When Yunchuan opened his eyes again, he was back in top condition.
Splash.
He slowly stood up from the bath barrel, clear water cascading down his small body. After fully absorbing the medicinal power, the liquid had returned to its transparent state. Droplets slid down smooth, fair skin—while his frame, still young, now hinted at the beginnings of toned muscle. Two days of intense training had already begun to bear physical fruit.
He clenched his fists gently, feeling the changes. The controlled muscle power, the firmness in his steps—it was all real. If he kept progressing at this pace, it wouldn't be long before his body could handle another soul ring.
"So lucky to have been taken in by Spirit Hall," he murmured to himself.
If he hadn't been rescued as an infant, he'd still be stuck in Holy Soul Village—likely playing in mud right now. No family warmth, nothing to his name but a drunkard for a father. He'd be forced to cook, clean, maybe not even eat properly. A tragic start by any measure. Tang San might have tolerated all that because of his loneliness in two lives—but for anyone else?
It would've been miserable.
As for those fanfics where the twin brother lives with Tang San and magically learns the Xuantian Arts or Tang Sect techniques from the start?
Nonsense.
Tang San, indoctrinated by Tang Sect principles, would never pass on his core teachings. Those weren't party tricks—they were his foundation. The Xuantian Art, the poison knowledge, the soul-boosting herbs, the unbeatable hidden weapons… all of it formed the backbone of his eventual rise.
Without them, Tang San wouldn't have been able to survive, let alone succeed.
So why would he ever share them? Even with a twin brother?
Exactly—he wouldn't.
Being born in Holy Soul Village? Objectively the worst starting point in the whole continent.
Unless one had cheat codes or absurd talent, they'd likely end up just another farmer. If they dreamed of getting close to someone like Tang San to ride his coattails, they'd better wake up. A genius has no time for mediocre strangers—let alone to play mentor.
❖
Yunchuan stepped out from the bath, water still dripping. Nearby, a table had been thoughtfully set with fresh towels and clean clothes. The setup clearly belonged to someone refined.
This was Chrysanthemum Douluo's courtyard, tucked within Spirit City.
After drying off and getting dressed, he emerged as a picture-perfect young noble: neatly robed, refreshed, sharp-eyed. A small storm in white fabric.
He left the courtyard quietly and headed home.
These days, Yunchuan lived in the room right beside Bibi Dong's—the one they'd prepared for him after his martial soul awakened. Though he'd spent another night curled up in his mother's room thanks to some clever acting, he knew better than to make a habit of it.
People might start calling him a mama's boy. And in Spirit Hall, reputation mattered.
Besides, he was six now. According to soul master tradition, that meant beginning the path of independence.
He also knew how not to cross that unspoken line of being "too" spoiled. Even when acting willful, he made sure it was appropriate—in timing and tone. Crossing that line could sour the warmest of bonds.
Walking into his new room, he scanned his surroundings casually.
It was large. Immaculately arranged. The furniture was crafted from rare woods, elegant yet practical. It was clear the room had been meticulously prepared with care and status in mind.
But Yunchuan didn't linger on the aesthetics.
He crossed straight to a low platform near the bed, where a meditation cushion sat ready. This was where he cultivated soul power—a place just a few steps from bed, perfect for collapsing the moment training ended.
Settling onto the cushion, he folded his legs and shut his eyes.
Following the advanced meditation method taught directly by the Pope herself, he began to refine soul power silently.
In this world, meditation methods weren't unlike inner cultivation techniques from martial arts novels. Most commoners used crude, instinctive forms of meditation—no defined breathing patterns, no route guidance. Their efficiency was so poor it was a miracle anything got refined at all.
Those were the "lowest-tier" methods.
In contrast, the top-tier techniques were secret treasures—guarded by great clans and ancient sects, perfected over generations.
Tang San's famous Xuantian Art was just such a method, and Spirit Hall's legacy naturally included their own advanced systems. They might not mirror the spiritual brilliance of interdimensional arts like Xuantian, but in refining efficiency, they were on par.
As Yunchuan's breathing deepened, soul energy began circulating steadily.
Though his apparent level was frozen at 50 due to his lack of soul rings, soul power training was cumulative. Everything he built now would explode into progress the moment he added more rings.
He wasn't concerned.
His incredible talent meant he could progress faster than any peer without even trying.
A genius among geniuses could afford a little patience.
After all, while others fought over scraps to struggle up one rank, he gained in hours what others scraped together in months. That gap would only widen with time.
His true bottleneck wasn't soul power.
It was his body.
His frame couldn't yet support more soul rings—that was the only thing holding him back.
❖
But today, something new happened.
As his meditation reached a deeper level, the rune between Yunchuan's brows pulsed gently.
His eyes didn't open—but his thoughts sharpened.
The rune was activating again.
Could it be… assisting in soul power cultivation this time?
Realization struck like lightning.
If so, this rune wasn't just a body-refining enhancement...
It might be the key to revolutionizing his entire path forward.
(End of Chapter)