Yu Xiaogang learned how to obey.
He learned it the same way he learned everything else—carefully, deliberately, and with an eye on what obedience looked like rather than what it actually meant.
After the elders' warning, he did exactly as instructed.
He stopped experimenting at night.
He followed Instructor Qiao's drills without deviation.
He asked fewer questions during lessons, and when he did, he accepted the first answer with a bow and a quiet "Thank you, Teacher."
The elders relaxed.
That was their first mistake.
What Xiaogang had not been told—what no one ever thought to explain to a six-year-old—was that research did not require rebellion.
It required record-keeping.
His father allowed him additional library access under the pretense of "theoretical refinement."
That was the phrase Yu Yuanzhen used, voice neutral, eyes unreadable.
"You will not test anything physically," his father said. "You will not disturb the elders again."
"I understand," Xiaogang replied.
"And you will not embarrass the clan."
Xiaogang hesitated. "By failing?"
Yu Yuanzhen's gaze sharpened. "By being careless."
Xiaogang bowed. That distinction mattered more than his father knew.
The library became his second home.
Not the public shelves—those were for doctrine, lineage histories, cultivation manuals written by men who wanted their names remembered.
Xiaogang preferred the back sections.
Records.
Case studies.
Failed attempts no one wanted to cite.
He sat at a narrow desk beneath a lantern that hummed faintly, Luo San Pao asleep under the table, and began to write.
Not conclusions.
Observations.
Day 14 post-awakening.
Soul power circulation remains stable. No resistance. No fatigue. Output remains low.
Day 17.
Soul power responsiveness exceeds expected baseline for innate level eight. Martial soul response lagging.
Day 21.
Repeated manifestation shows Luo San Pao obedience bordering on abnormal. No rejection. No strain.
He paused there, staring at the page.
Most martial souls resisted. They asserted themselves. Especially beast spirits.
Luo San Pao did not.
It waited.
That bothered him.
He began to watch other children.
Not openly. That would draw attention.
He watched reflections in polished stone, listened to breathing patterns during drills, noted how often instructors corrected certain students and ignored others.
He learned the difference between struggle and incompatibility.
Some children strained because they lacked discipline. Some because they lacked understanding.
None felt like he did.
His soul power never fought him.
It simply refused to show itself.
At meals, he listened more than he spoke.
"Your cousin reached Rank 3 already," a boy bragged at one table.
"That's nothing," another replied. "My brother's lightning spirit sparked on its own last night."
Xiaogang chewed slowly.
Sparked on its own meant unstable output. Dangerous, but impressive.
No one boasted about control.
No one boasted about efficiency.
Those things didn't show.
Lin'er noticed first.
She always did.
She brought him tea one evening and stopped when she saw the stack of notebooks beside his bed.
"That's a lot of writing, young master," she said, trying to sound cheerful.
"I like writing," Xiaogang replied.
She tilted her head. "You used to like running."
"I still do."
"But you don't," she said softly.
Xiaogang looked at her.
Lin'er flushed. "I mean—you don't anymore."
He considered her words.
"I run in my head now," he said.
She didn't understand that, but she smiled anyway. "You should rest more."
"I rest when I sleep."
Lin'er frowned, then reached out and adjusted the blanket over Luo San Pao, who had rolled onto his back and was snoring faintly.
"You're going to make the pig lazy," she murmured.
Xiaogang almost laughed.
The elders began to test him in quieter ways.
They asked him to summarize texts he hadn't read in years.
They assigned him basic theory problems and watched how he solved them—not whether he got the "right" answer, but how quickly he reached it.
Elder Mo observed most closely.
"Why do you think beast spirits plateau earlier than tool spirits?" the elder asked one afternoon, pacing slowly behind Xiaogang's chair.
Xiaogang answered carefully. "Beast spirits rely more heavily on instinct. Instinct doesn't adapt well to abstract refinement."
"And mutated spirits?"
Xiaogang hesitated.
"They don't know what they are," he said finally.
Elder Mo stopped pacing.
"Explain."
Xiaogang folded his hands. "A pure beast spirit knows its form. A tool spirit knows its function. A mutated spirit is caught between. It lacks a clear direction."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning it will either collapse," Xiaogang said quietly, "or be forced into one."
Silence stretched.
Elder Mo's voice was neutral. "And which do you believe Luo San Pao will do?"
Xiaogang looked down. "I don't know."
That was the truth.
Elder Mo watched him for a long moment, then moved on without another word.
The first time Xiaogang felt fear, real fear, was not during training or questioning.
It was at night, when he realized he could no longer remember his mother's face.
Not Yu Xiaogang's mother.
David's.
The thought struck him suddenly as he stared at the lantern flame.
What did she look like?
He tried to recall—hair color, voice, the way she stood when she was annoyed.
Nothing came.
His chest tightened.
I remember dying, he thought. I remember rain.
But the people?
Gone.
He pressed his hand to his chest, breathing slowly until the panic faded.
"You are shedding unnecessary weight," Great Red murmured faintly.
Xiaogang did not answer.
He picked up his notebook instead.
If memories were going to leave him, then he would anchor himself to something else.
Knowledge did not fade the same way.
On the thirtieth day after Awakening, Yu Yuanzhen summoned him again.
This time, the sect master dismissed the guards as well.
"You have been quiet," Yu Yuanzhen said.
"Yes."
"You have not caused trouble."
"No."
"You have also not improved," Yu Yuanzhen continued.
Xiaogang met his father's gaze. "I have improved internally."
Yu Yuanzhen's eyebrow lifted slightly. "That is not a measurable statement."
Xiaogang took a breath. "I believe my martial soul will cap early."
The words landed heavily.
Yu Yuanzhen leaned back. "You said this before."
"I didn't have evidence then."
"And now?"
Xiaogang reached into his sleeve and produced a folded stack of paper—notes, diagrams, comparisons.
"I do."
Yu Yuanzhen took them and read in silence.
Minutes passed.
Xiaogang stood perfectly still.
Finally, his father spoke. "If you are right, what then?"
Xiaogang did not hesitate. "Then I stop trying to push the pig forward."
Yu Yuanzhen looked up sharply. "You would abandon cultivation?"
"No," Xiaogang said. "I would change its direction."
Silence.
Yu Yuanzhen studied him, searching for something—ambition, resentment, desperation.
He found none.
"What direction?" his father asked.
Xiaogang answered honestly.
"Understanding."
Yu Yuanzhen exhaled slowly.
"You are six," he said.
"Yes."
"And already planning to leave."
Xiaogang lowered his eyes. "Eventually."
Yu Yuanzhen stood and walked to the window, thunder flashing distantly beyond the peaks.
"You are my son," he said quietly. "That gives you protection. It also gives you limits."
Xiaogang nodded. "I know."
Yu Yuanzhen turned back. "Do not force conclusions yet. Continue your observation. When you are certain—when you can no longer deny it—we will speak again."
Xiaogang bowed deeply. "Thank you, father."
As he left the hall, Xiaogang understood something important.
His father did not think he was wrong.
He thought he was early.
That night, Xiaogang added a new page to his notebook.
Not an observation.
A question.
What happens when a soul outgrows its vessel?
He stared at the words until the ink dried.
Luo San Pao shifted in its sleep and pressed closer.
Xiaogang rested a hand on the pig's back.
"We'll figure it out," he whispered. "Even if no one else wants us to."
The lantern flickered.
Deep within him, the scarlet presence remained silent.
And somewhere in the mountain, elders who believed they were watching a failure failed to notice the most dangerous thing of all:
Yu Xiaogang was no longer trying to prove himself.
He was trying to understand the world.
And that was how revolutions began.