Six Months of Transformation
The workshop had become a second home.
Yao Xuan stood at its center, surrounded by the accumulated evidence of six months' relentless pursuit of mastery. Battle armor components gleamed on their display stands—six pieces for him, six for Gu Yue, three for Ye Xinglan, each representing countless hours of design collaboration, meticulous forging, and patient integration. The air held the familiar scents of metal and quenching oil, the particular ozone tang of activated soul guidance arrays.
Six months. Not a long time in the span of a cultivator's journey. Yet standing here now, Yao Xuan could trace the transformation in every aspect of his being.
His physical strength had increased from one hundred thousand kilograms to one hundred ten thousand—not through dramatic breakthrough, but through the accumulated weight of consistent training. Each repetition of the Dragon Shocking Heaven technique strengthened not just his blood qi pathways but the very sinews that channeled them. Each meal at Zhengxin Fried Chicken or the academy cafeteria provided not just sustenance but building material for denser, more responsive muscle and bone.
His blood qi circulated with the settled power of a river that had found its course. The fourth circulation, once an aspirational threshold at 38.1%, now stood at 94.7% completion—a mere 1.9% from full consolidation. The Dragon God's bloodline within him resonated at 39.4%, each percentage point earned through the steady accumulation of Golden Evolution Points from the Junior Genius Ranking, from cultivation, from the Spirit Ascension Platform's challenges.
Soon, he thought, feeling the familiar hum of power waiting at the edge of breakthrough. One more threshold. Then the next.
Within his heart cavity, the soul core continued its patient polishing. Forty-five percent complete now—nearly halfway to the qualitative transformation that would mark true Soul Sage foundation. His soul power purity had inched from 81.5% to 82%, each fractional improvement representing countless hours of dual cultivation with Gu Yue, their complementary energies refining each other's essence through sustained harmony.
The progress was measurable, but more meaningful was the sense of rightness—the feeling of a path correctly walked, each step building upon those that came before.
Gu Yue entered the workshop without knocking, her footsteps familiar on the reinforced floor. She carried two cups of the ginseng and goji tea that had become their shared ritual after intensive work sessions. Her silver eyes swept over the displayed battle armor components with a designer's automatic assessment before settling on Yao Xuan.
"Your aura's settled. The fourth circulation is close."
"Point-six percent remaining." He accepted the tea, their fingers brushing in the exchange. "Another month, perhaps less."
She nodded, unsurprised. Her own progress had been equally steady: soul power at level forty-four, spiritual power crossing two thousand points—a figure that would alarm most soul masters if they knew it. But more significant than any quantitative measure was the qualitative shift in how she occupied the world. The Silver Dragon King's vessel no longer merely observed humanity; she participated in it fully, genuinely.
"The right pauldron's resonance channels need recalibration," she said, moving to examine the component on its stand. "The spatial anchoring principles from the Creation Alloy formula adapted better than expected, but the integration with your ancestral dragon essence creates minor interference at high output."
They worked through the adjustment together, their collaboration having evolved beyond efficiency into something approaching art. Two minds, each exceptional, finding synergy not through compromise but through complement. When the recalibration was complete, the pauldron's glow had shifted from merely functional to genuinely harmonious.
"Ye Xinglan requested another sparring session," Gu Yue said as they cleaned the workspace. "She's completed her fourth battle armor component. Wants to test its combat integration."
"And?"
"And she specifically requested you at full strength. No handicaps, no restraint." Gu Yue's tone held neither jealousy nor concern—merely observation. "She's stopped measuring herself against you. She's measuring her growth against the gap."
That was progress. Ye Xinglan had arrived at Shrek Academy viewing Yao Xuan as a rival to surpass. Six months of proximity had transformed that rivalry into something more productive: the clean recognition that some gaps weren't meant to be closed, but to serve as navigation points.
The training ground echoed with the particular resonance of concentrated sword intent. Ye Xinglan's Star God Sword traced arcs of captured starlight, her movements carrying the weight of six months' intensive refinement. Her soul power had reached level forty-three, her spiritual power eight hundred points—formidable by any standard, yet still dwarfed by Yao Xuan's twelve hundred and ten and Gu Yue's two thousand fifty.
But her sword intent had gained something beyond sharpness: substance. Weight. The difference between a blade that merely cut and one that decided.
"You're holding back," she said between exchanges, her yellow eyes sharp with warrior's assessment.
"I'm calibrating to your new component." Yao Xuan's stance remained relaxed, but his attention was absolute. "The gauntlet's amplification curve peaks at seventy-three percent output. Pushing beyond that creates a fifteen percent efficiency drop before stabilization."
Ye Xinglan's expression flickered—not frustration, but the particular satisfaction of having her capabilities accurately read. "Then we test at seventy-three percent."
They did. The exchange lasted four minutes—Ye Xinglan's longest sustained performance against Yao Xuan's serious combat mode. When she finally yielded, her breathing was elevated but her eyes held the clean clarity of achieved understanding.
"Your improvement rate exceeds my projections," Yao Xuan said. "At this trajectory, you'll reach Soul Emperor foundation within two years."
"I won't catch you." Not a question, not a lament. Simple acknowledgment.
"No. But you'll redefine what's possible for your own path." He reset his stance. "That's the point."
Xu Xiaoyan's Star Wheel Ice Staff had begun manifesting faint stellar patterns even during daylight hours—a subtle shift that preceded more profound transformation. Her control had refined to the point where she could maintain precision freezing under direct sun, her soul power reaching level thirty-seven. The martial soul evolution she awaited still required its catalyst, but her foundation had solidified dramatically.
Tang Wulin's progress remained stubbornly steady rather than spectacular: level thirty-four soul power, his Golden Dragon King bloodline's second seal fully integrated. His Blue Silver Grass continued its gradual transformation, gaining resilience and responsiveness that surprised even him. But his cultivation speed remained the team's slowest, a reality he accepted with characteristic earnestness rather than resentment.
Xie Xie had pushed himself to level thirty-nine, his twin dragon daggers achieving new synchronization through relentless practice. But his spiritual power lagged at three hundred thirty points—sufficient for current needs, but increasingly distant from his teammates' capabilities. The gap weighed on him, visible in the slight tension of his shoulders during team discussions, the extra hour he spent in solitary training each night.
Yao Xuan observed these disparities with a leader's attention to both individual and collective needs. Some gaps would close with time and training. Others would require different approaches—specialized techniques, targeted resource allocation, patient guidance rather than pressure.
All were manageable. All were part of the long work of building not just individual strength, but team cohesion.
The Nine Forms of the Divine Dragon had become as natural to Yao Xuan as breathing.
Three forms mastered: Dragon Shocks Heaven, his primary offensive manifestation; Dragon Shakes Earth, the control technique that could disrupt enemy formations and silence their techniques; Dragon Soars, the movement enhancement that transformed his tactical mobility.
Zhuo Shi's amazement at Yao Xuan's progress had faded into something approaching paternal pride. "You're not just learning my techniques," he said during their monthly guidance session. "You're evolving them. The modifications you've made—they're not deviations. They're natural progressions."
Ancestral Dragon Shakes Earth had become Yao Xuan's preferred initiation technique. A leap, a gathering of blood qi, a descent that sent eight dragon-shaped shockwaves radiating outward. Enemies caught in the impact zone found their soul power disrupted, their techniques interrupted. Weaker opponents were slowed, sometimes immobilized. Even formidable adversaries had their rhythm broken.
Ancestral Dragon Soars transformed his speed from merely impressive to genuinely extraordinary. Two hundred percent movement amplification, temporary disregard for gravity and collision volume—combined with his existing Dragon Shattering Step technique, his mobility rivaled agility-type soul masters of equivalent cultivation.
No more kiting, he thought with satisfaction. No more being controlled at range.
Tang Wulin's progress with the first form remained, by comparison, glacial. Six months and he still couldn't complete the blood qi reversal sequence. But he persisted with the particular stubbornness that characterized everything he did, and Zhuo Shi continued his patient guidance.
"Different dragons, different songs," the old master said. "His golden bloodline sings in a different key than your ancestral legacy. He'll find his harmony eventually."
The Spirit Ascension Platform had become weekly pilgrimage. Each session added years to his ancestral dragon soul spirit's cultivation, each battle honing his combat instincts against varied opponents. The soul spirit's form had grown increasingly substantial, its nine-colored radiance deepening toward purple-black as it approached its ten-thousand-year threshold.
The color shift from deep purple to pale black was already visible at the soul spirit's edges, like twilight creeping across a clear sky. One more session, perhaps two, and the transformation would complete.
His forging success rate for first-grade spirit alloy had reached sixty percent—approaching the seventy percent benchmark typical for Saint Craftsmen. Feng Wuyu's guidance had shifted from basic technique to nuanced mastery: how to read the subtle resistance patterns in metal during the critical transformation phase, how to adjust hammer weight and angle mid-strike, how to listen to what the material wanted to become rather than imposing his will upon it.
Soul forging remained aspirational. The theoretical foundation was laid, the preparatory techniques practiced, but actual execution awaited two thresholds: the fourth blood qi circulation's completion, and Soul King cultivation. Both were approaching with the patient inevitability of seasons turning.
His battle armor manufacturing had reached genuine mastery. Fifteen spirit-alloy one-word components completed flawlessly, each requiring the integration of complex soul guidance arrays into recalcitrant material. The simulated battle space had hosted over fifty practice sessions, each failure teaching something the successes couldn't.
He could, if he chose, attempt two-word battle armor components. The success rate would be modest—perhaps thirty percent—but the capability itself was significant. Most Level 5 mecha manufacturers never reached that threshold.
Wu Changkong could no longer defeat them.
The acknowledgment had come quietly, during their weekly practical combat session. He had activated his Martial Soul True Body. He had deployed his full battle armor. He had fought with the focused intensity he reserved for worthy opponents.
And Yao Xuan and Gu Yue, working in the seamless synchronization of partners who had completed each other's techniques for six months, had matched him.
Not defeated—not yet. But matched. Held. The gap between teacher and students had narrowed from chasm to measurable distance.
"A perfect score," Wu Changkong announced afterward, his voice carrying its characteristic calm. "Unprecedented for first-year students."
They continued attending the practical sessions. Not for the grade, which couldn't improve further, but for the pressure. Wu Changkong with his full power deployed was a whetstone of exceptional quality, and they had learned to appreciate fine abrasives.
The other students had stopped measuring themselves against Yao Xuan and Gu Yue.
It wasn't surrender, exactly—more like recognition. The distance between their capabilities and the top-ranked pair had grown so vast that comparison became meaningless. You didn't measure yourself against a mountain; you simply acknowledged its presence and focused on your own path.
Luo Guixing's "Anti-Yao" team still existed, but its purpose had transformed. The goal was no longer to defeat Yao Xuan, but to approach his team's performance metrics. To close the gap incrementally, session by session, rather than hoping to eliminate it entirely.
Wu Siduo watched Yao Xuan during training with complex emotions she rarely examined directly. Attraction, certainly—he was handsome and powerful and possessed of that particular quiet confidence that drew attention without demanding it. But also respect, and something approaching gratitude. His existence as an insurmountable benchmark had pushed her harder than any rival she might have hoped to defeat.
Pity he's taken, she thought, then immediately suppressed the thought. Some paths weren't hers to walk, and the one she was on—becoming stronger, more disciplined, more worthy of her own respect—was sufficient.
Evening settled over Shrek Academy as Yao Xuan and Gu Yue walked their familiar path back to the dormitory. Their shoulders brushed occasionally, the contact as natural as breath. Around them, students hurried to dinner or evening cultivation sessions, their conversations creating the comfortable background murmur of academy life.
"The fourth circulation will complete before the semester examination," Gu Yue said. "Your soul core progress is on schedule. The soul spirit evolution is imminent." She paused, her silver eyes tracking his expression. "You're accelerating."
"The competition is accelerating too." Long Yue of the Star Luo Continent, with his Mountain Dragon King martial soul and two-word battle armor and Soul Emperor cultivation. The gap remained substantial—but measurable now, where before it had been abstraction. "I need to be ready."
"You are ready." Her voice held absolute certainty. "You've been ready. The remaining distance is just... distance."
He considered this. The 181,000 Golden Evolution Points needed for the fourth circulation's completion. The fifty-seven percent of soul core polishing remaining. The one hundred years of soul spirit cultivation before evolution. The seven battle armor components still to forge.
All measurable. All achievable. All waiting to be claimed through the same patient, consistent effort that had brought him this far.
"Tomorrow," he said, "I'll attempt the left pauldron. Your design modifications should resolve the resonance interference."
"And the day after, I'll complete the spatial anchoring recalibration for your helmet." She smiled slightly. "We're becoming efficient."
"That's the point." He took her hand, their fingers intertwining naturally. "Efficiency isn't the destination. It's the practice."
The dormitory building rose before them, its windows beginning to glow with evening light. Somewhere above, Ye Xinglan was probably reviewing combat recordings. Xu Xiaoyan and Tang Wulin were likely at dinner. Xie Xie was undoubtedly training alone, trying to close the gap that weighed on him.
All of them walking their own paths, at their own paces, toward their own definitions of mastery.
And at the center of it all, this partnership—this bond forged in trust and tempered through six months of shared struggle and shared triumph—continued its patient, inexorable strengthening.
The fourth circulation waited at 94.7%. The soul core waited at forty-five percent. The soul spirit waited at nine thousand nine hundred years.
Tomorrow would bring them all closer.
Tonight held only the quiet satisfaction of progress made, and the woman beside him whose silver eyes reflected stars and certainty in equal measure.
The path continued. And they walked it still—together, as they always had, as they always would.