Douluo Continent: Martial Soul Young Gilas, Sandstorm King!

Meng Yiran was so excited that her cheeks flushed and her hand holding the snake staff trembled slightly.

"Brother Lin...I...I think I'm starting to feel it! That...that snake rhythm! Thank you!"

She bowed deeply, her voice choked with emotion.

This targeted and fundamental teaching was invaluable to her.

Lin Xia nodded slightly.

Remember what you've learned today and practice diligently. Cultivation is not something that can be accomplished in a day; the key is perseverance.

His gaze swept over the three women, finally settling on Zhu Zhuqing, as he added.

"Zhuqing, it was my oversight before. From now on, I will set aside time regularly to specifically guide your cultivation."

This statement is a response to Zhu Zhuqing's request, and also includes a promise to Ning Rongrong and Meng Yiran.

The ice and snow in Zhu Zhuqing's eyes melted, a hint of warmth flashed, and she nodded gently.

"Ah."

Ning Rongrong and Meng Yiran were overjoyed.

Lin Ling, standing in the corner, watched Lin Xia bathed in moonlight and the three girls beside him, each with a different temperament but full of spirit. He wrapped his white robe tighter, and the desire for power in his heterochromatic eyes deepened slightly.

This subtle change did not escape Lin Xia's notice.

He withdrew his gaze from the three women and turned to the corner. His voice was steady, without any preamble, cutting straight to the heart of the matter, as if stating a fact that had already been confirmed:

"Lin Ling".

He called her name, a name he had given her, carrying an unquestionable sense of belonging.

"You also want to cultivate, right?"

The air seemed to freeze instantly.

Ning Rongrong and Meng Yiran turned their heads curiously, and Zhu Zhuqing's cold gaze also fell upon them.

When three gazes focused on her simultaneously, Lin Ling's body stiffened abruptly, as if pierced by invisible ice needles.

She instinctively lowered her head even further, almost burying it in her knees, the wide robe enveloping her completely like a fragile shell.

Silence spread through the stillness, carrying a heavy, suffocating feeling; only her suppressed, faint breathing proved that she was not a stone statue.

After a long while, so long that Ning Rongrong was almost about to ask, a voice, barely audible, thick with a nasal tone and trembling, finally managed to squeeze out from the folds of her robe:

"I...I can't cultivate..."

The sound was so faint that it was almost blown away by the night wind.

Lin Xia did not urge him, but waited quietly, her gaze calm and serene.

As if she had exhausted all her strength, Lin Ling's voice was slightly louder, but it was filled with a deeper bitterness and self-doubt:
"I've cultivated... but it's useless..."

She paused for a moment, as if gathering her courage to utter the conclusion that had already plunged her into the abyss.

"My innate soul power... is only half a level..."

The last three words, seemingly light, yet carrying a weight as heavy as a thousand pounds, conveyed a sense of resigned death.

"Becoming a Soul Master... is difficult..."

"Half a level?"

Lin Xia's eyebrows twitched almost imperceptibly. This answer was somewhat unexpected. He had originally thought that Lin Ling was completely devoid of soul power; after all, in a place like an auction house, a worthless "vase" was more in line with the product's positioning.

Half-level innate soul power—this minuscule talent is indeed more despairing than having none at all in the cruel world of soul masters. It's like a straw hanging in front of your eyes, telling you that hope exists, yet clearly indicating that hope is so slim that it can drive you mad.

This awkward situation of being neither here nor there often leads to deeper pain and giving up.

No wonder she was so self-conscious and timid. This meager talent probably brought her not hope, but deeper frustration and contempt from others after countless attempts.

However, this surprise only lingered in Lin Xia's eyes for a moment before being replaced by a deeper sense of inquiry and understanding.

He recalled the first time he met Zhu Zhuqing, how she was trapped in the cold rules of her family and shrouded in despair.

Lin Ling's current "uselessness" and "difficulty" are so similar to Zhu Zhuqing's "fate" back then.
They are all shackles defined by external factors.

But Lin Xia never believed in fate; he only believed in power and the possibility of holding that power in his own hands.

He took a step forward, his tall figure stretching even longer in the moonlight, the shadow completely enveloping Lin Ling in the corner.

But this shadow is not oppressive; on the contrary, it carries a strange sense of security that isolates one from outside prying eyes.

He offered no comfort, no explanation of what half-level soul power meant to ordinary people. He simply fixed his deep, calm eyes, seemingly capable of piercing through all illusions, on the lowered head. His voice, though not loud, carried an unwavering decisiveness that cut off all hesitation, and he asked clearly:
Those things are not important.

He directly refuted her reasons for feeling sorry for herself.

"I'm asking you."

He leaned down slightly, closing the distance, and spoke with emphasis, each word striking Lin Ling's heart.

"Do you want to cultivate?"

Do you want to?
These three words exploded like thunder in Lin Ling's stagnant heart!

miss you!
How could she not want to!
During those days and nights when she was locked in a cold iron cage and examined like a piece of merchandise, she fantasized countless times about having power, even just a little bit, to tear this cage apart and protect herself from being manipulated at will!

This longing, like a brand, was deeply etched into the depths of her soul, the only tiny spark that never went out in her bleak life.

However, this spark had already been extinguished by the icy water from the "half-level soul power," leaving only a wisp of barely visible blue smoke.

She suddenly raised her head!

Her light green hair parted to the sides due to the violent movement, revealing for the first time her pale, delicate face, which was filled with panic and disbelief.

His heterochromatic eyes, brimming with tears, trembled violently, like shattered glass reflecting the moonlight.

Her blue eyes were like an ice lake suddenly cracking, and her golden eyes were like the morning sun piercing through dark clouds, churning with turbulent waves—a tremendous desire, a deep-rooted fear, long-suppressed grievances, and a stubbornness that was crudely ignited by this straightforward question, a stubbornness that even she herself found unfamiliar.

She looked at Lin Xia.

His eyes were calm and unwavering, devoid of pity or charity, displaying only an almost cold seriousness and an unwavering certainty of control.

This unwavering conviction, like an invisible hand, suddenly reviveed the flame in her heart that was on the verge of being extinguished.

His lips moved silently, and his chapped lips tasted the salty bitterness of tears.

She wanted to say "yes," but the word stuck in her throat, heavy as a ton of bricks, accompanied by immense fear—fear of greater disappointment after hope, fear of being mocked again after acknowledging her desire.

Finally, under the gaze of those calm yet seemingly infinitely powerful eyes, Lin Ling mustered all her strength and nodded very slightly, almost imperceptibly.

The movement was as small as a butterfly's wing trembling in the wind, but the resolute determination was clearly conveyed.

"……think."

A faint, almost sighing sound, yet it carried the desperate gamble of cutting off all escape routes. (End of Chapter)