Old Jack, still buzzing with purpose, turned to Tang San. "Come, boy. We must go speak with your father." The two of them headed off down the path toward the simple forge where Tang Hao lived.
Hun Jiang did not follow them. Instead, he turned and walked alone back to the edge of the village, to the small, dilapidated thatched hut that was his home.
He reached his door, pushed it open, and stepped inside. He closed the wooden door firmly behind him, the latch clicking into place. The only light came from the small, high window, casting dusty beams across the dirt floor. He wasn't taking any chances. He walked over to the window and carefully pulled the old, patched curtain across it, blocking the view completely. Now, the hut was sealed. Not even a bee, as the saying went, could peek inside to see what he was about to do.
Alone in the dim, quiet space, he finally let himself focus. He sat down on the edge of his straw bed, took a slow breath to steady himself, and called out in his mind.
System.
He felt a flicker of excitement. This was the moment to understand the tool that had given him the Divine Bow.
A pale, translucent blue screen silently materialized in the air in front of his eyes. It hovered there, steady and clear. He waited for a voice, some kind of greeting or instruction, but none came. The interface was completely silent.
He frowned slightly. System? He tried again, thinking of the command more firmly.
Still, there was no response. No voice, no sound at all. It was just a silent screen. He stopped trying to summon a voice and simply looked at what was displayed.
Status Screen
Name: Hun Jiang
Age: 6 years old
Martial Soul: Divine Bow (Unknown level)
Spirit Ring: None
A special gift: Pending (Open it—Yes/No)
His eyes moved over the text. The first few lines were simple facts. Then his gaze stopped at the entry for his Martial Soul. Divine Bow (Unknown level).
A thought crossed his mind. He had assumed his martial soul must be god-level, the highest possible rank. But the system itself didn't say that. It said Unknown level. That gave him pause. It wasn't that the system was calling it weak; it was that the system couldn't categorize it at all. It must be on another level entirely.
His attention then dropped to the final line. A special gift: Pending.
Curiosity pushed aside his other thoughts. What could it be? Another martial soul? His first spirit ring already waiting for him? Some kind of treasure or skill from another world? He didn't let himself spin out wild guesses.
Without hesitating any longer, he focused his will on the word "Yes" at the end of the line. In his mind, he gave a clear, direct command.
Yes. Open it.
This time, the system's voice spoke again in his mind, clear and emotionless. Congratulations, Host. You have obtained: Divine Earrings.
Then, the voice was gone. Just as before, it offered no explanation.
Immediately, the air in front of him shimmered. Two earrings materialized out of nothing. They were a brilliant, arc-shaped gold, shining with a light that seemed to come from within. They didn't fall into his hands. Instead, they floated toward the sides of his head.
Hun Jiang instinctively raised his hands, trying to cover his ears or swat them away. But he was too slow. The earrings moved with a purpose of their own. They touched his earlobes, and there was a brief, warm sensation—not pain, but a sudden, firm pressure, like a gentle click.
He lowered his hands and gingerly felt his ears. The golden arcs were now fixed there, seamless and smooth. They didn't feel like jewelry he could remove. They felt like they had always been there, a natural part of his flesh and bone.
He didn't try calling out to the system again. He understood its nature now. If the system had a soul or a mind, it would have answered the questions he'd been silently asking since it appeared. But it didn't. It was like a simple software program. It delivered announcements and displayed a screen. Nothing more, nothing less.
He looked back at the blue status screen floating in his vision. It had changed. It now showed only one thing:
Divine Earrings – Made from the essence of the sun. They represent immortality. The wearer gains an immortal lifespan. Furthermore, no weapon in this world can cause the wearer physical harm.
Hun Jiang read the words once, then again. His mind, filled with stories from his past life, made an instant connection. Karna. The character from the Mahabharata. He was born with golden armor and earrings that made him invulnerable. In the stories, when Karna was without his bow and attacked from behind, a kavach—a brilliant, sun-like armor—would appear on his torso to protect him.
But this… this was different. This was more. The description said immortal lifespan. Karna was invulnerable, but not immortal. This gift went a step further. And the protection wasn't a separate armor that might appear; it was a constant, absolute fact: no weapon in this world can cause harm.
The meaning settled over him. It meant one thing: he was practically immortal in this world. He had nothing to fear from blades, arrows, or claws. Not from men, not from soul beasts. Perhaps not even from the gods in the upper realms. A surge of pure, excitement shot through him, a wild, triumphant feeling he couldn't contain.
His right hand clenched into a tight fist. He brought it down in a swift, hard punch against the palm of his left hand. The smack of skin on skin was loud in the quiet hut. It was a physical outlet for the incredible excitement rushing through him.
But just as quickly as it came, he reined the feeling in. Getting overly excited was pointless.He took a deep, steadying breath, unfolding his hands and placing them calmly in his lap.
He leaned back on his rough straw bed, settling into a more relaxed position. He lay back, putting one leg over the other, ankle on knee, and stared up at the dark thatch of the roof. The initial excitement was over. Now was the time for planning.
He had three months before he would leave for the academy. He needed a plan.
First, he thought, solve the meal problem. His stomach gave a faint rumble on cue. The divine earrings didn't fill his belly. He was still a poor, often-hungry orphan. He needed a reliable way to get food. Perhaps he could hunt small game in the nearby woods. With his immortal body, even a minor injury from a trap or a thorn wouldn't matter. It was a new advantage to consider.
Second, practice archery. His martial soul was the Divine Bow. It was useless if he didn't know how to use it. He needed to find or make a simple bow and arrows to start training his body and his eye. The real divine bow would likely appear when he channeled his spirit power, but the basic skill had to be built from scratch.
Third, explore the divine earrings. The description was vague. What did "no weapon can cause harm" truly mean? Did it stop all force, or just piercing and cutting? Could he still feel pain? Could he be knocked down or restrained? He needed to test its limits.
Lying there in the dim hut, with golden light faintly glinting from his ears, Hun Jiang mapped out the quiet, practical steps of his new life.
…
Old Jack left Tang Hao's house with a frustrated huff. The argument had been nearly one-sided. No matter how the old village chief pleaded, listing the academy's benefits and the rarity of full innate spirit power, Tang Hao had remained unmoved, his face like stone, drinking from his flask. Seeing his father's stubborn silence and Old Jack's growing distress, Tang San had finally stepped in. He'd gently guided the old chief to the door, assuring him it was alright, that he would talk to his father. With a last, worried look, Old Jack had left, the matter unresolved.
Once the door closed, the small forge house was silent except for the crackle of the dormant fire. Tang San turned back to see his father staring into the middle distance, his usual drunken haze replaced by something sharper, more pained.
Tang San, wanting to show him, carefully willed the energy within him to surface. He raised his right hand. A soft blue light glowed, and the Blue Silver Grass materialized on his palm, its leaves delicate and common.
Tang Hao's eyes, which had been dull, suddenly focused with an intensity that made the air feel thin. He stared at the plant as if it were a ghost.
"Blue Silver Grass," he muttered, the words rough and raw. "It really is Blue Silver Grass. And it's the same as hers."
Hers. The word hung in the quiet room. Abruptly, Tang Hao surged to his feet. The movement was so violent and unsteady, fueled by a sudden storm of emotion, that he staggered, nearly collapsing right in front of his son. The Blue Silver Grass in Tang San's hand flickered and dissolved on its own, as if frightened by the man's reaction.
"Dad?" Tang San said, concern tightening his voice.
"Don't disturb me!" Tang Hao snapped, waving a hand in impatient dismissal. His voice was choked. Without another word, he turned and pushed roughly through the tattered curtain that separated the main room from the small inner sleeping area, disappearing from view.
Tang San stood alone in the outer room. He could hear no sound from within. He knew his situation was unusual. The Spirit Master had only seen one spirit. But the principles of the Tang Sect's Mysterious Heaven Treasure Record were etched into his soul, especially the first and most important one: Never let a person you cannot completely trust know your true strength.
He had not mentioned the second spirit to Su Yuntao or Old Jack. They were strangers. But this was his father. Despite the man's drunken neglect, he was family.
After a few minutes of silence, the curtain was shoved aside again. Tang Hao stepped back out. His face was transformed. All the usual indifference was gone, replaced by a raw, shocked expression. His eyes were rimmed in red, the tracks of tears still faintly visible on his weathered cheeks. He looked like he had aged ten years in ten minutes.
Tang San didn't speak. Instead, mirroring his earlier action, he slowly raised his left hand. This time, no blue light appeared. From the center of his palm, a deep, dark energy bubbled forth—a faint, shimmering black light. It coalesced in a brilliant flash, solidifying into a bizarre object.
It was a hammer. Entirely pitch black. The handle was about half a foot long, and the hammerhead was cylindrical, like a miniature version of the forging hammer that hung on the wall. But this was no ordinary tool. The hammer's surface was pitch black yet gleamed with a peculiar inner light. Coiled around the cylindrical hammerhead was a faint, decorative pattern. The moment it fully materialized in Tang San's small hand, the very air in the room seemed to grow thick and heavy, pressing down.
Tang San gasped. The hammer was unimaginably weighty. His arm, trained and strengthened by years of the Mysterious Heaven Skill, trembled violently. He could only hold it for a moment before his arm began to droop, dragged down toward the floor. The color drained from his face from the strain. His internal energy, which had felt so vast after the awakening, was being sucked dry just to maintain the hammer's form.
"This… this is…" Tang Hao breathed. He was less than a step away. In one swift movement, he closed the distance and his large, calloused hands wrapped around the hammer in Tang San's grip, lifting it.
The moment his father took the weight, a wave of relief washed over Tang San, followed by a strange, warm sensation where their hands touched, like a comforting flow of energy.
Tang Hao brought the black hammer right before his eyes, studying it with a look of utter disbelief that slowly morphed into blazing recognition. His hands, so strong from years of forging, held the little hammer as if it were the most precious and terrible thing in the world.
"Dad, what's wrong?" Tang San asked, confused by the intense reaction.
Looking at the black little hammer, an agitated, fiery light—one Tang San had never seen before—ignited in Tang Hao's eyes. His voice was a mixture of awe, pain, and triumph.
"Twin spirits," he whispered, then said it louder, with force. "It's actually twin spirits!" His gaze shifted from the hammer to his son's face. "Son. My son."
Abruptly, Tang Hao dropped the hammer. It vanished in a puff of black mist before it could hit the ground. He then spread his strong arms wide and pulled Tang San into a tight, crushing embrace.
"Dad." Tang San's voice was muffled against his father's chest. He was completely dumbfounded. As far back as he could remember, Tang Hao had never hugged him like this. The embrace was awkward, desperate, and overwhelmingly warm. It smelled of alcohol and iron and a deeper, unnamable sorrow.
Tang San stood there, unsure where to put his hands. He was deeply moved by this sudden show of paternal love, a thing he hadn't known he was missing until this moment. But a small, practical part of his mind was also relieved the heavy hammer was gone.
After a long moment, Tang Hao's arms loosened. He released his son, holding him at arm's length. His expression was more complex than Tang San had ever seen. Grief, pride, fury, and a fierce protectiveness all warred on his face.
"Remember," Tang Hao said, his voice low and gravelly with emotion, each word chosen with immense care. "In the future, you must use the hammer in your left hand to protect the grass in your right hand. Always. Forever."
Tang San nodded, though he didn't fully understand the weight of the command. Why did the common Blue Silver Grass need the protection of such a powerful, burdensome hammer?