The soft hum of Zhang Wei's laptop filled his Beijing apartment, a familiar companion to his late-night writing sessions. As Tang Jia San Shao, he had spun the tales of the Douluo Continent for over a decade, crafting worlds of martial souls, divine trials, and gods that captivated millions. Tonight, his fingers danced across the keyboard, weaving a new chapter for Douluo Dalu V. The screen glowed with the scene: Tang San, reborn in the Falan Planet, faced a shimmering trial under a demon god's gaze. The clock read 1:47 AM, but Zhang Wei barely noticed, lost in the rhythm of his words.
A flicker interrupted his flow. The screen pulsed, not with the usual glitch of an aging machine, but with a strange, liquid light that seemed to ripple like water under moonlight. Zhang Wei blinked, adjusting his glasses. The Chinese characters on his document twisted, morphing into glyphs that glowed with golden intensity. "What the—" he muttered, reaching for the power button. Before his fingers could graze it, a low hum erupted into a deafening roar, and the screen exploded into a vortex of radiant energy. The room spun, papers flying, as the vortex tugged at him—not just his clothes, but his very being. His vision blurred, his heart pounded, and with a final, desperate gasp, Zhang Wei was swallowed into the light.
He awoke sprawled on soft earth, the air heavy with the scent of moss and wildflowers. Above, a canopy of towering trees filtered a sky streaked with hues of violet and gold, far too vibrant for Earth. Zhang Wei scrambled to his feet, patting his worn hoodie and jeans. His body was unchanged—same slight build, same glasses perched on his nose. No rebirth, no new form. He was still himself, inexplicably standing in a world that felt like a page from his novels.
"This is… the Douluo Continent," he whispered, his voice trembling with awe and disbelief. The forest around him pulsed with life: the distant roar of soul beasts, the faint glow of spirit rings shimmering in the underbrush, the hum of soul power in the air. He recognized it all—the Star Dou Forest, the heart of Soul Land's early chapters. But how? Why?
A voice, vast as the cosmos yet intimate as a whisper, resonated in his mind. "Zhang Wei, Scribe of the Douluo, you have crossed the veil between worlds. I am the Creation God System, forged by the Divine Realm's will. You are granted the powers of all gods and goddesses—Sea God's tides, Asura's blade, Life's embrace, Destruction's wrath, and beyond. Yet you are bound by one law: you must remain unseen, a shadow in this world, forbidden to alter its destined path."
Zhang Wei's breath caught. He raised his hand, only to see it shimmer and vanish, his entire body fading into invisibility. He was a ghost, a specter in his own creation. "A system?" he murmured, his writer's mind racing. He'd written about systems—guiding forces for protagonists—but never imagined himself bound to one. Testing its claim, he willed a spark of divine power. A sphere of ocean-blue energy materialized above his unseen palm, swirling with the Sea God's authority. He shifted his focus, and a crimson aura flared, sharp with the Asura God's killing intent. The power was real, overwhelming, a chorus of divine voices at his command—Angel God's radiance, Raksha's malice, Life's warmth, all flowing through him.
"Why me? Why now?" he asked, his voice swallowed by the forest.
"To witness," the system replied, its tone enigmatic. "Your words shaped this universe, but your presence now weaves its hidden threads. A ripple has begun, though its source remains veiled. Begin your journey in the Star Dou Forest, where a child's destiny takes root."
A ripple? Zhang Wei's heart skipped. The Star Dou Forest was where Tang San, his first protagonist, began his journey. Was he here to watch his story unfold? The system's words—a ripple has begun—gnawed at him. Had his arrival changed something fundamental?
Guided by an unseen pull, Zhang Wei glided through the forest, his invisible form moving effortlessly over roots and streams. The Creation God System granted him divine perception: he sensed every soul beast's pulse, every spirit ring's glow, and the distant hum of human villages. The forest buzzed with life, from the skittering of Thousand-Year Soul Beasts to the faint ripple of a Ten-Thousand-Year beast lurking deeper within. He reached a clearing where a small figure knelt by a stream, sorting herbs with meticulous care. A boy, no older than six, with dark hair tied in a scorpion braid. Tang San.
Zhang Wei's heart swelled, a mix of pride and surreal awe. This was his creation, alive and breathing, his eyes sharp with the focus of a Tang Sect disciple. But as Zhang Wei watched, his divine senses caught something extraordinary—a faint golden thread woven into Tang San's aura, pulsing with an energy that echoed the Creation God System itself. It was invisible to the boy, but to Zhang Wei, it shimmered like a divine signature. His breath hitched. "Did I… cause that?" he whispered. The system remained silent, offering no answers.
Tang San stood, wiping sweat from his brow, and began practicing Hidden Weapon Techniques. His small hands moved with precision, launching needles into a nearby tree with deadly accuracy. Zhang Wei marveled, the scene more vivid than any chapter he'd written. This was the boy who would become the Sea God, the Asura God, a legend of the Douluo Continent. Yet that golden thread haunted him. Was it tied to Tang San's rebirth from the Tang Sect to this world? Had Zhang Wei's arrival, his very presence, sparked something beyond his understanding?
A low growl snapped him from his thoughts. A shadow moved in the underbrush—a Thousand-Year Wind Leopard, its spirit ring glowing faintly, eyes locked on Tang San. The boy tensed, his hand slipping to a hidden dagger. Zhang Wei's instinct screamed to intervene, to summon the God of Destruction's power and reduce the beast to cinders. His invisible hand clenched, and a faint tremor of destructive energy pulsed, shaking the leaves around him. But the system's voice cut through: "The timeline must remain untouched. His trials forge his path to godhood."
Zhang Wei forced himself to still, his heart pounding. Tang San moved like a shadow, a needle flashing from his sleeve to strike the leopard's shoulder. The beast roared, lunging, but Tang San dodged with uncanny grace, another needle finding its mark in the creature's eye. Within moments, the leopard collapsed, its spirit ring fading. Tang San exhaled, his young face calm but resolute, unaware of the invisible scribe watching from the shadows.
Zhang Wei's mind raced. That golden thread—was it a sign he'd altered Tang San's fate? Had his arrival in the Douluo Continent rewritten the boy's origins? The system's silence only deepened the mystery."The Douluo Continent is but one thread in the tapestry," it finally said. "Other worlds, other destinies, await. Will you follow this boy, or seek the broader weave of your creation?"
Images flashed in Zhang Wei's mind: a fiery youth in a city of soul technology, a silver-haired girl under a cosmic sky, echoes of Huo Yuhao, Tang Wulin, Lan Xuanyu—the heroes of his later novels. The entire Soul Land universe lay open, a living story he could explore. But Tang San's golden thread held his focus. "I'll stay with him," he decided, his voice firm. "For now."
As Tang San gathered his herbs and vanished into the forest, Zhang Wei followed, his invisible form a silent guardian. The Creation God System's power thrummed within him, a symphony of divine might, but so did a writer's curiosity. What ripple had he caused? And what secrets did the Divine Realm hold for the scribe who had crossed its veil?
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