Time passed quietly, like the flow of a calm stream—steady, but never still.
For Tang San, life had changed in ways he hadn't even dared to dream of. His father, once a drunkard who vanished for days and barely said ten words a week, had become a man reborn. Gone were the groggy mornings and the smell of cheap alcohol. In their place were fresh meals, laughter, and a firm guiding hand.
Meat. Real meat.
It started with a boar Tang Hao had brought back one evening, slung over his shoulder like it weighed nothing. After that, it became routine—spirit beasts, birds, and even fish from deeper in the forest. Tang Hao didn't say where he went, but he always came back with something to eat and a few bruises to show for it.
Tang San's once-malnourished frame had filled out over the months. He wasn't tall yet, but his body had taken on a healthy tone, lean muscle forming under skin that once clung too tightly to bone. Compared to the other five-year-olds in the village, he looked like someone a year older. Stronger. Sharper.
And it wasn't just his body. Tang Hao didn't just feed him—he taught him.
At night, under the quiet of their modest home, he sat Tang San down and began lessons. Spirit master theory, beast classifications, the laws of cultivation, and the foundations of internal energy flow. Everything a proper soul master should know, distilled from the experience of a man who had once stood among the continent's strongest.
Even Grandpa Jack was speechless. When he saw Tang Hao again, clean-shaven, shoulders squared, voice steady, the old village head could barely recognize him.
"You… you really changed, Hao," Jack had said, eyes wet. "You're like the man I remember from long ago."
Tang Hao bowed low, something the younger Jack never would've imagined from the aloof genius. "Thank you, old friend. For taking care of my son. And for not giving up on me."
Jack waved it off with trembling hands, muttering about troublesome kids growing up too fast.
But that wasn't the biggest surprise.
One day, just after Tang San had finished morning meditation, Tang Hao called him into the yard. There, without ceremony, he began teaching Tang San something rare—something sacred.
"The Clear Sky Nine Absolutes?" Tang San had asked, wide-eyed. "But… I haven't even awakened my martial spirit yet."
Tang Hao had just smirked. "Doesn't matter. This isn't just for spirit masters. It's for warriors. You have a body, don't you? Then it's worth tempering."
"But what if I don't awaken a Martial Soul that suits this?"
Tang Hao's reply was blunt. "Then you'll have a tempered body and solid fundamentals. There's nothing to lose."
So he trained.
He drilled every day in the fundamentals: stances, footwork, controlled breathing, spiritual alignment, bone and muscle conditioning. The Clear Sky Nine Absolutes weren't just techniques—they were a foundation, a path to unshakable power regardless of one's Martial Soul. Under his father's guidance, Tang San's young body began to endure more than most full-grown men could.
Though he didn't know it yet, these early days would become the bedrock of his future.
He didn't understand why his father had changed. Not fully. But he liked this new life. This warmth.
For the first time since he could remember, Tang San felt what it meant to be loved by a parent.