"You… are the new hope of our clan!"
Mo Han's voice thundered through the hidden chamber, echoing off the stone walls with a weight that made even the torches flicker. His eyes burned with a rare light—sharp, proud, and filled with disbelief.
Mo Long stood tall before him, clad in a black hanfu embroidered with golden dragons. His posture was straight, his gaze cold yet steady. The weak boy who once lowered his head in shame was gone—what stood now was someone reborn, a warrior carved from darkness and resolve.
Mo Han studied him closely, his breath catching in his throat.
"Three dantian…" he whispered, almost reverently. "This is impossible. Even in our ancestral records, no one—no one—has ever possessed three qi cores. You've transcended the limits of our bloodline."
Then, suddenly—BRUK!
He stomped the ground with a surge of qi. The black marble table in the center of the chamber rumbled and sank into the floor. The towering shelves of ancient manuals slid downward as well, leaving behind a vast, circular space.
The secret chamber transformed into a magnificent training hall—its walls lined with intricate carvings of coiling dragons.
"Mo Long," Mo Han's voice deepened, resonant and commanding. "Show me your strength. Don't hold back. I want to see how far you've come."
Mo Long nodded once. He knew this was the moment—the test of his rebirth. Though he had only skimmed through the Shadow Dragon Clan's basic techniques, his body moved as if it had memorized every breath, every flow of qi.
'The third dantian… could this be its gift? It's as if my body itself understands the clan's secret rhythm,' he thought.
He lowered his stance, inhaling deeply. Black qi swirled violently around him, thick and pulsing with life.
"—Shadow Dragon Fist!"
His hand clenched, and darkness gathered. A coiling silhouette of a dragon formed, winding up his arm, its eyes glowing with malice. With a fierce roar of qi, he struck.
BOOM!
The entire room quaked. Dust showered from the ceiling. The ancient stone wall, which had never been marked even by elders' techniques, now bore a long, branching crack.
Mo Han's eyes widened—then a grin spread across his face.
"Incredible! That wall has endured generations of training… and you cracked it on your first attempt. You truly are… something else."
But Mo Long didn't pause. His body leapt high, twisting midair—his silhouette merging with the dragon's form.
"Shadow Dragon Diving Kick!"
WUSHH!
A dark dragon surged downward with him, tearing through the air.
BOOOM!
The floor split open under the impact, the force radiating in waves. Black marks spread across the stone like veins of corruption. Dust exploded outward, forcing Mo Han to step back as his robe fluttered violently in the storm of qi.
The energy snaked through the chamber—creeping up the walls, crawling toward the massive dragon statue that guarded the floating black orb—the Essence of Hei Long.
WUUUMMM—
The statue shuddered. Its two curved fangs gleamed ominously, and the orb in its mouth pulsed with a suffocating aura, heavy enough to crush the lungs.
A sudden pain stabbed through Mo Long's skull. His vision blurred.
The world twisted—then shattered.
For a heartbeat, he wasn't in the chamber anymore.
Before him towered an enormous black dragon—its size eclipsing mountains. Its eyes glowed like twin abysses, staring straight into his soul. The weight of its presence was unbearable.
And before that dragon stood a man. His face was hazy, but his aura was vast—ancient, indomitable. A faint smile curved his lips as he stepped forward, weapon in hand—a curved, narrow blade like the claw of a beast.
'Who… is he?' Mo Long's thoughts froze.
"Mo Long!"
Mo Han's voice shattered the illusion. He gasped, drenched in cold sweat, snapping back to the chamber. His father was smiling—satisfied, yet oddly knowing.
"It seems…" Mo Han murmured, his tone low and reverent, "…the dragon has chosen."
Mo Long blinked, his heart still pounding. 'Chosen? What does he mean?' His eyes darted to the black orb. 'Did the Essence of Hei Long… react to me?'
Mo Han exhaled slowly, his expression thoughtful. "Unfortunately, I can't test you further. Your time's up—you've been gone from the clan for three days."
"What?!" Mo Long's eyes widened. "Three days?!"
He had thought he'd only meditated for a single night.
Mo Han nodded. "The Warrior Qualification Trial begins in three days. And it takes two days of travel to reach the testing grounds—if you use Qinggong continuously and rest only briefly at night."
Mo Long steadied his breath. 'Three days… not much time left.'
"I'll assign one escort to accompany you," Mo Han added. "He'll ensure you arrive safely."
Mo Long bowed his head slightly, a calm, confident smile forming on his lips.
"There's no need to wait for next year. This year… I'll pass, Father."
Mo Han's eyes gleamed. For the first time in years, genuine pride—and hope—lit his face.
For the first time, the Shadow Dragon Clan saw a glimmer of its future.
***
Night descended in stillness. The full moon hung high above, casting its pale light upon the great gates of the Shadow Dragon Clan.
Before them stood Mo Long—tall and unshakable. His long black robe fluttered in the cool night breeze. A sword hung at his waist, its black hilt engraved with silver dragon motifs. On his back was a brown cloth bundle, large enough to rival the size of a horse's head.
Beside the gate stood Min Mao, her eyes glistening under the moonlight. There was joy in her face, yet sorrow lingered quietly beneath it.
"Don't disappear without saying goodbye again," she said softly, her voice trembling. "I spent three days searching for you, Master."
Mo Long turned slightly toward her, a faint smile touching his lips.
"I'm sorry," he replied simply, his tone calm and even.
Min Mao's gaze swept over him—from head to toe. It was still hard for her to comprehend how much he had changed.
"How is it possible… that you've changed so much in just three days? Even standing beside you now, I have to look up to meet your eyes."
Mo Long chuckled quietly, lowering his head slightly to look at her.
"It's all thanks to you, Mao… and to Master Zhi Xin. Without either of you, I wouldn't have made it this far."
Her eyes welled up. Tears streamed down her cheeks before she could stop them.
"From now on," she said, voice trembling but filled with conviction, "no one will ever dare look down on you again. You have to pass the warrior qualification test. You must reach the capital—and enter the Heavenly Demon Academy, Master!"
Footsteps approached from the shadows.
A tall man with his long hair tied into a neat ponytail emerged, his expression firm and composed. "Everything is ready, Master," he said in a low, steady tone.
Mo Long nodded, then turned back to Min Mao.
"Don't worry," he said with a faint smile. "I'll pass… and I'll come back alive."
Min Mao bit her lip, forcing a smile despite the ache in her chest. "I'll be waiting," she whispered.
Mo Long gave her a single nod before turning away.
He gestured slightly to his escort—and in the next instant, both figures vanished into the night, their shadows stretching long before dissolving into the darkness.
"Mo Long!" Min Mao called out, her voice echoing faintly. "Eat properly! And don't drink too much!"
Her words were swallowed by the whisper of the wind. The only thing that remained was the moonlight—and the fading silhouette of Mo Long, merging with the endless night.
The night deepened. The moon hung pale and distant, its silvery glow filtering through the dense canopy of trees. Two shadows darted across the forest floor, leaving only faint blurs in the tall grass.
Mo Long and his escort moved swiftly, their bodies light as if gliding on air, their Qinggong carrying them over twisting roots and misty ravines.
They passed through silent villages, across narrow valleys, and leapt over rivers that shimmered under the moon's reflection. Since leaving the clan gate, they had not stopped for even a moment.
Hu Wei, the escort, followed several paces behind. Sweat trickled down his temples, and disbelief churned within him.
'Is this really Mo Long—the laughingstock of the Mo family? His movements… they're not only fast but precise, almost weightless. It's as if he's walking on air. No one who just regained their qi could possibly move like this.'
His chest tightened with a mix of awe and unease. 'What kind of monster have we awakened…?'
Hu Wei tried to quicken his pace, but the distance between them refused to shrink. His breathing grew heavier with every step.
'Damn it… even catching up to him is impossible,' he muttered inwardly.
Mo Long glanced over his shoulder, noticing his escort's struggle. With a faint motion, he slowed his pace, landing lightly on a thick tree branch before stopping completely.
"What's your name?" he asked calmly, his tone carrying quiet authority.
Hu Wei landed a short distance behind and bowed slightly. "Hu Wei, sir."
Mo Long nodded. "What is it?"
Hu Wei turned his gaze ahead, toward the darker stretch of forest. "That path is indeed the fastest, but at night, bandits are often spotted around here. Instead of wasting energy and taking unnecessary risks, we should rest until sunrise."
Mo Long watched him for a moment, then asked suddenly, "What's your relation to Hu Dong?"
Hu Wei's eyes widened in surprise. His brows arched. "Hu Dong is my father, sir."
A faint smile curved Mo Long's lips. He stepped onto a larger branch, standing straight as moonlight washed over his black robe. "In that case, we'll rest here."
Hu Wei was still puzzled by the question, but he dared not inquire further. He bowed deeply.
"Then I'll stand guard. Please, get some rest, sir."
Mo Long shook his head slowly. "No. We'll take turns."
Hu Wei froze. For a moment, he thought he'd misheard. The son of the clan—long known as weak, useless, and scorned by everyone—was offering to share the night watch with a mere guard.
For the first time, Hu Wei truly saw it. The man standing before him was no longer the Mo Long he once knew.
***
Meanwhile, in the dimly lit secret chamber beneath the Patriarch's Pavilion, Mo Han stood with his hands clasped behind his back. The torches flickered weakly, casting long shadows over the carved dragons that coiled across the stone walls.
His eyes were distant, fixed on the great dragon statue before him. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and thoughtful.
"That boy… he just revived a shattered dantian. Yet now, he's already at the Late-Stage Martial Expert Realm."
A faint smile appeared on his lips, though it quickly faded. Something gnawed at his mind. His brows furrowed, and his gaze sharpened.
"It doesn't make sense. Is he truly Mo Long, my son—the shame of our clan? Or… a demon that entered through that forbidden ritual?"
For a brief moment, the image of Mo Long's cold smile flashed before him. Mo Han clenched his fist.
'Whoever he is—my son or not—I must ensure his loyalty to this clan. If he ever turns against us…'
He drew a deep breath, the weight of his thoughts heavy.
"Three dantian… who else has ever possessed such a thing?"
Only one name surfaced in his memory—Chun Ma, the Heavenly Demon himself, founder of the Demonic Cult, the man who once shook all of Jianghu.
But then another name followed—Guang Lian, the so-called Genius of Jianghu, once destined to lead the Orthodox Faction.
"Even that boy only had two dantian," he murmured.
A slow, calculating smile spread across Mo Han's face.
"If Mo Long can surpass Guang Lian… if he truly walks the same path as Chun Ma… then he will become a new monster in Jianghu. And when that day comes, the Shadow Dragon Clan will rise again."
BRAK!
Mo Han stomped his foot hard against the stone floor. A deep tremor rippled through the chamber. Hidden mechanisms clicked and whirred to life—massive bookcases and the marble table slowly ascended back into their original places.
Suddenly, a dull thud echoed through the chamber.
A single book fell from one of the shelves, landing heavily on the floor.
Mo Han turned, frowning. He walked over, kneeling slightly to pick it up. But the moment his eyes caught the title, his body froze.
His pupils widened. His breath caught in his throat For several seconds, he stood motionless—staring in disbelief at the ancient, dust-covered tome bound in thick black leather.
Etched faintly in faded gold letters were the words:
"Mo Bai Hu — Founder of the Shadow Dragon Clan, Bearer of Three Dantian."