Without the boost from the Power of Genesis, Huo Yuhao's cultivation slowed once again due to the burden of his ultimate martial soul. Still, he had confidence—within a year at most, he would break through to rank 40.
After all, his beloved Meng-senpai was already nearing rank 60. Her breakthroughs from deep meditation, life baptism, and soul bone absorption had propelled her cultivation significantly. Huo Yuhao didn't want the day to come when she was already a Soul Emperor while he remained a mere Soul Ancestor.
More importantly, once she reached the Soul Emperor level, the threat of her cold poison rebounding would rise sharply, and the time window to resolve it would shrink. Huo Yuhao hoped that by then, he would be strong enough to take her to perilous places in search of heavenly treasures that could help remove the cold poison—places like the Icefire Yin Yang Well or the Extreme North.
Lately, Huo Yuhao had been feeling a growing sense that time wasn't on his side—not because of his daily schedule, but because of the magnitude of the things that loomed ahead. Urgent things. Big things. He needed to act, and fast.
For instance, the inevitable war that was coming. Even though the Sun Moon Empire held an apparent advantage, Huo Yuhao couldn't relax. He wasn't the kind of person to take risks without being absolutely certain.
And he had good reason to worry. Hidden threats like the Holy Spirit Cult and the yet-unascended Xu Tianran still loomed. Given time, they could shake the very foundation of this powerful empire.
So Huo Yuhao made a decision—since no one else had made the first move, he would.
Fortunately, there was some relief. Recently, with Mingde Hall's consistent output of high-efficiency military-grade soul tools, Crown Prince Xu Tianran had drawn increasingly close to them. That close alliance meant Mingde Hall could leverage the prince's influence to pursue some bold initiatives.
Huo Yuhao already had a plan. One that would benefit the nation—and conveniently help push the empire closer to a wartime state.
Stretching and yawning, he emerged from his meditative state and muttered,
"I should go find Master soon."
"Education reform?"
Jing Hongchen raised his brows at his calm-faced disciple, confused.
"That's right, Master. I believe the Sun Moon Empire needs a full-scale educational reform. With the rapid transformation of our soul tool industrial system and the civilian integration following inventions like the Sealed Milk Bottle, a sweeping education overhaul is both necessary and inevitable."
Jing Hongchen's interest was piqued. Up until now, Yuhao only ever discussed soul tool technologies with him. He hadn't expected the boy to care about politics, let alone reform.
"Go on, Yuhao."
Huo Yuhao cleared his throat and began calmly,
"Here's how I see it, Master. At Mingde Hall, we've already divided soul engineer roles—some focus on research, others on manufacturing. There are even divisions based on the direction of technological innovation. That's correct, isn't it?"
Jing Hongchen nodded thoughtfully. He was no fool—he immediately understood what Huo Yuhao was getting at.
"Division of labor. I see your point. You're suggesting that while soul tool technology has evolved and grown increasingly complex, our approach to training young soul engineers hasn't kept pace. Is that right?"
"Exactly, Master. Right now, the education system for soul engineers is basically uniform across the nation. But not every soul engineer has the same level of talent. Some people have the potential to reach higher levels, but most will be stuck at rank 5 or 6—or even lower—for life. These individuals won't produce any breakthrough inventions. What we should be doing is organizing them into structured roles for mass-producing soul tools. That's the most effective use of their abilities."
Soul engineers in this era were much like craftsmen before the rise of modern industrial systems on Earth. Some were geniuses who could build steam engines—others, not so much. Huo Yuhao's idea was to divide students early: those with talent would enter academic programs to learn cutting-edge soul tool theory, while the others would attend technical programs to learn how to assemble and mass-produce devices.
In short: a system of "general" and "vocational" education.
It sounded cold, perhaps even cruel. But for a feudal country like the Sun Moon Empire, it was practical. Yes, it would cause future social tensions—but that wasn't Yuhao's concern. Not now.
For the nation, organizing those lower-talent soul engineers—students and civilians alike—into factory laborers would transform the Sun Moon Empire into a true war machine. A constant, efficient flow of soul tools would emerge from those production lines.
And for the individuals involved? Surprisingly, it could benefit them too.
Soul engineers were considered a "golden profession," but that only applied to the truly talented. Rare metals were expensive and strictly regulated. Most low-level soul engineers could only make low-tier soul tools, earning tiny profits on razor-thin margins. Their lives weren't as glamorous as people believed.
Worse yet, manufacturing soul tools wasn't foolproof. Most low-tier engineers had a success rate of only ten or twenty percent. Every failure wasted precious rare metals.
Now imagine someone told them: the state will give you free rare metals, a secure job, and stable monthly wages. You'd just need to go to a factory and build soul tools.
A lot of them would leap at the opportunity. As the saying goes—being a factory worker in the 21st century is still better than being a serf in the 12th.
Jing Hongchen nodded in approval. Even the Royal Soul Engineering Academy faced this issue. Some students with limited talent would get stuck at rank 3 or 4, drop out, and spend the rest of their lives trying to eke out a living—scraping a tiny profit between making and selling cheap soul tools and buying rare metals at inflated prices.
After all, to practice soul tool crafting, you needed materials. And those without skill or connections were stuck in a vicious cycle: rare metals were too expensive—no money to practice crafting—crafting skills remained low—couldn't earn money.
"Yuhao, what you're saying is absolutely valid," Jing Hongchen agreed, "but I still don't think this qualifies as the kind of sweeping reform you described earlier."
Huo Yuhao smiled mysteriously and nodded.
"Of course not. What I've told you so far... is just the beginning."
(End of Chapter)
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