The image of the pigs—ropes snapped, bodies altered, the stench and the screams—had already spread like wildfire. Now the second wave of results arrived, and the continent held its breath.
Ye Hengchuan's face had gone pale when he reported the outcome. Ten pigs fed century‑old whale gelatin: nine dead, one barely alive. The description—bleeding from seven orifices, internal collapse—was grotesque enough to silence even the most skeptical. The pharmacy's counter, the market stalls, the private vaults of nobles—every vial of whale glue suddenly felt like a loaded gamble.
Shops that had been emptied in minutes were now being returned to, merchants begging to take back sales. At academies and sect halls, the mood swung from frantic acquisition to stunned caution. Ning Fengzhi's whaling orders still stood, but his voice had a new edge of calculation. Bone Douluo and Sword Douluo argued in low tones about risk versus reward. Parents and masters who had been ready to push children into early cultivation now hesitated at the cost.
At Shrek Academy the relief was immediate and raw. Flender, Ma Hongjun, Dai Mubai, Tang San and the others who had nearly bought thousand‑year vials felt the pressure lift. Dai Mubai's despair eased into a brittle grin; Ma Hongjun's hands stopped trembling. Flender, who had been scheming to profit, cursed under his breath and shoved the thousand‑year jars back onto the counter. The apothecary owner watched them go, pale and furious—he had almost closed a fortune, and now the market had evaporated.
But the panic and the retreat did not mean the end of the matter. The Heavenly Curtain had done more than reveal a dangerous tonic; it had revealed a lever. Whale gelatin could raise physique—and with it the ceiling for spirit ring age—if used correctly. The question now was not whether the substance worked, but how to use it without dying.
Yu Xiaogang and Ye Hengchuan returned to the data with grim focus. The pigs' deaths taught them the first hard lesson: age and dosage matter, and the host's capacity matters more. Decades‑old samples produced measurable, survivable effects in animals; century‑old samples were lethal in most cases. The surviving pig had been the one given the mildest century sample and even it lay half‑dead. The conclusion was unavoidable—whale gelatin was not a simple tonic but a potent, graded catalyst. It could open doors, but it could also tear a body apart.
That realization reshaped Yu Xiaogang's plan. He would not rush to swallow a vial of thousand‑year jelly and pray. He would not gamble his life on a single desperate leap. Instead he mapped a cautious, incremental path:
Measure and model. Catalog every sample, its age, its source, and the animals' responses over time. Track dosage, absorption method, and recovery windows. Raise baseline safely. Use decades‑old whale gelatin in controlled, tiny doses while simultaneously strengthening the body through training, medicinal baths, and targeted supplements. Build tolerance slowly rather than forcing a sudden jump. Prepare the spirit. Combine attribute‑stacking plans for Little Dragon with physiological preparation so that when a higher‑age ring became possible, the spirit and body could accept it. Risk mitigation. Recruit trusted healers, secure antidotes, and design staged trials on animals and then on expendable test subjects before any human attempt. Secrecy and allies. Keep the most dangerous experiments within a small circle—Ye Hengchuan, a few loyal sect physicians, and Yu Yuanzhen—so that panic and predatory merchants could not sabotage the work.
Ye Hengchuan, shaken by the pigs' deaths, agreed. He had been reckless in his confidence; now he became the cautious hand at Yu Xiaogang's side. "We will not be fools," he said. "We will learn the limits before we cross them."
Word of the pig experiment's mixed results rippled outward and produced three immediate effects. First, the scramble for whale gelatin cooled into a strategic hoarding by the richest and most powerful—those who could afford to wait and to test. Second, smaller sects and academies began to invest in research teams rather than fleets—alchemists, Spirit physicians, and hunters pooled knowledge to model safe protocols. Third, a black market emerged: desperate families and unscrupulous merchants traded in dubious, untested concoctions and fake vials, preying on fear.
Not everyone retreated. A handful of families and sects doubled down. They saw the pigs' deaths as proof that the effect scaled with age, and they were willing to accept casualties for the chance at a generational leap. Ning Fengzhi's orders to gather whale gelatin remained in force, but now his fleet would sail with physicians and containment protocols rather than only harpoons and greed.
Yu Xiaogang watched all of it with a steady, cold clarity. The Heavenly Curtain had given him a map and a warning. The map showed where to push; the warning showed how not to die doing it. He returned to his own preparations with a new discipline: longer runs, stricter baths, more precise meditation, and a ledger of every herb and dose. He began to test decades‑old whale gelatin on himself in microdoses under Ye Hengchuan's supervision, measuring heart rate, spirit resonance, and recovery. Each tiny step was recorded, compared, and adjusted.
Outside, the Douluo Continent had changed. The old certainties—talent as destiny, Awakening as the single gate—had cracked. Now resources, planning, and the willingness to accept risk would shape futures. Families that could mobilize ships and physicians would gain advantage. Academies that could pivot to research would thrive. And for the first time, a boy who had once been mocked for a Level‑1 Innate Spirit Power had become a pivot point for an entire world's ambition.
Late one night, after another day of measurements and a quiet medicinal bath, Yu Xiaogang sat with Little Dragon curled against his chest. The creature's breath was steady; the boy's own pulse had slowed to a calm rhythm. He thought of the pigs, of the dead and the surviving, of the merchants who had tried to profit and the masters who had recoiled. He thought of his father's steady hand and Ye Hengchuan's shaken face.
Risk, he knew, would be paid in blood or in glory. He had chosen which of the two he would accept. The next steps would be slow, precise, and dangerous—but they would be his.