The Dragon Remembers
The backyard held the particular silence that follows revelation. Zhuo Shi's demonstration hung in the air like the afterimage of a lightning strike—not just a memory, but a shift in understanding. As the Crimson Dragon Douluo returned to the cottage, Yao Xuan and Tang Wulin were left with the echo of dragon's roar vibrating in their bones and the task of making that echo their own.
Tang Wulin moved first, his body falling instinctively into a mimicry of Zhuo Shi's stance. His movements were tentative, exploratory, his brow furrowed in the particular concentration of someone translating vision into physical understanding. Blue Silver Grass tendrils emerged from his palms without conscious command, weaving patterns in the air as if trying to trace the energy pathways he'd witnessed.
Yao Xuan stood still.
His eyes were closed, but his awareness was turned entirely inward. In the sea of his consciousness, the Enhance System Intelligence rune glowed with steady light. Xiao Zhi's presence was a calm, analytical companion.
"Master, the technique has been fully recorded. Preliminary analysis indicates seventy-three percent compatibility with your ancestral dragon bloodline. The blood qi reversal principle aligns with your fourth circulation's foundational theory."
'Show me the pathway,' Yao Xuan thought, not as command but as request.
Immediately, a three-dimensional schematic unfolded in his mind's eye—not just the physical movements Zhuo Shi had demonstrated, but the underlying energy flow: the precise points where blood qi reversed direction, the meridian junctions where pressure would concentrate, the rhythmic pulsations that turned scattered energy into focused force.
He began.
The first reversal was like turning a river against its current. Yao Xuan's blood qi, normally flowing with the steady pulse of his heartbeat, resisted the change. His muscles tensed, his breathing hitched—then smoothed as his control asserted itself. This was not unfamiliar territory; the ancestral dragon transformation required similar redirections, though less extreme.
Three percent. Five. Ten.
Beside him, Tang Wulin grunted softly, sweat already beading on his forehead. The golden dragon bloodline within him responded to the technique's call, but his control was less refined, his understanding more instinctual than analytical.
Yao Xuan's progress continued. Twenty percent. Twenty-five. His body temperature rose, a furnace kindling in his core. The scales along his arms glowed faintly, the nine-colored light subdued but present. He was aware of Tang Wulin's struggle, but only peripherally—his focus was on the intricate dance of energy within him.
At thirty-three percent completion, something shifted.
The reversed blood qi, now flowing with gathering momentum, began to form eddies at specific meridian junctions. Not turbulence, but organization—small vortices that amplified rather than dissipated energy. Yao Xuan recognized the principle from soul core condensation, but applied to an entirely different energy system.
'Blood qi vortices,' Xiao Zhi confirmed. 'The technique's intermediate stage. Efficiency increases by approximately forty-two percent from this point.'
Fifty percent.
Now the real challenge began. The vortices multiplied, interacting, creating resonant frequencies that made Yao Xuan's entire body vibrate. A low hum emanated from him, not audible but felt in the air, in the ground. The packed earth beneath his feet showed fine cracks radiating outward.
Tang Wulin had paused his attempts, watching Yao Xuan with wide eyes. The difference in their progress was stark, but his expression held more wonder than envy. This was what true mastery looked like—not just learning, but becoming.
Upstairs in the cottage, Zhuo Shi was mid-sentence when he froze. His hand, gesturing to illustrate a point to Wu Changkong, hung in the air. Then he was moving, not with an old man's care but with a dragon's suddenness. The window opened, and he was through it, Wu Changkong following with barely a moment's hesitation.
They landed silently, their attention fixed on Yao Xuan.
"Teacher?" Wu Changkong whispered, but Zhuo Shi raised a hand for silence.
The old man's eyes held something akin to reverence. "He's not just reproducing the technique. He's... understanding it. At a level that took me decades."
Below, Yao Xuan reached seventy percent completion.
The air around him shimmered with heat haze. Nine-colored mist coiled from his skin, condensing and evaporating in rhythmic pulses. His ancestral dragon soul spirit had materialized without conscious summons, coiling around him in sympathetic resonance. The deep, thrumming dragon roar was no longer just memory—it was emerging from Yao Xuan himself, low and primal.
Eighty percent.
Now the vortices began to merge. This was the final, most delicate stage—consolidating scattered amplification into unified force. Yao Xuan's control, honed through Di Tian's brutal training and his own relentless practice, showed its true depth. He didn't force the merger; he guided it, creating conditions where the vortices naturally drew together like celestial bodies finding orbital harmony.
Zhuo Shi's breath caught. "He's condensing the blood qi core. That's... that's supposed to be the fourth form."
But Yao Xuan wasn't following a prescribed sequence. He was following logic, following the energy's own inclination toward efficiency. The merged vortex at his core wasn't just power—it was potential, waiting for release.
Ninety percent.
The dragon roar intensified, becoming tangible vibration. Leaves on nearby spirit herbs trembled, their edges curling from the heat. Tang Wulin took an involuntary step back, his golden dragon bloodline responding with both excitement and primal caution.
Yao Xuan opened his eyes.
They glowed with nine-colored light, but the expression was wholly his—focused, analytical, aware. He saw Zhuo Shi and Wu Changkong watching, registered their presence, but didn't break concentration. The final ten percent was the most dangerous: containing the built-up force without release, holding the dragon ready to strike without letting it loose prematurely.
He breathed in.
The vortex stabilized.
He breathed out.
The energy settled into readiness, a bow drawn, a storm contained.
For three heartbeats, he held it—the complete Dragon's Roar form, perfected on first attempt. Then, with deliberate care, he began the reversal process, dispersing the energy not in explosive release but in controlled dissipation, channeling it back into his body where it nourished rather than damaged.
When it was done, he stood breathing heavily, sweat soaking his training clothes, but his expression held the quiet satisfaction of a problem solved, a mystery understood.
Zhuo Shi was the first to move. He crossed the distance between them, his steps measured. When he spoke, his voice held none of its usual booming confidence—it was soft, almost wondering. "How?"
Yao Xuan met his gaze. "The technique... it's not about forcing the dragon out. It's about remembering the dragon is already there. In the blood. In the bones. The reversal just... turns memory into voice."
For a long moment, Zhuo Shi stared at him. Then, slowly, he began to laugh—not a loud laugh, but a deep, rolling sound of genuine delight. "Turn memory into voice. Yes. That's exactly it." He shook his head, looking at Wu Changkong. "You brought me a once-in-a-century talent and didn't warn me he was also a philosopher."
Wu Changkong's usual stern expression had softened into something approaching pride. "I didn't know, Master. He keeps surprising even me."
Zhuo Shi turned back to Yao Xuan, his expression turning serious. "What you just did—condensing the blood qi core at the first form stage—that's unprecedented. It means you're not just learning my technique. You're evolving it." He paused, then added quietly, "Be careful with that power. Evolution can become deviation if not guided."
Yao Xuan bowed, the motion made awkward by his exhaustion but no less sincere. "I would be honored by your guidance, Grandmaster."
"Guidance." Zhuo Shi snorted, but his eyes were warm. "At this rate, you'll be teaching me soon." He glanced at Tang Wulin, who was watching the exchange with a mix of awe and renewed determination. "Both of you. Tomorrow, the second form. Tonight..." He looked at Yao Xuan's trembling hands. "Tonight you rest. Power earned too quickly is power not fully owned."
As Zhuo Shi and Wu Changkong returned to the cottage, Yao Xuan finally allowed himself to sink to the ground, his muscles protesting the strain. Tang Wulin joined him, sitting cross-legged beside him.
"Brother Xuan," Tang Wulin said after a moment, his voice hushed. "That was... I've never felt anything like that. It was like watching a mountain learn to walk."
Yao Xuan managed a tired smile. "You'll get there. Your bloodline is purer than mine in its way. You just need to listen to it differently."
They sat in companionable silence as evening deepened around Sea God Island. Somewhere in the distance, the academy bells tolled the hour, their sound carrying across the water. In the cottage window, a light glowed—Zhuo Shi undoubtedly already planning tomorrow's lesson.
And as Yao Xuan looked at his hands, still faintly glowing with residual energy, he understood something new: techniques were not just tools. They were conversations—with masters, with lineage, with the very nature of power itself.
The Dragon's Roar had been his first words in a language he was only beginning to understand. And he found himself eager to learn what came next.