"Who would've thought simple weighted running could be this effective?"
Freshly bathed and now dressed in a clean nightgown, Yunchuan flexed his fists with barely contained energy. He felt like he was firing on all cylinders.
He had to admit—Chrysanthemum Douluo's medicinal bath was ridiculous in its effectiveness.
After just one soak, not only had the soreness and fatigue from his grueling workout vanished entirely, but his body felt tangibly stronger. According to Yunchuan's own estimate, his physical stats had increased by at least one percent in just a single session.
Yes, his exceptional talent played a part—but most of the credit went to that custom-made herbal mix.
Strength truly came easier beneath the shade of a great tree.
Reflecting on his treatment at Spirit Hall, Yunchuan couldn't help but feel spoiled—nourishing soul beast meat meals on demand, medicinal baths every few days… Compared to that, Tang San's original upbringing was laughable. Fending for scraps, neglected by his father...
Honestly, Yunchuan felt lucky beyond words to have been taken away and raised here. If he'd stayed with Tang Hao, he'd probably still be struggling to eat, let alone bathing in priceless herbal infusions like this.
In fact, if Tang San hadn't been a transmigrator gifted with Tang Sect techniques and the Xuantian Art, there was no way his malnourished body could've ever supported innate full soul power. Be serious. At most, six or seven ranks. Maybe lower.
People assumed that twin martial souls automatically guaranteed innate full soul power—but that wasn't true at all. Spirit Hall's internal records had shown Yunchuan otherwise.
Over its long history, Spirit Hall had actually documented more than a dozen twin Martial Soul cases—not just the "three legendary cases" (Unnamed Genius, Tang San, Bibi Dong) mentioned in the show.
Most of those cases were obscure. Why?
Because nearly all of them had abysmal soul power—some so low they were practically unusable.
That's because twin martial souls were just another form of mutation—and not all mutations were good.
Some were "positive," resulting in high soul power. Others were "negative," leaving the user barely able to cultivate… or not at all.
As for that "only three in the past century" claim? That was exactly what it said—in the past century.
The soul master profession had existed for thousands of years. The notion that only three cases existed in all that time was laughable.
But Yunchuan caught himself. He'd digressed again.
Today wasn't just the start of his physical training routine.
It was also the day he became officially independent.
Starting tonight, he could no longer sleep in the same bed—or even the same room—as the Pope.
He had awakened his Martial Soul. According to soul master custom, that meant he was now considered grown enough to begin separating from parental dependence.
Even though it hurt her, Bibi Dong had made the decision to move him into his own personal room—his very first.
Yunchuan, despite understanding the logic, was still full of silent sadness.
After tonight… no more soft, warm arms to fall asleep in. No more drifting off with his head resting against fragrant comfort. No more motherly warmth to guard him as he slept.
The only consolation? His new bedchamber was right next door.
Just a wall apart.
...
Lying in his new room, Yunchuan stared at the ornate ceiling—eyes wide open, completely unable to sleep.
The lights were out. The room was dark, save for moonlight filtering in through the window. He lay on his back with limbs spread like a starfish, enveloped by soft silks and still plagued by loneliness.
Every previous night, he'd always fallen asleep beside Bibi Dong—or nestled in her arms, head pillowed against her chest, breathing in her soothing scent. The warmth of that embrace, that security... it was happiness distilled.
Now, he was alone.
No plush arms. No calming fragrance.
What man wouldn't feel hollow?
"Sigh… I knew this day would come, but it still feels too soon." He stared blankly into the dark. "I'm really not used to this…"
Sleep was nowhere in sight. With no other option, he resorted to the oldest method known to desperate children.
"One sheep… Two sheep… Three sheep…"
His quiet counting drifted softly across the moonlit air.
…
Meanwhile—
In the room next door, just behind that single separating wall...
Bibi Dong was equally sleepless.
Clad in a sheer lace nightgown of rich violet, she lay upon silk sheets with unfocused eyes. Her heart was restless.
She too had spent every prior night cradling Yunchuan's warm, soft frame—holding him close like a precious plush toy. Listening to his gentle breathing in the moonlight, watching his peaceful sleeping face… it was like holding the entire world in her arms.
That kind of spiritual satisfaction—it couldn't be replaced.
Even a god's seat wouldn't compare.
But tonight…
The child was not there.
And Bibi Dong couldn't sleep at all.
She tossed and turned beneath the covers, beginning to regret the decision to enforce separate rooms so early. He was still only six—barely more than a baby. What if he cried without her there? What if he had a nightmare and called for her, scared and alone?
The more she let herself imagine it, the worse it got.
She nearly climbed out of bed three times. Her maternal instincts screamed at her to go next door, pick him up, and cuddle him straight back where he belonged.
Only firm self-restraint—and a whisper of rationality—held her back.
He needed to grow. He needed to learn independence.
Yet that same rationale lasted barely minutes before she once again yearned to hold him.
And then again, restraint.
Round and round. The internal war repeated endlessly, until her nerves were wrung dry.
Memories of six whole years played through her mind: his first words, his first smile, stumbling steps, all the little things.
And the more they played, the harder it was. It felt like tonight marked more than a temporary separation—like this was the first step toward him eventually leaving her forever. Like a mother bird watching her chick take flight and vanish into the sky.
That aching, gut-stabbing sense of impending loss clawed at her chest.
What would she do… if the day came when he no longer needed her?
What if... he left?
That thought alone nearly broke her.
And in the darkness, another voice echoed between her temples:
'Then keep him. Never let him go.'
It was soft. Seductive. Familiar.
A voice with an edge that smelled of shadow.
Suddenly, Bibi Dong's expression changed.
Her violet eyes clouded over—emotion surging, growing dark. Overwhelmed by a new, overwhelming longing she couldn't name...
Just as that dangerous momentum built toward some unspeakable path—
Knock Knock.
Two light taps sounded.
Soft, but to Bibi Dong, they rang louder than divine thunder.
Her breath caught—instincts snapping the fog from her mind.
Eyes widened, clarity returned, and her heart froze.
She knew.
"It's the influence of the Rakshasa God's power again…"
That sliver of divine inheritance had nearly twisted her thoughts.
"Damn… I almost did something unforgivable." Shaken, she steadied her breath and pushed away the lingering tendrils of madness.
Then, gracefully standing, she moved to the door.
When it opened—
There stood a tiny figure. Holding a fluffy pillow.
Yunchuan.
Bibi Dong's cold expression melted into pure affection.
"Chuan'er? What is it?" she knelt down, stroked his flushed cheek softly. "Is something wrong?"
"Mama… I'm scared of the dark…"
His lips trembled. Tears shimmered in his eyes. His small figure trembled in place.
Hopelessly adorable. Vulnerable. Utterly helpless.
In the next instant—
Bibi Dong pulled him into a tight embrace.
How could she possibly refuse him?
How could she ever ask this tiny child to face the night alone?
He was only six!
She held him close as maternal guilt surged inside her chest like a tidal wave.
But while Bibi Dong's heart overflowed with love and relief, someone else was smiling for a very different reason.
Yunchuan's lips curled into a sly smile.
The trembling? An act.
The tears? On cue.
The fear of the dark?
Please. He was nearly 30 in soul-years—not a chance.
This was all a performance.
He just wanted back in that warm, perfect bed.
And now?
Mission accomplished.
Lying alone in the neighboring room, restless and bored, he'd counted sheep until he was practically vibrating. The more he counted, the more he missed her—her soft embrace, her scent, that one-of-a-kind sense of motherly peace.
He couldn't sleep.
And so… Operation Rejoin Mama was born.
Play the part. Act pitiful. Reclaim your right to comfort.
Sacrifices had to be made.
But for a dream that soft and fragrant…
Totally worth it.
(End of Chapter)