Douluo Continent III Haotian Wulin

An intense feeling of exhaustion surged up from every part of my body almost at the same instant the silver light faded.

Tang Wulin felt as if all his strength had been drained away. His arms first felt heavy, and then he didn't even have the strength to lift them. His fingers loosened slightly as he gripped the Heavy Star Hammer, and the hammer's shadow dissipated on its own. His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground.

Sweat streamed down his forehead and chin, landing on the ground and leaving dark marks.

Mang Tian acted quickly, raising his hand to press down on his wrist and applying a thin, adhesive-like bandage. The area had been bleeding when it was cut, but now only a faint line of red remained. The warm blood was sealed by the bandage, preventing it from seeping out again.

He didn't speak immediately.

She glanced down at Tang Wulin, then looked up at the piece of sublimated silver on the forging table, her lips twitching slightly.

His expression was calm, but if you looked closely, you could see that beneath that usually hard and calm demeanor, there was an emotion that rarely appeared on his face.

Not surprised.

Rather, it is a deeper confirmation.

What he got was not just a talented child.

But he is someone who can truly take forging far.

Tang Ziran rushed in and helped her son up.

"Wu Lin?"

Tang Wulin opened his mouth, as if he wanted to say something, but he was too tired. Five hours of high-intensity forging without interruption, coupled with the feeling of perfect harmony that almost ripped his mind and soul away at the moment the thousand forgings were completed, made even his eyelids begin to feel heavy.

The sound of hammering seemed to still echo in my ears, one sound after another, both far away and very close.

He vaguely heard Mangtian speaking.

"...Remember how you felt today."

"This is the beginning, not the end."

"You'll understand later what this step today truly means."

But the sound seemed to come through a very deep layer of water; it was blurry, low, and indistinct.

Tang Wulin only managed to move slightly in his father's arms before falling into a deep sleep.

When I opened my eyes again, it was already daytime outside the window.

Sunlight streamed in through the cracks in the window, falling on the bed beside it and on the small bed opposite. That bed was still there, the sheets neatly folded and the pillows arranged upright. But no one was on it anymore.

Tang Wulin lay there, staring blankly for a while before slowly coming back to his senses.

My whole body feels weak.

It wasn't the aches and pains of someone who'd been completely drained, but rather a soft, yielding feeling after being utterly drained, then slowly filled with something. A warmth emanated from my bones and veins, and even my breath carried a lazy, warm sensation in my chest, making me so comfortable that I didn't want to move.

He closed his eyes slightly.

The final scene of Qian Duan is still surprisingly clear.

That piece of sunken silver breathed in the fire.

When the hammer fell, the metal was no longer lifeless, but seemed to have its own pulse. He pressed down on it, and it responded to him. Until that response reached its peak, the entire piece of sunken silver suddenly shone brightly, like moonlight that had been suppressed in the deep sea, finally forcibly struck out from the bottom.

So this is what sublimation is.

It doesn't grow out of thin air.

Instead, it forces out the part that it already had but had been buried too deep.

Tang Wulin lay on the pillow, a very slight smile curving his lips.

I think I... really did it.

Before that faint joy could fully surface, her gaze fell upon the empty little bed.

His smile paused for a moment, then slowly faded away.

If only Na'er were still here.

She would definitely rush over first, looking at him with bright eyes, and then ask very seriously, "Brother, did you succeed?"

He could then deliberately act as if he didn't care much, nod, and say, "Of course."

Then, wait until she's genuinely happy, and then secretly feel smug.

But now, he is all alone in the house.

The sunlight shone on the empty bed, making even the stillness seem too quiet.

"Na'er..." Tang Wulin called out softly.

No one answered.

It felt like something was gently tugging at his heart, a sour feeling, but not the kind of pain that was immediately unbearable. It just lingered there, reminding him from time to time that she was gone.

She's not here when you're happy.

When you're exhausted, she's not there.

Tang Wulin pursed his lips, stared at the bed for a while, and then silently said to himself:

I will find you.

No matter where you go, I will always find you.

After saying those words, it was as if he had set a very light yet very steady mindset for himself. The warmth that had been lazily enveloping his limbs and bones slowly rose up and enveloped him again.

Before he knew it, he had fallen asleep again.

I woke up a second time because I was hungry.

The feeling came on very suddenly, like a painful emptiness in his stomach, a wave of hunger jolting him out of bed. Tang Wulin sat up almost instantly, his eyes not even fully open, before he cried out:

"Mother."

The door opened almost immediately.

Lang Yue walked in quickly, her eyes still a little red, but her expression was clearly much more relaxed.

"Awake?"

"I'm so hungry." Tang Wulin's voice was still a little hoarse, but he was fully awake. "Mom, I'm starving."

Lang Yue couldn't help but smile, and then her eyes welled up with tears.

If the child can still say he's hungry, it means he has truly recovered.

"Yes, yes." She nodded quickly. "The chicken soup has been kept warm for you, and there are also steamed buns and vegetables. Your teacher said you were very weak, so eat something hot as soon as you wake up."

Tang Wulin didn't care about anything else at the moment, so he threw off the covers and got out of bed.

Fifteen minutes later, at the dinner table.

Lang Yue and Tang Ziran watched their son burying his head in drinking soup, eating steamed buns, and picking up vegetables, his movements so fast he barely stopped. The expressions on their faces gradually became somewhat subtle.

He ate the whole chicken, soup and all, clean.

After eating five steamed buns, he was still reaching for a sixth one.

The two dishes on the table were almost empty.

"This..." Lang Yue hesitated, then finally turned to look at her husband, "Won't he overeat and hurt himself?"

Tang Ziran was also a little stunned.

He knew his son had always had a big appetite, but this time, it was beyond just "big".

Tang Wulin swallowed a large mouthful of chicken while vaguely raising his head.

"No," he said firmly. "I'm still hungry."

Lang Yue: "..."

Tang Ziran coughed lightly.

"Go and cook him two more dishes."

Lang Yue rolled her eyes at him, complaining, but still turned around and went into the kitchen.

After a while, Tang Wulin finally leaned back in his chair, satisfied, and let out a long sigh.

"Mom's cooking is still the best."

The way he looked clearly indicated that he had been thoroughly satisfied by the feeding.

Tang Ziran looked down at his wrist.

The cut that Mangtian made last night has now become just a very faint red mark, almost invisible unless you look closely.

His eyes flickered slightly, but he didn't say anything.

Over the past year, my son's recovery ability was already extraordinary, and now that he has become a Soul Master, this change seems to be even more pronounced.

Tang Wulin, however, hadn't had time to think about these things yet.

He put down his bowl, then suddenly remembered the most important thing, and immediately sat up straighter.

"Dad, did my thousand-fold forging yesterday really succeed?"

Tang Ziran looked at him and finally smiled and nodded.

"It's done."

"And it went very well. Your teacher didn't say much else last night, just that you should go see him as soon as you wake up."

Tang Wulin's eyes lit up immediately.

"I'll go now!"

"Stop." Lang Yue came out carrying a freshly cooked dish, frowning. "It's already dark outside, and you've only just woken up. What's the rush?"

Tang Wulin had almost taken a step forward when she said that, so he had to stop and look back at her, his eyes still burning brightly.

"But the teacher told me to go over as soon as I woke up..."

Before Lang Yue could say anything more, Tang Ziran had already stood up.

"I'll go with him," he said. "It'll only be a short while, we'll be right back."

Lang Yue watched as the father and son grew increasingly anxious, and she was so angry she wanted to glare at them, but she knew she couldn't stop them. She could only grit her teeth and utter a single sentence:

"If anything else happens, you'll be sleeping in the living room tonight."

Tang Ziran touched her nose and didn't dare to reply.

Tang Wulin had already quickly changed his outer clothes, his eyes shining like fire.

The lights in Mangtian Studio were still on.

At night, from the outside, that little warm yellow light looked exceptionally quiet, like a fire that hadn't gone out, just waiting for someone to come back.

As soon as Tang Wulin pushed open the door, he couldn't help but call out:

"Teacher, I'm here!"

He himself was unaware of the barely suppressed joy in his voice.

Mang Tian walked out from inside.

He was still wearing that old work uniform, still with that cold and hard demeanor. But the moment he saw Tang Wulin, the coldness in his eyes, which he had always kept hidden, relaxed slightly.

"Awake?" he asked.

"Yes!" Tang Wulin nodded vigorously. "Teacher, am I right?"

"Come with me," Mang Tian interrupted him.

Instead of heading to the outer hall, he led the father and son directly into the inner forging room.

As soon as the door opened, the lingering metallic heat from last night still hung in the air.

In the center of the forging table, a piece of metal lay quietly.

It's no longer the dazzling, silvery-white sunken silver.

It became smaller and quieter.

It's a dull gray, almost unremarkable at first glance, as if it's been pressed down layer by layer by fire and hammer, pulling back all the light that was originally on the surface. But if you look at it more closely, you'll find that the gray is by no means dull, but rather a deep, weighty, and restrained gray.

Its surface is covered with layers of fine textures that spread out like a tide.

Like the sea.

Like a vast ocean that has been flattened and then gathered back together.

"Take a look." Mang Tian stepped aside half a step, his voice not loud. "These are the things you left behind last night."

Tang Wulin stood there, not immediately stepping forward.

He just watched.

Looked for a long time.

Every hammer blow, every breath, every tremor from those five hours last night seemed to reappear before my eyes at this moment. Not blurry, but crystal clear.

This is what he produced.

It was his first piece of forged metal.

After a long while, he slowly walked over, reached out, and gently touched the surface of the piece of silver with his fingertips.

cold.

It's not a cold, hard coolness, but a deep, steady coolness. Like the moment your finger touches it, the coolness seeps in along your fingertip, penetrating straight to your bones. Yet, this coolness carries a subtle, moist sensation, like the dampness left on rocks after the tide has receded, lying quietly.

"It..." Tang Wulin's voice softened, "It's different from last night."

"Nonsense." Mang Tian glanced at him.

But there was clearly no real blame in that "nonsense" remark.

"The metal after sublimation is naturally different from before," he said. "Last night's piece of sunken silver was still sunken silver. This piece is the real thousand-times-refined sunken silver."

Tang Wulin's fingers remained on the metal surface, not moving away.

He could sense it.

There really seemed to be something hidden inside.

It is not life, but it has an lingering charm after being awakened. It is as if it is no longer just ore, no longer just material, but has been hammered out with its own "nature".

"Teacher," he looked up, his eyes shining, yet his voice was steady, "what is it that it elevates to something else?"

Mang Tian did not answer immediately this time.

He stepped forward and placed his hand on the piece of thousand-times-forged silver, his fingertips gently tracing the layers of texture, as if confirming or feeling it.

After a moment, he slowly spoke:

"The tides," he said.

"The sunken silver comes from the deep sea. It is the heaviest and most profound, and it is also the most particular about the flow of soul power. Last night, you suppressed all its impurities and truly brought out the aura of the deep sea within it. So what remains in the end is not just strength, not just density."

"It's the tides."

"When soul power flows through it, it will be smoother and more stable, like the tide. If it is used to make soul tools, core components of mechs, or forged into parts that really need to withstand pressure, it will be more impact-resistant than ordinary thousand-times-forged metal and better at bearing repeated fluctuations in power."

Tang Wulin listened very attentively.

Although there were still some parts he didn't fully understand, he understood the word "tide" almost instinctively when it reached his ears.

He did indeed feel it during the last part last night.

The piece of sunken silver seemed to breathe, to rise and fall, and under the hammer, it rolled inward layer by layer like a tide, and then pushed outward layer by layer.

So in the end, it left behind the patterns of the sea, and also the nature of the sea.

Thinking of this, Tang Wulin suddenly felt a surge of heat in his chest.

It wasn't because the teacher praised him.

It was because for the first time he felt that he truly "understood" a piece of metal. Not from memory, not from what a teacher taught him, but from listening to it hammer by hammer, and finally truly hearing what it wanted to become.

"It's good," Tang Wulin said softly.

Mang Tian glanced at him.

"Of course it's good," he said. "You typed it yourself. If it's not good, then all those five hours you spent last night were wasted."

Tang Wulin's lips twitched slightly.

He didn't smile overtly, but a barely suppressed joy still welled up in his eyes. It was a quiet, contented happiness, without fanfare or excitement, yet more reassuring than anything else.