The world, for Tang San, had shrunk to the size of a single, slick black boulder. His universe was a deafening, eternal roar of crashing water and the sharp, biting cold that seeped into his bones. His father's training was not a lesson; it was a punishment, a crucible designed to burn away weakness and forge something new in its place.
The first five days were a special kind of hell. The force of the waterfall was a physical, tangible weight, a constant, crushing blow that sought to smash him from his precarious perch. His feet, slick with moss and mist, could find no purchase. He would last for a second, maybe two, before the water would slam into him, sending him tumbling into the churning, icy pool below. He would climb back onto the boulder, his body a trembling canvas of bruises, and the process would repeat.
On the fifth day, through sheer, teeth-gritting desperation, he managed to stay upright for five full seconds. It felt like a lifetime.
'This is for you, Zhang Tian,' he would think, his mind a mantra of pure, unadulterated hatred that was the only thing keeping the cold at bay. Every time he raised the heavy, black iron hammer, he pictured Zhang Tian's handsome, arrogant face. Every swing was a desperate, furious blow aimed at the man who had taken everything from him.
The days bled into weeks, the weeks into months. His body, under the constant, brutal assault of the waterfall and the relentless strain of the hammer, began to change. His muscles, once lean and wiry, coiled into dense, powerful cords of tempered steel. His skin, once pale, became a tough, resilient leather.
After three long, grueling months, he finally did it. He stood on the boulder, his feet planted like the roots of an ancient tree, and he began to swing. One. Two. Four. Eight. The Disorder Splitting Wind Hammer technique flowed from him, no longer a conscious effort, but an instinct. He reached the eighty-first strike, the final, explosive release of power, and a roar of pure, triumphant fury was ripped from his throat, a sound that was lost in the greater roar of the waterfall. He collapsed onto the boulder, his chest heaving, every muscle in his body screaming, but he had won.
Tang Hao, who had been watching from the edge of the pool, a silent, unmoving statue, gave a single, curt nod of approval. He walked to the edge of the pool, picked up the black iron hammer that Tang San had been using, and, with a casual, almost dismissive flick of his wrist, he tossed it into the deep, dark water. It sank without a trace.
He then handed his son a new hammer. It was made of simple, unadorned wood.
"Again," he commanded.
Tang San's heart sank. He took the wooden hammer. It felt impossibly, unnervingly light in his hands. The first time he tried to swing it, the lack of weight threw his balance completely off, and the waterfall sent him tumbling back into the icy pool.
This new phase of the training was not about strength; it was about control. The wooden hammer had no momentum of its own. He had to create it, to control the flow of his own power with a precision he had never known. And the wood itself was fragile. A single, uncontrolled surge of his immense physical strength, and the hammer would shatter into a thousand splinters. He was forced to learn to feel the very grain of the wood, the flow of the water, the rhythm of his own heartbeat.
While his son was being forged in the crucible of the waterfall, Tang Hao was engaged in his own, far more dangerous, hunt.
He moved through the mixed and core regions of the Star Dou Great Forest.
He sought out the most powerful, most ancient beasts, creatures whose very presence was a testament to the brutal, unforgiving law of the jungle. He killed many beasts for their Spirit Bones and unfortunately only very few of them produced spirit bones.
After some time, he finally found a fifty-two-thousand-year-old Ironback Poison Beetle, a monstrous insect whose carapace was as tough as refined steel. The battle was a short, brutal affair. His Clear Sky Hammer was a force of nature, and the beetle's defenses were shattered in a single, devastating blow. From its corpse, a shimmering, dark green light rose. A left leg bone.
In the next few months, he tracked a sixty-thousand-year-old Venomous Earthquake Bear, a terrifying creature whose roars could shatter stone and whose claws were coated in a paralytic neurotoxin.
He met its raw, brute force with his own, his Clear Sky Hammer a whirlwind of pure, destructive power.
From its broken body, he claimed a torso spirit bone.
He would bring the corpses of all the magnificent, terrifying beasts back to the small, secluded cave.
He would butcher them with a practiced, almost reverent, efficiency, and he would cook the meat over their small, crackling fire.
And Tang San would eat.
The meat of these powerful spirit beasts was not just food. It was a potent, life-giving elixir. And as he ate, Tang San would secretly, subtly, use the external spirit bone that was his own, personal secret.
The Dual Poison Fangs would descend from his upper jaw, and he would drink the blood of the fallen beasts. The potent, life-giving, and incredibly toxic fluid would flood his body. A normal Spirit Master would have been killed instantly. But his Mysterious Heaven Skill was a miracle. It was a wonderous furnace that could refine any energy, no matter how chaotic or violent.
He would feel the familiar, burning pain of the poisons, but he would endure it, his own poison resistance growing with every mouthful. The rest of the blood's potent energy would be refined, purified, and absorbed, a steady, powerful stream that fed the vast, empty reservoir of his spirit power.
He had no idea how much his cultivation had grown. His spirit power was still sealed. But he could feel it. The deep, thrumming well of power within him was growing deeper, wider, more powerful with every passing day.
His father also presented him with the two spirit bones he had acquired from these this Spirit Beast. The absorption was a painful, but transformative, process.
The Ironback Poison Beetle's left leg bone fused with his own, its dark green light suffusing his entire limb. He felt a new, profound resilience in his leg, and a strange, noxious energy seemed to hum just beneath his skin.
This was the Toxic Endurance, a passive defense that would be a nasty surprise for any who dared to attack him directly as it would increase his physical defense and release a defensive cloud of noxious fumes when struck, poisoning attackers.
The Venomous Earthquake Bear's torso bone was an even more profound transformation.
He felt it fuse with his sternum, his ribs, his very core.
A new, powerful, and deeply unsettling energy settled in his dantian.
He also acquired this Torso Bone's ability, which is Toxic Tremor. A weapon of devastating, wide-area power as by using this ability, he would smash the ground, unleashing a powerful shockwave infused with venomous energy that would poison enemies caught in its radius, lowering their defense and spirit power recovery.
His body, already forged in the crucible of the waterfall, was now being remade, tempered with the essence of two powerful, ancient beasts. He was becoming a monster.
Nine long, grueling months passed. Finally, one quiet evening, as the moon cast a silver glow over the roaring waterfall, he did it.
He stood on the slick, black boulder, the wooden hammer in his hand a weightless, perfect extension of his own will. He moved, and he was a symphony of controlled, explosive power. He completed the eighty-first strike, and the hammer in his hand did not shatter. It just hummed, a quiet, satisfied sound in the brief moment of silence before the next wave of water crashed down.
Tang Hao, who had been watching from the shore, a silent, unmoving statue, finally moved. He walked to the edge of the pool. A flicker of something, a hint of a deep, profound, and almost painful pride, entered his burning eyes.
"It is time," he said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble.
He reached out and placed a hand on his son's chest. The seal that had been a constant, suffocating presence for over a year, dissolved.
And the world exploded.
A torrent of pure, unadulterated spirit power, a flood that had been held back for a year, erupted from Tang San. A brilliant, dazzling blue light, so intense it was almost blinding, washed over the entire valley. The very air seemed to crackle with his power.
He felt the bottleneck of the thirtieth rank, a wall he had been pressing against for so long, shatter like glass. But it did not stop there. The immense, consolidated power he had accumulated from the blood of a dozen powerful spirit beasts, a power that had been refined and purified by the peerless Mysterious Heaven Skill, surged upwards.
Level 36. 37. 38. 39…
It finally, finally, settled at the peak of the fortieth rank. He was a quasi-Spirit Ancestor. And he was just fourteen years old.
Tang Hao watched, his face a mask of stone, but his heart was a raging, triumphant storm. He had not been surprised. He had expected this. His son was a genius. His son was a monster.
Tang San opened his eyes. They were shining with a new, profound power. He looked at his hands, then at his father.
"Father," he said, his voice filled with a deep, unwavering gratitude.
Tang Hao just gave a single, curt nod. "Summon your spirit," he commanded.
Tang San did as he was told. He held out his right hand, and his Blue Silver Grass appeared.
But it was not the same.
He stared, his eyes widening with a mixture of shock and a dawning, incredible excitement.
The golden veins were still gone, a loss he had already come to terms with. But the grass itself… it was no longer a simple, unremarkable blue. It was now a deep, royal purple, and a network of fine, almost invisible dark purple veins pulsed with a faint, ominous light. It radiated an aura that was no longer one of simple life, but of a cold, potent, and incredibly dangerous poison.
"It… it has mutated," he breathed, his voice filled with a hushed, reverent awe.
He could feel it. The change was not just cosmetic. The very essence of his spirit had been reforged. The poison from his spirit rings, the toxic blood of the beasts he had consumed, the latent potential of his own soul… it had all fused together to create something new.
'Just like him,' the thought was a lightning bolt in his mind. 'Just like Zhang Tian. His Blue Silver Grass mutated into that strange, crimson grass. And now, mine has too. But mine is different. It is… a poison spirit. My spirit.'
A slow, triumphant, and incredibly satisfied smile spread across his face. "I will call it," he declared, his voice ringing with a new, powerful authority, "the Purple Spirit Grass."
Tang Hao stared, his own expression a mask of pure, unadulterated shock. He had expected his son to be powerful. He had not expected this.
'A poison mutation?' he thought, his mind reeling. 'Ah Yin… she never spoke of such a thing. The Imperial bloodline should only ever lead to one path. The path of the Emperor.'
A flicker of worry, of confusion, entered his burning eyes. But it was quickly suppressed.
'It does not matter,' he concluded, his resolve hardening. 'A mutation is a mutation. It has made him stronger. And the Blue Silver King… the King will know what to do. He will recognize the Imperial blood, even in this new form. He will guide my son.'
He looked at his son, at the new, powerful, and slightly sinister-looking purple grass in his hand. "Your fourth spirit ring," he said, his voice a low, final command, "will complete this transformation. We will find a beast that will solidify your new path."
He then led his son away from the waterfall, their destination a place of memory, of hope, of a past that was now a distant, painful dream.
He took him to the place where he had first met his beloved Ah Yin. The place where the Blue Silver Forest had once stood.
He knew of the illusion, of the restriction that his wife had placed upon her home. He knew that only one with her bloodline, one with a true affinity for the Blue Silver Grass, could find the true entrance.
"Your mother's home is here, Xiao San," he said, his voice a low, heavy sound. "Hidden. You must find it. Your spirit, your blood… it will guide you. Reach out with your senses. Feel the call of the Blue Silver Grass around you."
Tang San nodded, his expression serious. He closed his eyes. He released his new, Purple Spirit Grass. He reached out with his senses, seeking a connection, a familiar, welcoming presence.
He felt… nothing.
He tried again, pushing his spirit power further, deeper into the earth, into the air. He could feel the common, unremarkable Blue Silver Grass that grew in the surrounding area. But there was no echo. No call. No sense of a greater, collective consciousness.
He roamed the area for a full half a day, his frustration growing with every fruitless step. The forest was just… a forest. There was no familiar feeling here. No hidden sanctuary.
He returned to his father, his face a mask of confusion and disappointment. "Father," he said, his voice a low, troubled sound. "I… I can't find it. It's as if… as if it's not here."
Tang Hao stared, and for the first time in a long, long time, a flicker of genuine, profound confusion entered his burning eyes.
He closed his own eyes. He reached out with his own, immense spiritual sense, a power that could scan an entire mountain range in an instant. He searched. He probed. He tore through the very fabric of the physical world.
And he found nothing.
The illusion was not there. The restriction was not there. The vast, powerful, and utterly unmistakable aura of an eighty thousand year old spirit plant and its millions of subjects…
It was gone.
The entire forest, the very heart of his wife's clan, the one place in the world that should have been a constant, eternal sanctuary…
It had been moved.
~~
A/N: Check out my other novels like "Harem Master: Seduction System" and the "Villain: Manipulating the Heroines into hating the Protagonist" and I hope you like this story and those stories as well.
Check out more chapters on my P.atreon. The P.atreon will have 20+ Chapters ahead for this story. I hope you like it.
The link of p.atreon is: bit.ly/evildragon