Zhang Wei drifted through the Star Dou Forest, his invisible form a silent shadow trailing the small figure of Tang San. The boy moved with purpose, a woven basket of herbs slung over his shoulder, his steps light but deliberate. The golden thread around Tang San's soul shimmered faintly in Zhang Wei's divine perception, a constant reminder of the Creation God System's cryptic words: a ripple has begun. What had he done to this world, his world, simply by arriving? The question gnawed at him, a writer's curiosity tangled with a god's unease.
The forest thinned, giving way to rolling hills and the faint smoke of a village in the distance. Holy Soul Village, Zhang Wei realized, his heart quickening. In Soul Land, this was where Tang San's journey took root, a humble beginning for a future legend. The Creation God System thrummed in his mind, its presence both reassuring and enigmatic. "Observe," it had urged, and so he followed, his invisible presence gliding over the dirt path, the Douluo Continent's vibrant energy humming beneath his feet.
The village came into view, a cluster of thatched roofs and wooden homes nestled against a backdrop of golden fields. Children laughed, chasing each other through the streets, while elders sat on porches, their faces weathered by years of toil. Zhang Wei's divine senses swept the area, catching the faint pulse of soul power from a few villagers—low-level Spirit Masters, their martial souls dormant but present. He marveled at the scene, so vivid compared to the words he'd typed in his Beijing apartment. This was his creation, yet it felt alive, independent, as if it had always existed beyond his pen.
Tang San paused at the village's edge, adjusting his basket. A girl approached, her long hair tied in a loose braid, her eyes bright with curiosity. Zhang Wei's breath caught. Xiao Wu, the spirited girl who would become Tang San's closest companion. She was younger than he'd imagined, her features soft but sharp with a playful edge. "Tang San, you're back early!" she called, her voice carrying a warmth that made Zhang Wei smile despite himself. "Did you find those herbs for Grandpa Jack?"
Tang San nodded, his expression reserved but kind. "Found them in the forest. Got enough for his medicine." He glanced at Xiao Wu, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. "Why are you out here? Not causing trouble again, are you?"
Xiao Wu stuck out her tongue, a gesture so familiar from Zhang Wei's writing that it sent a pang through him. "Me? Trouble? Never!" She laughed, then darted closer, peering at his basket. "You're always so serious. Bet you fought a soul beast out there, didn't you?"
Zhang Wei watched, his invisible form hovering nearby. The golden thread around Tang San pulsed faintly, but now he noticed something else—a softer, silver glow clinging to Xiao Wu, almost imperceptible, like a whisper of divine energy. His heart skipped. Was this another ripple? Had his presence touched her, too? The Creation God System remained silent, its refusal to answer only deepening the mystery.
As Tang San and Xiao Wu walked toward the village center, Zhang Wei followed, his mind racing. He'd written their bond, their friendship that would blossom into something more, but seeing it unfold felt surreal. He wanted to linger, to capture every detail, but the system's voice stirred. "The tapestry is vast. This village is but a thread. Will you follow these children, or seek others whose destinies you shaped?"
Zhang Wei hesitated. The system had shown him glimpses of other Soul Land eras—Huo Yuhao's fiery determination, Tang Wulin's dragon-blooded struggles, Lan Xuanyu's cosmic battles. Each called to him, a chance to witness his heroes in their earliest days. But Tang San and Xiao Wu were the heart of his first story, and that golden thread demanded answers. "I'll stay," he whispered, his voice lost to the wind. "I need to understand what I've done."
The village square bustled with activity. A group of children gathered near a wooden platform, where an elderly man—Grandpa Jack, the village chief—stood, preparing for a Spirit Awakening Ceremony. Zhang Wei's writer's instincts kicked in; he'd written this scene, the moment Tang San's twin martial souls would be revealed. But now, as an invisible observer, he felt a mix of anticipation and dread. Would the golden thread change anything?
As the ceremony began, a Spirit Hall deacon arrived, his robes marked with the organization's emblem. The children lined up, their faces a mix of excitement and nerves. Xiao Wu bounced on her heels, whispering to Tang San, who stood calmly, his eyes scanning the crowd. Zhang Wei's divine senses caught a faint disturbance—a shadow moving at the village's edge, too swift for mortal eyes. A soul beast? No, something else. A human, cloaked in soul power, watching the ceremony from afar.
Zhang Wei's instinct was to act. He summoned a flicker of the Asura God's power, a crimson aura coiling within him, ready to strike. But the system's voice cut through: "Do not interfere. The timeline must remain pure." His invisible hands clenched, the divine energy dissipating. The shadow vanished, leaving only a lingering sense of unease. Who was that? A Spirit Hall spy? A new threat he hadn't written? The golden thread around Tang San pulsed brighter, as if reacting to the moment.
The deacon called Tang San forward, placing a crystal orb in his hands. The crowd hushed as the boy closed his eyes, soul power surging. A faint blue glow erupted, followed by a shimmering hammer—Clear Sky Hammer, then Blue Silver Grass. The villagers gasped, whispering about twin martial souls. Zhang Wei's heart swelled with pride, but the golden thread flared, weaving tighter around Tang San's aura. Xiao Wu's silver glow flickered in response, as if linked. Zhang Wei's mind raced. "What is this?" he demanded of the system. Silence answered, but a faint image flashed in his mind—a golden figure in the Divine Realm, its face obscured, watching him.
As the ceremony ended, Tang San and Xiao Wu slipped away, their chatter fading into the village's hum. Zhang Wei lingered, torn between following them and investigating the shadow. The Creation God System stirred again. "The ripple grows. Every choice you make, even to observe, weaves the tapestry tighter. Where will you go next?"
Zhang Wei's gaze followed Tang San and Xiao Wu, their figures small against the village's glow. The golden thread, the silver glow, the shadow—all hinted at a truth he hadn't written. Had his arrival reshaped their fates? The Divine Realm's powers thrummed within him—Sea God's tides, Life's warmth, Destruction's rage—but they felt like both a gift and a burden. He was the scribe of this world, yet a stranger in its unfolding story.
"I'll follow them," he decided, his voice firm. "But I'll find answers." He glided after the children, the Douluo Continent stretching before him, a living tapestry of his creation. The Divine Realm watched, and Zhang Wei sensed its gaze, as if the gods themselves wondered what ripples their scribe would uncover next.
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