verify his theory.
However, once out of the water, the cub’s instinctual defense mechanism faded. The dragon scales retracted, leaving only smooth skin in their place. Ruan Wei, failing to see what he sought, clutched the cub’s claws in disbelief, turning them over and over. When he still could not find the scales, he nearly lost control. His eyes turned into blood red, needle thin slits, and he raised his voice. “Impossible! Where are your dragon scales?”
He did not realize that his grip had tightened, nearly crushing the cub’s bones. The cub, who had no idea what was happening and was already terrified from nearly drowning, could not handle the pain. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he began to wail at the top of his lungs, sniffling and sobbing uncontrollably.
His wails woke Shu Yang from his rest in the palace. Shu Yang dressed quickly and stepped out, only to find Ruan Wei crouching on the ground, gripping the cub’s hand. Both were soaking wet. It was unclear if Ruan Wei had jumped into the water with the cub or if someone had accidentally fallen in, but given Ruan Wei’s ferocious and aggressive posture, the former seemed much more likely.
The cub had initially been crying as a performance, but upon seeing Shu Yang, for reasons unknown, his sobs became genuinely heartbroken. Each cry was more tragic than the last, enough to melt even the heart of an unfeeling immortal.
“Ruan Wei,” Shu Yang frowned, “let him go.”
Ruan Wei’s eyes remained red from his emotional turbulence, his pupils shifting slightly. When he looked at Shu Yang, his gaze still held a bestial sharpness and coldness.
“Ruan Wei,” Shu Yang said, his voice hardening, “let go.”
Only when Shu Yang spoke a second time did Ruan Wei seem to understand. His fingertips loosened, and he slowly released the cub.
As soon as the cub escaped Ruan Wei’s grip, he scrambled to Shu Yang’s feet, clutching the hem of Shu Yang’s robe. He crinkled his face like a steamed bun, looking pitiful, and refused to let go.
Shu Yang looked down at the cub from his towering height, paused, and sighed softly. He leaned down and scooped the cub up. He held the cub’s soft, limp hands—which had nearly been crushed—and allowed a gentle flow of spiritual energy to seep from his palm, wrapping around the cub’s wrists.
Within half a quarter-hour, the cub felt the pain fading. He stopped his tears, ceased his disruptive wailing, and curiously flexed his claws. Finding the pain gone, he happily wrapped his arms around Shu Yang’s neck. Shu Yang stumbled backward, nearly falling over from the force of the cub’s embrace.
Why is he so strong?
Shu Yang wondered if this was truly a normal human cub, what with his ability to crack walls with his head and his immense strength. Feeling that something was deeply wrong, he became even more resolute in his decision to visit Penglai.
He was just about to ask Ruan Wei why he had suddenly lost control when the cub began to scratch his head, seemingly irritated. His hair shifted, as if something were trying to push through his scalp. The sensation became unbearable; he scratched until he nearly broke the skin, only for the itching to worsen. He began to wail again, preparing to bash his head against the ground.
Thinking the cub was having another episode, Shu Yang prepared to restrain him, but the cub suddenly leaped out of his arms. His eyes abruptly turned red, and his pupils thinned into sharp, golden needles, like some kind of cold, predatory beast.
Shu Yang: “…”
Just as Shu Yang moved to catch the cub, who seemed on the verge of mutation, the cub let out a wail while clutching his head. Under the moonlight, the tips of his black hair began to turn silver white in less than half a second. Countless silver white scales erupted from his arms, shimmering like jade, shedding a chilling, sharp light in the moonlight, hardening into something resembling armor.
Dragon scales!
This time, even Shu Yang clearly understood what species the cub was. He stared in astonishment, never imagining he had accidentally raised a baby dragon.
Before he could process his shock, the cub, unable to seamlessly switch between human and dragon form, let out a deafening dragon roar. A translucent dragon, radiating silver light, erupted from his body. It circled once in the air and then charged, without hesitation, directly at Ruan Wei!
Ruan Wei was caught completely off guard by this sudden soul manifestation. He stood frozen, watching the young dragon—who shared his own Ice Dragon lineage—charge at him with ferocious resentment. The force of the impact sent Ruan Wei flying thirty meters back, slamming him into a wall. The power was so great that spiderweb cracks spread across the stone, and the resulting dust and rubble threatened to bury half the courtyard.
Ruan Wei’s heart felt as if it were being pierced; his meridians burned as if sliced by knives, and his vision went black as he vomited blood.
Once he recovered, he braced against the soul searing pain, gathering his spiritual energy to dissipate the young dragon’s soul. But the young dragon let out a sharp, juvenile roar—a sound filled with anger, grievance, and a desperate plea.
Ruan Wei did not know what to think. His eyelashes fluttered, his mind drifting far away, and his casting motion suddenly stalled.
The dragon roar interrupted Ruan Wei’s spell. In that half second of distraction, the dragon’s horns pierced Ruan Wei’s chest without hesitation, the dragon’s soul passing straight through him.
The moment the soul pierced his body, Ruan Wei’s pupils dilated. He felt as if his internal organs were being carved out by a knife. Blade against bone, sword through flesh, ax across the veins.
With every passing second, the agony of the carving was vivid and clear, turning his face deathly pale.
A cold wind whistled through his chest. Ruan Wei’s mind went blank, save for the persistent, searing pain. He could not feel his own blood, nor the wind rushing past his ears as he fell from the sky. In the final second before he closed his eyes, he seemed to see Shu Yang riding the wind, his expression cold as he struck the dragon’s soul back into the cub’s body with a single palm. Shu Yang then flew forward, catching him firmly and landing back on the ground.
Ruan Wei could not stand; he collapsed into Shu Yang’s arms and coughed up more blood.
Shu Yang braced against Ruan Wei’s weight, kneeling on one knee. He hesitated, pondering whether to use his own star core to save him. Star core energy was scarce, and Ruan Wei was, after all, his enemy. If he used it to save Ruan Wei, what would he do afterward?
Ruan Wei seemed to sense Shu Yang’s hesitation. He wanted to say something, but in the end, he remained silent. He gathered his final shreds of strength, lifting his hand as if to grasp Shu Yang’s robe, but he missed, catching only Shu Yang’s pinky finger.
“He is a dragon.”
Ruan Wei squeezed the words out of his damaged lungs, one by one. As Shu Yang frowned, trying to understand, Ruan Wei parted his lips and whispered, “He is… he is… yours and mine.”