"It should be okay."
Old Jack smiled kindly. "The minimum age for awakening a martial soul is around six years old, but there's no rule that says you can't awaken after that. It's just that if you delay it for two years, you'll fall behind your peers."
Wang Shenmeng smiled sweetly, his face full of longing. "It's okay to be a little behind. As long as I can become a soul master, I'll be satisfied."
"Poor child…"
Old Jack reached out and patted Wang Shenmeng's head, encouraging him. "You used to wander about with no chance to awaken. This time, I'll plead with the deacon to let you undergo the ceremony. I believe Xiao Meng will definitely become a great soul master."
Though he said so, Old Jack had little confidence in his heart. Still, he couldn't bear to crush the boy's hope, so he could only offer words of comfort.
Sigh… Xiaomeng's parents were ordinary civilians who couldn't cultivate. The chances of a commoner's child becoming a soul master are far too slim. I can only pray Heaven blesses him when the time comes.
After the meal, Old Jack began explaining the basic knowledge of soul masters to Wang Shenmeng. Although Wang Shenmeng already knew far more than Old Jack, he still listened respectfully, nodding along. This attitude made Old Jack very pleased.
Afterwards, Old Jack carried a bag of food and went to Tang Hao's house, intending to discuss Tang San's upcoming martial soul awakening.
Wang Shenmeng, however, had no interest in facing Tang Hao's cold expression. Instead, he brought some rice noodles and vegetables back to his own home.
Yes—he also had a "home" in Holy Spirit Village: a thatched shed that had once been the cattle pen of Wang Dahu's family.
At first, Wang Shenmeng had persuaded Wang Dahu's family to let the cows out for a time. Later, when the cow died, Wang Dahu repaired the cowshed so that it could at least keep out the wind and rain. From then on, it became Wang Shenmeng's nest.
The thatched hut was not large, only twenty or thirty square meters, but it was enough for one person to live in.
Inside stood a one-meter-wide bamboo bed. Though the quilt was shabby, it was still clean. Beside the rice-bran pillow lay several sets of old clothes—mostly hand-me-downs once worn by Old Jack's grandson.
There was also a simple wooden table, a small bench, a kettle for warm water, and a few other necessities. Naturally, there were stoves, pots, and pans as well.
The original owner would sometimes catch small animals or dig up wild vegetables to cook. Occasionally, the villagers donated food, allowing him to prepare simple meals for himself.
Though the thatched hut was crude and dilapidated, for the former Wang Shenmeng it had been a rare haven—a fragile but precious stability after the death of his family.
These days, Wang Shenmeng often felt restless. At night he tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep. The bamboo bed pricked his back, the summer heat pressed down on him, and the mosquitoes, rats, and ants made rest nearly impossible.
Fortunately, he had brought back plenty of rice and noodles from Grandpa Jack's house. At least he wouldn't go hungry for a while—otherwise, survival itself would have been uncertain.
The more he failed to sleep, the more his thoughts wandered. A shadow lingered in his heart: what if he could not awaken innate soul power? In this rigid, class-bound world, without becoming a soul master, there was almost no path forward. It would be utterly impossible to rise.
It wasn't until dawn that Wang Shenmeng finally drifted into a daze. When he woke, the sun was already high—it was nearly noon.
After washing up, he cooked a pot of porridge and ate. Then, wandering aimlessly through the village, he found himself outside Tang San's house. From within came the steady bang, bang, bang of iron striking iron. Curious, he craned his neck and saw Tang San at the forge.
The hammer in Tang San's hands was so heavy that even an adult might struggle to lift it, yet the boy swung it again and again, each strike powerful and precise.
Wang Shenmeng couldn't help but feel envious. He knew well that Tang San's strength was not some natural gift, as Tang Hao believed, but the result of cultivating the Xuantian Technique.
Wang Shenmeng coveted that technique deeply. It was something that could truly defy fate—transforming the life of an ordinary person. Even without innate soul power, one could still cultivate internal strength, and in essence, internal strength was no different from soul power.
If he failed to awaken as a soul master, or if his talent proved too poor, then the Xuantian Technique was one of the very few things that could still change his destiny. It was the closest hope within his reach.
Tang San had relied on this profound internal art to cultivate pseudo-innate full soul power, and he continued to practice it even after becoming the God King. That alone proved how extraordinary it truly was.
Unfortunately, Wang Shenmeng could only drool in envy. He knew it was impossible for Tang San to pass on the Xuantian Technique to him.
Even Yu Xiaogang—stuck at rank 29 and desperate to break through—had never been able to obtain its teachings. So who am I to even dream of it?
Perhaps his gaze was too intense. Tang San, who had been fully absorbed in blacksmithing, suddenly sensed something. He turned around, spotted Wang Shenmeng at the door, and immediately frowned. A cold light flashed in his eyes.
"What are you doing sneaking around at the door? Do you want to steal a teacher?"
Although blacksmithing was considered a lowly trade, it was still a skilled craft and not without value among commoners. To think someone might covet even this ability to make a living—Tang San's expression hardened, fury flickering in his eyes.
Wang Shenmeng's heart skipped a beat under that icy stare, guilt rising unbidden.
He did want to "steal a master," but not for blacksmithing. What he longed for was the Xuantian Technique, not this unstructured smithing craft. If it were the Disorder Splitting Wind Hammer Method, that would be another matter entirely.
"No, I just came by. I wasn't sneaking around—it's just that you were too focused and didn't notice me."
Wang Shenmeng smiled, his tone friendly and unthreatening.
It wasn't that he wanted to cling to the thigh of the future God King Tang. He knew well that Tang San disliked him. He simply didn't want to provoke Tang San without reason. This boy was not broad-minded, and Wang Shenmeng himself was just an orphan with no backing. If he offended Tang San, he might one day lose his life without even knowing how.
Until he had the strength to protect himself, he had no intention of provoking Tang San.
"Hmph, then what are you doing here? Our family doesn't have any surplus food, and certainly none for you. You'd better go beg somewhere else."
Tang San assumed Wang Shenmeng had come to beg, and his expression grew even more displeased. A flash of disgust passed through his eyes.
No food left? Didn't Grandpa Jack just send over a whole sack of grain? You ate it all in one meal?
Wang Shenmeng rolled his eyes. He had lived in Holy Spirit Village for half a year and hadn't even drunk a sip of water from Tang San's family. How desperate would he have to be to come here for sustenance?
Seeing Tang San's bad attitude and clear dislike, Wang Shenmeng decided not to invite further trouble. "I'm just wandering around. Since you don't welcome me, I'll go elsewhere."
He turned and left, shaking his head in secret.
Tang San often claimed that the other children looked down on him because they hated the poor and loved the rich. Yet he himself behaved the same way—looking down on this little beggar as though even speaking a few more words would lower his worth.
Wang Shenmeng returned home in a depressed mood. On the way, some children invited him to play.
But he was not truly a child, and he had no interest in playing house. Using the excuse of feeling unwell, he dismissed them one by one.
Time flew by, and three days passed in this way.
Early that morning, Old Jack brought Tang San and Wang Shenmeng to the Spirit Hall at the center of the village.
Of course, this so-called Spirit Hall was nothing more than a slightly larger wooden house.
That year, nine children from Holy Spirit Village were to undergo their martial soul awakening. Under Old Jack's guidance, Wang Shenmeng and Tang San were the last to arrive.
In addition to Old Jack and the nine children, there was also a young man waiting inside the Spirit Hall.
He looked to be in his twenties, with sword-like brows, starry eyes, and a strikingly handsome appearance.
Wang Shenmeng couldn't help but glance at him several times. This must be the famous Spirit Master Su Yuntao. He had guided countless children through their awakenings—many transmigrators in the stories had met him first. Wang Shenmeng never expected that one day it would be his turn.
"Hello, respected Spirit Master. I'll have to trouble you this time." Old Jack bowed respectfully to the young man.
The young man's brows revealed a trace of pride. He returned a slight bow, his tone indifferent yet polite. "I don't have much time. Let's begin."
Old Jack quickly added, "Respected Spirit Master, there is one child in a special situation. He is already eight years old. Due to family misfortune, he missed the awakening ceremony two years ago. I would like to ask you to help him awaken this time as well."