Chapter 11
After transmigrating, Yu Xiaogang had little certainty about the Douluo Continent's future. One thing he did know: his body's natural talent was poor. Five aimless years had already made him a laughingstock. If his Martial Soul Awakening turned out weak, would that stain Yu Yuanzhen's reputation for years to come? The thought of that possibility, after all the care his father had given, was unbearable. He would rather die than let that happen.
So, soon after regaining his senses, Yu Xiaogang proposed something bold: begin cultivation before the Martial Soul Awakening.
At the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile School, the idea stirred debate. Gu Rong voiced the common view: cultivating before Awakening was usually pointless—the rules of the Douluo Continent had been set for generations. But Dragon God Douluo Yu Xiaogang was different. Everyone knew the heavenly curtain's footage: this Yu Xiaogang's life had been a struggle from the start, yet he had made choices that diverged from the ordinary. If those choices were the reason he overturned fate, perhaps the rules were not absolute.
Ning Fengzhi hesitated to judge. Chen Xin advised patience: let Dao answer in time. Across the continent, factions watched the heavenly curtain closely. If pre-Awakening cultivation worked, it would change how everyone trained.
The video continued. Yu Xiaogang's earnestness moved Yu Yuanzhen. He knelt, placed a hand on his son's head, and smiled with steady resolve.
"Silly son, don't worry. You will never be a stain on my life."
His words were gentle but unshakable. If Yu Xiaogang had been a stain, Yu Yuanzhen would have sent him away long ago. The father's choice warmed Yu Xiaogang's heart. Feeling the firm palm on his head, Yu Xiaogang shook it off and spoke with quiet determination.
"I may not be able to change everything, but I want to try."
Yu Yuanzhen asked the obvious question: cultivation is painful—can you endure it? Yu Xiaogang answered without hesitation: certainly.
The next morning, training began. On the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Sect's private ground, Yu Yuanzhen watched his five‑year‑old son run under a strict, fatherly gaze.
"Run! You think you can get stronger being this slow?"
Lap after lap, Yu Xiaogang pushed himself. His throat burned, breaths felt like shards of ice and fire at once. Sweat soaked his clothes; his legs grew heavy as if filled with lead. Every step ached. Every muscle screamed. He wanted to stop, to crawl back into warmth and sleep.
But the thought of becoming a lifelong joke—of others using him to mock Yu Yuanzhen—kept him moving. He gritted his teeth and endured.
When Yu Yuanzhen finally called a halt, Yu Xiaogang collapsed, utterly spent. The Sect Master's praise was simple: "Not bad." Inside, he was surprised. He had expected the boy to falter, to cry and quit. Instead, Yu Xiaogang had persevered without complaint. Ordinary children would have fled; this child had not.
Watching, Yu Yuanzhen compared his son to the Clear Sky Sect's prodigal twins. Their talent was obvious, but their Heart‑Nature had been inflated by praise; without correction, trouble would come. Seeing his own son's stubborn will, Yu Yuanzhen felt pride swell in his chest.
"Clear Sky Twins? Hmph. My son is no less capable."
In the Black World, Yu Yuanzhen watched himself on the heavenly curtain and felt a strange, sour emotion. The other Yu Yuanzhen's pride was plain to see. Both men shared a name, both had sons named Yu Xiaogang, yet the other's child—only five—had already shown the resolve to shoulder his father's honor. He had started cultivating on his own, endured pain without complaint, and refused to give up. That heart‑nature proved his seriousness: he truly wanted to clear his father's name.
Looking at that other boy, and then at his own son, a bitter jealousy rose. He had never imagined that one day he would envy another version of himself. Both were fathers; both had sons. Why, then, was the other's son so much better?