Legacy of the Crimson Dragon
The hut on Sea God Island held an atmosphere of concentrated presence. Yao Xuan followed Wu Changkong inside, his senses immediately registering the density of spiritual energy here—thicker than anywhere else on the island, thick enough to taste on the tongue like ozone before a storm.
In the main hall, Zhuo Shi occupied a bamboo chair with the unselfconscious authority of a mountain occupying its range. Beside him, Tang Wulin sat with the attentive posture of a student determined to absorb every word. Both looked up as they entered.
"Greetings, Grandmaster."
Yao Xuan's bow was neither overly deep nor perfunctory—it held the respect owed to an elder and a master, but also the quiet confidence of someone who understood his own worth. Wu Changkong's earlier advice echoed in his mind: quick-witted, sweet-talking, but never obsequious.
Zhuo Shi's eyes, deep-set and holding the accumulated wisdom of centuries, studied him. The Crimson Dragon Douluo didn't speak for a long moment, his gaze weighing, measuring. Then he gestured to empty chairs. "Alright, alright. Changkong, Yao Xuan, sit down."
They took their seats, Yao Xuan aware of Tang Wulin's curious glance. The four of them formed an interesting constellation: the legendary Super Douluo, his most accomplished disciple, and two students who represented the next generation of Shrek's excellence.
"Yao Xuan," Zhuo Shi began without preamble, "Changkong tells me you've manifested the prototype of a domain. Show me."
Yao Xuan nodded. "Yes, Grandmaster. Though I should clarify—this domain comes from my martial soul and bloodline, not from personal comprehension at my current level."
As he spoke, he reached inward. The ancestral dragon power responded not as a tool he commanded, but as a wellspring he accessed. The Elementary Ancestral Dragon Domain unfolded from him in a soft expansion of nine-colored light that filled the hut without violence, without assertion—it simply was, as natural as breath.
Within its radius, the air itself seemed to quicken. Dust motes caught in sunbeams through the window hung brighter, clearer. The spiritual energy, already dense, gained a resonant quality, humming at a frequency that made one's blood hum in response.
Zhuo Shi didn't move, but his eyes widened fractionally. When he spoke, his voice held a tone Yao Xuan hadn't heard from him before: not just approval, but genuine awe. "What an astonishing domain. It even enhances my soul power and blood energy."
The admission was significant. For a Super Douluo to feel enhancement from a Soul Master's domain spoke of either the domain's extraordinary nature or the Super Douluo's extraordinary humility. In Zhuo Shi's case, Yao Xuan suspected it was both.
Moreover, Yao Xuan felt something else through his domain—a resonance. Zhuo Shi's crimson dragon bloodline, though different in nature from his ancestral dragon lineage, recognized kindred power. Within the domain's influence, Zhuo Shi's own dragon essence seemed to stir, to remember younger, more vital days.
"Grandmaster flatters me," Yao Xuan said, releasing the domain. The nine-colored light faded, leaving the hut feeling momentarily dimmer, as if a special illumination had been withdrawn.
"No flattery." Zhuo Shi leaned forward, his expression intent. "To manifest a domain at the Soul Master realm is unprecedented in Douluo's recorded history. And the quality..." He shook his head, the motion holding wonder. "Changkong has taught you well, but some things cannot be taught. They must be born."
He studied Yao Xuan a moment longer, then seemed to reach a decision. "Since you call me Grandmaster, I should act like one. I have a set of self-created soul skills. They would suit you. Would you learn them?"
The question hung in the air. Yao Xuan felt Tang Wulin's attention sharpen, felt Wu Changkong's barely perceptible nod of encouragement from beside him.
He stood, bowing again. "Thank you, Grandmaster. I would be honored to learn."
"Good." Zhuo Shi's expression grew serious. "But this technique is my life's work. You must swear not to teach it to others without my permission."
Yao Xuan met his gaze without hesitation. "I swear on my Dao Heart: Grandmaster's techniques will not pass from me to any other without his consent."
The oath settled into the room's quiet. On the Douluo Continent, a Dao Heart oath held particular weight for those walking the path of cultivation—not magically binding, but psychologically profound. Breaking it meant fracturing one's own foundational self-understanding, a cost no serious cultivator would lightly pay.
Zhuo Shi nodded, satisfied. "Wu Lin," he said, turning to Tang Wulin, "you will learn as well."
Wu Changkong leaned close, his voice a whisper only Zhuo Shi could hear. "Master, is this wise? The Nine Forms are demanding. Wu Lin's cultivation..."
Zhuo Shi waved a dismissive hand, though his response to Wu Changkong was equally quiet. "His bloodline is purer than mine in its way. And his blood energy exceeds his soul power—the perfect foundation. Besides," he added with a touch of dry humor, "if he struggles, I'm here to ensure he doesn't hurt himself."
The matter settled, Zhuo Shi led them to the cottage's backyard—a simple space of packed earth and well-tended spirit herbs. He positioned Yao Xuan and Tang Wulin ten meters away, then took his own place facing them.
"Watch carefully," he said.
What followed was not what Yao Xuan expected.
Zhuo Shi didn't assume a dramatic stance. He didn't gather energy with visible pyrotechnics. He simply raised his right hand and circled it before him, the motion so ordinary it might have been an old man stretching stiff muscles.
Then he struck.
And the world changed.
For Yao Xuan, perception fractured into overlapping layers. Visually, Zhuo Shi's form remained—an elderly man in simple robes. But superimposed upon this was another reality: a colossal crimson dragon, scales glowing with contained fire, coiling through dimensions. The air didn't just vibrate; it sang at frequencies that resonated in Yao Xuan's bones, in his blood, in the ancestral dragon essence deep within him.
The dragon roared—a sound felt more than heard, shaking the foundation of self. Then it surged forward, and space itself tore along its passage, a black rift that swallowed light and sound before sealing itself with a gasp of displaced air.
Yet through it all, Zhuo Shi's control was absolute. The power that could have leveled mountains passed between Yao Xuan and Tang Wulin without so much as stirring their hair. The heat that could have incinerated forests warmed their faces like a gentle sun. The rift that could have swallowed them whole existed only as concept, as demonstration.
The display lasted perhaps three seconds. Then it was gone, leaving only the memory seared into senses and soul.
For long minutes, neither Yao Xuan nor Tang Wulin moved. They stood breathing the now-quiet air, trying to integrate what they'd witnessed.
Zhuo Shi walked back to them, his expression holding a teacher's pleased look when students grasp a difficult lesson's essence. "The First Form: Dragon Rises from the Abyss. It is not about power, though power follows. It is about connection—between blood, will, and the world."
He looked from Yao Xuan to Tang Wulin. "You felt it. The dragon is not a metaphor. It is memory, sleeping in your blood. My technique does not create something new. It awakens what already is."
Yao Xuan found his voice first. "The resonance... it harmonized with my ancestral dragon essence. But differently than with Gu Yue's silver dragon power. Complementary, not identical."
Zhuo Shi's eyes gleamed with approval. "Exactly. Your friend's silver dragon lineage is yin to your yang. My crimson dragon is... a cousin. Different branch of the family tree. But family recognizes family."
He placed a hand on Yao Xuan's shoulder, then on Tang Wulin's. "Tomorrow, I will teach you the second form. Today, sit with what you've seen. Let it settle. And remember—" His gaze held them both. "This technique is not just for fighting. It is for understanding what you are. For remembering what dragons do not forget."
With that, he turned and walked back toward the cottage, leaving them in the backyard with the fading afternoon light and the echo of dragon's roar still vibrating in their souls.
Wu Changkong joined them, his expression unreadable but his eyes holding something like pride. "You've been given a great gift. Do not waste it."
He too returned inside, leaving the two students alone.
Tang Wulin finally spoke, his voice hushed. "Brother Xuan... did you feel it too? Like something waking up?"
Yao Xuan nodded, looking at his hands as if seeing them for the first time. "Not waking. Remembering."
They stood in silence as twilight deepened over Sea God Island. Somewhere in the distance, a bell tolled the hour. But in that backyard, with the memory of crimson scales and torn space fresh in their minds, time felt different—not linear, but layered, like the dragon's presence that existed in both now and always.
And as Yao Xuan walked back to the cottage, he carried not just the promise of new techniques, but a deepening understanding: his path was not solitary. It intersected with others—Gu Yue's silver legacy, Zhuo Shi's crimson wisdom, Tang Wulin's golden potential—and in those intersections, something greater was being forged.
Tomorrow would bring the second form. Tonight would bring dinner with Gu Yue, and perhaps shared thoughts under stars. The journey continued, step by step, insight by insight, bond by bond.