Dawn spread softly over Brightleaf Village. Mist drifted through the hills, curling around rooftops and trees as the first rays of sunlight painted the earth in shades of gold. The world seemed to hold its breath — quiet, expectant.
At the highest slope, a young boy stood still, the light brushing across his face. Sanhartha gazed toward the distant road that led beyond the village, his expression calm, his eyes carrying a quiet glimmer of anticipation.
"Finally," he murmured to himself. "Today, I go to Notting Junior Soul Master Academy."
The breeze carried his voice away, mingling it with the hum of morning life. His small house stood behind him, simple yet tidy. Over the past three months, Sanhartha's cultivation had already reached the sixth level — a pace that would shock any teacher. But he knew that his growth was not merely talent. It was understanding — the discipline of one who saw the path before him with clarity.
On Blue Star, his former world, cultivation had lived only in stories. Yet from those stories, he had drawn theories and principles. He believed in visualization — in harmonizing body, energy, and spirit. Thus, he had created his own method: The Three Treasures Refining Visualization Technique.
He often imagined his martial soul — the Desire Heart Phoenix — soaring through a boundless void, drawing invisible energies from heaven and earth, refining them into nourishment for mind and body. Through this practice, his soul power circulated more smoothly, his thoughts grew sharper, and his control deepened with each session.
A familiar voice broke his meditation. "San boy! Where've you gone off to this time?"
Sanhartha turned, smiling faintly as Old Luo approached, his cane tapping against the ground. "You nearly made this old man worry to death again," Luo grumbled, though his eyes were gentle.
Sanhartha chuckled. "You worry too much, Grandpa Luo. I was just greeting the morning."
The old man huffed. "Hmph, greeting or not, it's time to leave. The carriage is waiting."
Inside his hut, Sanhartha gathered his few belongings — a cloth bag with daily necessities and, hidden beneath his belt, the small storage pouch left by Mo Fan. Though modest in appearance, it was his quiet treasure, his only link to the past.
The carriage waited at the village gate. The villagers had gathered to see him off, their faces warm with pride. Old Luo pressed a small pouch into his hands. "The villagers collected this — a few silver and copper coins. Not much, but it'll help you settle in. Remember, boy, no matter where you go, don't forget who you are."
Sanhartha bowed deeply. "Thank you, Grandpa Luo. I'll make sure your efforts are not wasted."
Old Luo turned away quickly, muttering something about dust in his eyes. Sanhartha smiled faintly and climbed onto the carriage. The wheels creaked as it rolled forward, carrying him toward the horizon.
The road to Notting City stretched long and lively — travelers, traders, and soul masters passing by, the air vibrant with stories. For Sanhartha, each sight carved itself into memory. The rivers glinted like liquid crystal, and the faint hum of soul power from passing carriages whispered of a grander world.
When the towering walls of Notting City came into view, his pulse quickened — not from excitement, but resolve. So this is the real Douluo Continent. The city brimmed with energy, the kind that spoke of opportunity and danger alike.
At the academy gates, Old Luo presented the martial soul certificate. The doorman, after verifying the seal, nodded solemnly. "You may proceed. From here, only students enter."
Old Luo placed a firm hand on Sanhartha's shoulder. "This is where our paths part for now. Study well, San boy."
The boy bowed once more, his voice steady. "I will."
The old man hesitated, then turned away briskly, not trusting himself to look back. Watching that fading silhouette, Sanhartha felt the quiet ache of farewell. "You old man," he whispered softly, "always leaving before the tears come."
He turned toward the gate. The emblem of the Soul Hall glinted upon white stone, its weight both sacred and cold. Stepping through, he entered the academy courtyard — a world of order, hierarchy, and hidden promise.
After registering with Teacher Lu Yang, he was assigned to the Seventh Dormitory — the lodging for working students. The sun had begun to set by then, the sky burning orange over the academy roofs.
Sanhartha stood for a moment, watching the light fade, feeling the weight of the new world pressing softly against his skin. "So this is where Tang San began his journey," he thought, his expression unreadable. "Then let mine begin here as well — on my own terms."
He walked toward the dormitory, the evening breeze carrying the scent of parchment and oil lamps. Within that quiet determination, something subtle stirred — a calm fire waiting for its time to rise.