The Inner Courtyard of the Clear Flow Clan Compound was alive with murmurs and restrained anticipation. The sun was still climbing over the horizon, casting long amber shadows across the polished flagstones and neatly trimmed grass. The air was thick with incense, tradition, and something else—expectation.
A semicircle of clan elders—dozens of them, dressed in black and cobalt ceremonial robes—sat on elevated seats under shaded pavilions. Between them and the stone platform at the center stood a tall, slender man with an ageless face and silver-threaded hair: Duke Qiang Shen, the Clan Patriarch. At his side, proudly yet silently, stood the boy who had shaken the very foundation of their bloodline—Qiang Ming.
No longer a child, Qiang Ming stood with the bearing of a warrior-prince. His robe was short-sleeved and bound loosely at the waist, revealing the carved musculature of a body trained through survival, not comfort. The Blackstone Abyss Hammer was not present, yet it was felt—its presence, like his, pressed invisibly on the court.
"Let us begin," the Duke announced, his voice carrying not through volume, but authority.
Two stone machines, polished with age but outfitted with modern soul-tech, were wheeled in by servants—one circular and filled with crystal circuits: the Mental Power Testing Sphere. The other, simpler and more brutal, was a reinforced impact gauge made to measure physical force.
Qiang Ming stepped toward the first, the mental sphere, without hesitation.
He placed both hands on the crystal panel and closed his eyes. The orb flickered once. Then again. Symbols etched into its base glowed blue, then purple, then gold—before surging into red, and finally violet.
"Four hundred... five hundred... six hundred...!" one elder muttered.
The number stabilized. A final ring of symbols locked in place. A long tone echoed out from the machine.
736.
A stunned silence fell upon the courtyard. One elder stood and stumbled forward. "T-That… that's already into the Spirit Sea Realm! At his age?!"
Whispers broke out. Shock. Disbelief. Some even fear.
Qiang Ming opened his eyes slowly, exhaling. There was no smugness on his face, just a calm that bordered on absolute indifference.
The Duke smiled proudly. "Well, Ming. No words to accompany your triumph?"
Qiang Ming looked at his father, then swept his gaze across the gathered elders.
"The Blackstone Abyss Hammer is partially a spiritual-type Martial Soul," he said flatly. "My mind has been my anchor for years. I've been honing it since before I could even lift the hammer with both hands. I expected this."
His answer only furthered the silence. A statement of truth, not arrogance. I expected this.
And while the elders were still trying to digest what they'd just witnessed, Qiang Ming strode casually toward the punching machine.
"I suppose I should test the rest," he muttered.
He flexed his left arm once, exhaled softly, and then delivered a clean, fluid punch to the center of the reinforced plate. No windup. No theatrics.
The machine whined, its rune array lighting up red from base to crown. Numbers flickered—then stopped.
6585 kg.
One of the older elders let out an audible gasp. A younger one dropped their tea cup.
Qiang Ming stepped back, then rolled his shoulder and nodded at his right hand.
With the same casual air, he struck again. Another perfect hit. The runes screamed.
6585 kg.
Dead silence.
This time, it was the Duke who broke it—his smile now full, his chest swelling with pride. "Both arms exactly equal."
"How did you…?" asked one of the martial elders, his voice shaking.
Qiang Ming shrugged. "I was born ambidextrous. And to swing a hammer like mine," he added, "both arms need to be equally strong. Or else you swing it once and your body tears apart."
Simple. Logical. Devastating.
More than one elder was visibly shaken. There was no mistaking it now. This wasn't just a lucky child or a prodigy gifted by the heavens. This was a monster forged from talent and discipline both.
"Excellent," the Duke said finally, his voice brimming with satisfaction. "Come, my son. Walk with me."
The study of Duke Qiang Shen was a private sanctum built atop a lotus pond. Serene and shrouded by water curtains, the sounds of the courtyard were distant now. The thick scent of spirit tea permeated the chamber.
The two sat across from one another, cushions between them and a scroll-strewn table between their knees.
"So," the Duke asked. "What will you do now, Ming?"
Qiang Ming didn't hesitate.
"I want to go to Shrek."
The words carried no youthful fantasy, no naïve excitement—just steel. Just certainty.
The Duke chuckled. "Straight to the center of the world, then. Very well. Normally, admission to Shrek Academy requires tournament standing or selection from a recognized academy, but—" he leaned back, "we have an alternate route."
He took a scroll from one of the wall's compartments and unfurled it.
"About seven thousand years ago, one of our ancestors—a Clear Sky descendant before our line fractured—rendered a great service to Shrek. He delivered the corpse of a Demon Whale King to them, single-handedly. For that, Shrek granted our line a permanent recommendation."
Qiang Ming's eyes narrowed. "You mean…?"
"That you already have a seat in their entrance examinations. You only need to show up."
"And how long do I have?"
"Three days."
Qiang Ming grimaced. "Cutting it close."
"Then you'd best be quick," the Duke said with a smirk. With a flick of his wrist, he summoned a spatial ring, ornate and faintly humming. "There's enough in here for a decent life—clothing, cultivation resources, scrolls, gear, a few hundred thousand credits. Use it well."
Qiang Ming caught it with his left hand, nodding.
The Duke rose, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You're not just going as my son, or our heir. You go as the Hammer of Clear Flow. Make them remember what it means."
Qiang Ming turned to leave. He didn't look back as he strode across the walkway, past the clan guards, and toward the garage where soul cars awaited assignment. A black-and-silver car hummed as it prepared to leave for a scheduled delivery.
Qiang Ming opened the door, hopped in, and slammed it shut.
"To the train station," he told the stunned driver. "And step on it."
The car roared to life, tires squealing, as it sped out of the compound gates.
Behind him, the elders were still murmuring.
But in front of him, Shrek awaited.