Douluo: I become stronger when I take in disciples!

Chapter 258 I was also poisoned by the flower
Mo Lingyun pressed her palms tightly against Zhuo Ri's brow. The scarlet patterns on the Spirit Control Token meandered and danced like living things, seeping into the spirit beast's silvery-white fur along her fingertips. The air suddenly thickened, and an invisible force abruptly connected between human and beast. The surging, scorching fire within Zhuo Ri's body collided violently with the piercing ice energy surrounding her. The space emitted a piercing scream, as if glass had shattered instantly. In the distorted air, countless tiny specks of light rose from where ice and fire met, resembling a silent fireworks display in the twilight.

"Awooo—!" The scorching sun's massive body trembled violently, its muscles bulging beneath its silvery-white fur, bursting forth with dazzling sparks. Its previously chaotic and murky amber vertical pupils suddenly gleamed with a clear light, and the long-extinguished flames within its mane, dulled by demonic possession, reignited. The piercingly cold power seeped into its meridians along the spiritual energy connection lines, and the scorch marks caused by the loss of control receded at a visible speed, turning into specks of light that dissipated into the air.

Thanks to the solid foundation laid by her third spirit ring, which had lasted for 100,000 years, Mo Lingyun not only didn't feel dizzy at the moment of spiritual energy connection, but also maintained an astonishing level of clarity. The immense divine sense of the Scorching Sun, enveloped in scorching heat, surged in, but was steadily intercepted by the ice-patterned barrier swirling within her sea of ​​consciousness. Two completely different forces flowed in parallel through her meridians: the blazing fire, like surging magma, flowed wildly along her bones; the icy soul power, like millennia-old, unmelting ice, nourished every inch of her tendons. They maintained a delicate balance, neither invading the other yet resonating with each other, playing a strange symphony within her body.

At this moment, a crimson spirit ring over 120,000 years old slowly rose from Zhuo Ri's body, like a burning crimson moon hanging in mid-air. The surface of this spirit ring was covered with intricate patterns, each seemingly recording the vicissitudes of countless years. It resonated strangely with the third red spirit ring at Mo Lingyun's waist, layers of crimson light overlapping and weaving into a net of light in the air. As the humming intensified, a brand new fourth red spirit ring gradually condensed behind her. Tiny flames danced at the edges of the new spirit ring, while crystalline ice crystals condensed at its core. The auras of ice and fire flowed independently, yet together they formed a complete and harmonious circle.

As her fourth spirit ring fully formed, Mo Lingyun's aura surged, and the oppressive force of alternating ice and fire swept outwards like a tidal wave. The scorched earth on the ground, impacted by the heat and cold, cracked and froze intermittently, forming strange patterns. Zhuo Ri looked down at the girl on the other side of the contract, his eyes filled with solemnity and recognition—this was not a relationship of conquest and subjugation, but an equal contract between two powerful beings, a tacit resonance of ice and fire power across countless ages.

"Alright!" The contract runes on Mo Lingyun's fingertips slowly dissipated. As she straightened up, two 100,000-year soul rings flickered alternately behind her. A dark red halo wrapped around her black robes as if it were a tangible substance, making the aura of a powerful figure around her even more profound. Even the scorched earth beneath her feet cracked under this aura.

The Blazing Sun Pegasus raised its head and neighed, its silvery-white body suddenly shrinking into a miniature spirit beast the size of a palm. It flapped its transparent wings studded with sparks and affectionately nuzzled Mo Lingyun's ear: "Hello, disciple of the Spirit Control Sect, my name is Blazing Sun." Its childish voice trembled slightly with the characteristic tremor of flames, and the flame mark on its forehead flickered with each word.

"My name is Mo Lingyun." She raised her hand and gently stroked Zhuori's mane. The lingering coldness on her fingertips touched the warmth on the spirit beast's body, causing wisps of white mist to rise.

"Then let's go back." Feng Yang's voice fell, accompanied by a fierce gale. Blue flames surged around him, transforming into an invisible current that lifted the two women up. The moment the three of them soared into the air, the lava in the Weeping Flower Abyss below suddenly churned violently, as if mourning the departure of this power.

Amidst the clouds, Mo Lingyun gazed at Ren Yaoyao beside her, whose hair was ruffled by the wind, and suddenly spoke: "Yaoyao, let me take you back to Qingfeng Valley." The moment her words fell, the air seemed to freeze.

Ren Yaoyao looked up abruptly, her pupils contracting slightly. Mo Lingyun, standing before her, was surrounded by an unfamiliar yet powerful aura; the light emanating from her two 100,000-year soul rings stung her eyes. She instinctively glanced at Feng Yang, but only saw that eternally upright back—he stared coldly ahead, his robes fluttering in the wind, as if nothing that had just happened had stirred any emotion within him.

“Okay.” Ren Yaoyao’s voice was so soft it was almost inaudible. She clenched her clothes tightly, her nails digging deep into her palms. The tacit understanding they once shared in battle was now completely exposed by the light of the ten-thousand-year soul ring, leaving only a glaring gap between them.

When the familiar archway of Qingfeng Valley came into view, Ren Yaoyao forced a smile and said, "Goodbye, Feng Yang, Lingyun." Her gaze lingered on Feng Yang for half a second longer, but she only received a cold nod in return.

Mo Lingyun casually waved her hand, the arc of her skirt billowing as she turned carrying the sharp edge of a newly ascended powerhouse. Once the two had risen back into the clouds, she suddenly spoke: "Feng Yang, you're rather heartless." Her voice carried the clear sound of shattering ice crystals.

"What?" Feng Yang glanced sideways, the blue flame in his eyes flickering as if mocking the abrupt question.

"You took that girl's virginity, and you're still acting the same as always." Mo Lingyun's tone was tinged with dissatisfaction. Zhuo Ri trembled uneasily on her shoulder, and sparks flew into her hair.

"Then what do you want me to do?" Feng Yang's voice was filled with the chill of the high sky. The blue flames around him suddenly surged, enveloping the two of them in a cold cocoon of light.

Mo Lingyun opened her mouth, but the words that were about to come out suddenly froze. She gazed at the sharp edges of Feng Yang's cloak billowing in the wind, recalling his unwavering act of saving people, and a complex ripple of emotion welled up within her: "No, not really."

“That’s terrible. It’s just saving a life, nothing more.” Feng Yang’s voice was devoid of warmth, yet it struck her heart like a heavy hammer. Mo Lingyun gazed at the sea of ​​clouds rushing past below, suddenly unable to distinguish whether the surging emotions she felt were relief—relief that this relationship had no unnecessary entanglements—or disappointment—disappointment at the cold-heartedness of the person before her. Zhuo Ri let out a low cry, the sparks on its wings flickering uncertainly, as if it too was puzzled by this conversation.

As Mo Lingyun stepped into the gate of the Yu Ling Sect, the setting sun was painting the eaves amber. Just as Mo Lingyun passed through the archway engraved with contract runes, she saw Mo Shan leap up from the stone steps, his mottled gray robe billowing in the mountain wind, revealing the worn-out Yu Ling token at his waist.

"Granddaughter, you're back!" The old woman's wrinkled face lit up with joy, her cloudy eyes shining with excitement. She slammed her cane heavily on the bluestone slab, startling a few perched sparrows.

“Yes, Grandpa.” Mo Lingyun raised her hand in acknowledgment, and the scorching sun on her shoulder suddenly transformed into a stream of light that swirled around her, her silver-white mane sparkling with tiny sparks in the twilight.

"How was it?" Mo Shan leaned forward, his aged fingers almost touching the glowing soul ring around her waist. "Did you have a good time at the Weeping Flower Abyss this time?" "This is Senior Zhuo Ri," Mo Lingyun said, supporting the Pegasus, which had transformed back into its miniature form. "It was once the spirit beast of our fourth-generation sect master." Zhuo Ri obediently shook its head, the flame emblem on its forehead reflecting in Mo Shan's pupils.

"So, Lingyun, you have two 100,000-year soul rings?" The old man's voice suddenly rose, startling the disciples cultivating in the distance. His calloused hands trembled as he stroked the flickering soul rings behind Mo Lingyun, tears welling in his cloudy eyes. "It seems our Spirit Control Sect is truly about to return to its peak! When that time comes, we'll recruit more disciples and start training them by contracting with hundreds-of-years-old soul beasts. Once we've accumulated enough resources..." He rambled on, his withered fingers gesturing in the air, as if he could already see the magnificent scene of disciples riding spirit beasts all over the mountain.

“Grandpa, you're thinking so much already,” Mo Lingyun smiled helplessly, the mountain wind ruffling a strand of hair at her temples, “We don't have any titles, so no outstanding disciples are willing to join.”

"A 100,000-year spirit ring! What is a Title Douluo?" Mo Shan suddenly straightened his hunched back and slammed his cane heavily on the ground. "Ninety percent of Title Douluos don't have 100,000-year spirit rings, but my granddaughter has two!" His face, covered with age spots, was filled with pride, and his voice echoed in the empty mountain path.

"That's it!" The old man suddenly slapped his forehead, his wrinkles radiating excitement. "Perfect timing! The Divine Spirit Pavilion is hosting a Soul Master Tournament this time, a one-on-one competition!" He leaned closer and lowered his voice. "The winner will receive a head soul ring! Granddaughter, you absolutely must participate. Only then can we spread the reputation of our Spirit Control Sect and attract disciples who will come seeking our teachings."

Mo Lingyun gazed at the burning light in her grandfather's eyes, her spirit rings trembling slightly. Suddenly, Zhuo Ri nuzzled her cheek, the hot wind from its wings carrying the distinctive aroma of burning flames. "I understand."

The jade round table reflected the flickering candlelight, and the rising steam condensed into a thin mist between the three of them. Mo Lingyun picked up a piece of spirit mushroom with her chopsticks and suddenly spoke: "We owe this success to Feng Yang." The crisp sound of porcelain bowls clinking together stopped abruptly, and Mo Shan's cloudy eyes instantly brightened. His age-spotted hands hurriedly picked up the gilded wine cup.

The old man straightened his hunched back with effort, the wine swirling in his glass, creating tiny ripples. "Yes, yes, God Feng Yang, this old man toasts you!" His hoarse voice carried a deliberate fawning, the rim of the glass almost touching his white beard. Suddenly, the wind chimes on the eaves tinkled softly, and moonlight streamed through the carved window lattice, casting a cold, silvery edge on Feng Yang's dark robes.

The deity lowered his gaze to the amber liquid in the glass, his Adam's apple bobbing slightly, but ultimately he only raised the glass and took a small sip. The moment the aroma of the wine spread between his lips and teeth, the chill emanating from him seemed to deepen. Mo Shan's hand, holding the wine glass, froze in mid-air, his smile gradually hardening, and fine beads of sweat seeping from his wrinkles.

"Hehe." Mo Lingyun covered her mouth and chuckled, her fingertips unconsciously stroking the rim of the cup. "Grandpa, Feng Yang is just like that." Her voice carried a hint of coquettishness, and the candlelight flickered in her pupils, making the corners of her eyes glisten with tears.

Feng Yang placed his wine cup on the celadon bowl, making a soft sound. His drooping eyelashes cast shadows beneath his eyes, but his thoughts drifted back to the past—the favors that had been unnecessarily entangled because of gentle responses, the perfunctory greetings he had to exchange. It turned out that when indifference became armor, it could actually shield one from most of the world's troubles.

Night fell, as dark as ink, slowly enveloping the Spirit Control Sect. The glazed lamps on the eaves lit up one after another, their orange-yellow glow echoing the stars in the sky, outlining the ancient architecture in a dreamlike way. The evening breeze swept across the bluestone walls carved with contract runes, producing a soft hum, like the whispers of countless spirit beasts.

In the Spirit Beast Garden behind the mountain, the sleeping spirit beasts emitted faint fluorescent light with each breath, intertwining with the fireflies on the grass to form a flowing galaxy. Occasionally, a distant beast cry would echo through the empty valley, startling the night owls perched on the ancient locust tree, their flapping wings breaking the momentary tranquility.

Under the eaves of the main hall, wind chimes swayed gently in the night breeze. The clear sound of the copper bells mingled with the faint fluctuations of soul power emanating from the disciples cultivating in the distance. Moonlight filtered through the latticed windows, casting dappled shadows on the ground, which intertwined with the flickering candlelight, painting dynamic ink paintings on the walls.

In Mo Lingyun's courtyard, the scorching sun transformed into a small fireball, while Han Yuan became a small ice ball, quietly curled up on the windowsill. A night breeze swept by, bringing the moist scent of the spiritual spring from the back mountain, mingled with the fragrance of unknown wildflowers. The murmuring of the mountain stream in the distance, together with the chirping of insects and croaking of frogs, composed a gentle night song, quietly seeping into every corner under the cool moonlight.

Mo Lingyun stared at her flushed ear tips in the bronze mirror, her fingers unconsciously twisting the sash of her bathrobe. Moonlight streamed obliquely into the room, casting a long, thin shadow of hers on the wall. "I told him I was going to take a bath, doesn't he have any interest in me at all?" she murmured to herself in the empty room, a sudden pang of sadness rising in her chest as she recalled the day Feng Yang had transformed into a blue flame flower to watch her bathe. "He even turned into a blue flame flower to come and watch before... should I take the initiative?"

Before she could finish speaking, she had already rushed out of the room in a panic. Her wooden clogs tapped out a chaotic rhythm on the bluestone bricks, startling the owls roosting under the eaves. When she reached Feng Yang's house, her hair was disheveled by the night wind, her chest heaving violently, and her palms, still damp from her bath, left wet marks on the door.

"Knock, knock, knock!" The knocking on the door was rapid and rhythmic, like a drumbeat. "Feng Yang, Feng Yang!"

The only response was a soft thud; the carved wooden door opened without wind, releasing Feng Yang's distinctively cold aura. Mo Lingyun froze, staring at the figure reclining on the couch inside—the moonlight gilded Feng Yang with silver edges, blue flames flickering at his fingertips, and his clear, cold eyes silently watching her.

She bit her lower lip, her heart pounding so hard it felt like it would burst out of her chest. Before reason could return, her feet had already stumbled uncontrollably into the room, heading straight for the bed. A faint, cool fragrance emanating from Feng Yang, mixed with his spiritual energy, enveloped her. She heard her own panicked voice: "Feng Yang! I think... I think I've also been poisoned by the flower." Her fingertips gripped his collar tightly, only then realizing her palms were already damp with a thin layer of sweat.

(End of this chapter)