The day after the Trial of the Eternal Flame, the Hall of Spirit shone with a quiet vigilance. Rumors, like wind through paper walls, had already carried Liu Feng's name across the ranks of adepts and scholars. They spoke of a boy who had coaxed life from dying trees and defeated a phantom of war without spilling flame or blood.
BiBi Dong silenced most of them. "Legends," she said to the senior circle, "begin in whispers. We will not feed them until they can stand."
But even she could not silence the light. The boy walked through corridors where elders paused mid-step and novices forgot their recitations. The Genesis Dual Blade hung across his back in a silk sheath, the pattern of fire and water faintly breathing through the fabric.
Liu Feng himself remained unmoved. He felt something stirring behind the quiet — not pride, but a hum. It grew louder each night, and on the third dawn after the trial, it spoke again.
> [System Status: Active.]
[User: Liu Feng.]
[Primary Spirit Template: Phoenix of Genesis.]
[Secondary Node detected: Cognitive Expansion.]
[Initialization of Dialogue Interface — granted.]
"Dialogue interface?" he whispered.
The voice — Eith er — answered as if it had been waiting through centuries.
> [It means I may now answer questions.]
"Then I'll ask one," Liu Feng said, sitting cross-legged on the jade floor of his chamber. "Why me?"
There was a pause. Then came the low warmth of laughter, metallic and kind.
> [The same question was once asked by the first god who tried to shape order from chaos. The answer is not why you, but why now. You were born in the moment where creation requires a witness, not merely a servant.]
He frowned slightly. "That sounds like a riddle."
> [All beginnings are riddles, Liu Feng. But if you wish, I can speak plainly: your soul frequency matches that of the Phoenix of Genesis. That template was sealed when the gods withdrew from Douluo. It reawakened through you. I am its bridge.]
"Then you are… alive?"
> [Alive is a word mortals use when the light still burns. I am the echo of a divine engine. You may call me your mentor, your instrument, or your reflection. It makes little difference. What matters is the path you choose through me.]
Liu Feng closed his eyes. The connection did not feel foreign — it felt like breathing through a second set of lungs. The system's rhythm blended with his own pulse.
"What is the next step?" he asked.
> [Initiating Early Tasks Protocol.]
[Objective: Harmonize the Dual Blade's spirits.]
[Condition: Mediate between elemental polarities—Water and Fire.]
[Reward: Expansion of Genesis Core.]
He drew the Dual Blade from its sheath and laid it before him. Its twin edges glowed faintly, opposites sharing one breath. He let the fire edge flare until the water edge began to steam; then he cooled it until the flame nearly vanished. The lesson was balance — not silence of one force, but their conversation.
Hours turned to twilight. At last, the sword sang in a tone that was neither hot nor cold. A ripple of blue fire surrounded him, and the system murmured:
> [Synchronization achieved: 97%.]
[Core expansion unlocked. Mental acuity +12%.]
[Note: You are now capable of perceiving early causality threads — minor fate patterns.]
He opened his eyes, and the world had changed again. The air shimmered with faint lines — invisible pathways connecting things: a droplet to the leaf it would nourish, a candle to the prayer it would outlive, a heartbeat to its echo in another room.
He understood now — destiny was not a law; it was an equation, endlessly rewriting itself.
When BiBi Dong entered, the air still hummed with energy. She felt the residue of awakening.
"You've grown again," she said, studying him.
"Not grown," he corrected gently. "Aligned."
Her smile was small, proud, and touched with unease. "Remember, Liu Feng — the higher you climb, the thinner the air becomes."
"I will breathe carefully," he promised.
She touched the hilt of his blade and felt it pulse like a living vein. She had seen many prodigies. None had frightened her like this one — not because of what he could destroy, but because of what he might remake.
That night, Liu Feng dreamed of the Phoenix again — this time not in fire, but in silence. Its wings folded around a cradle of stars, and its voice said only one word:
"Create."