The night after my breakthrough, I slept deeper than I had in years. Dreams drifted through my mind—some familiar, others touched by an otherworldly clarity. Yet, as my body lay in quiet repose, the world itself was anything but tranquil.
I did not know it then, but far beyond the fields and forests of my village, across the rivers and mountains and the untamed wilderness, something ancient was stirring. The fate of the Douluo world, once anchored firmly in the legacy of dragons, was beginning to shift. And at the center of it all, completely unaware, was me: Ye Caiqian, a child among mortals, but now—through effort, luck, and something much deeper—the true Child of Destiny.
Unseen, unfelt by ordinary people, a vast consciousness stirred in the depths of the world. The will of Douluo itself—ancient, slow to wake, yet woven into every grain of soil, every drop of water, every living soul—sensed the change.
For countless ages, the world's favor had flowed along ancient paths: through the dragons, those first rulers of spirit energy, their might a blessing and a curse. But dragons, magnificent as they were, did not truly belong. They had come from distant stars, bearing their own destinies, shaping the planet for their own designs.
The world had tried to nurture them, to make them its champions. It had offered them luck, power, even the title of Child of Destiny. Yet at the deepest level, something was always missing. The Dragon God was never truly "of" this world—always a ruler, never a native son.
But now, in a small human village, the world sensed something different. Humanity—fragile, clever, desperate—had begun to stir. Their numbers were small, their lives short, but their will to survive and change was relentless. For the first time since the dragons' arrival, the planet saw the spark of true potential in these children of earth.
And now, a native human child—a being of the world's own making—had done what no dragon ever could. He had unlocked all twelve meridians. He had shaped time and memory, given order to chaos, and lit a torch that would guide all humanity forward for millennia. He was not just a prodigy, not just a leader. In him, the world sensed the possibility of transcendence for the entire human race.
Spirit energy, invisible and inexhaustible, surged across the land. It pooled first around me as I slept, thickening the air with power. The flow of luck—once the dragons' birthright—now gathered, twisting and weaving, infusing my body and soul. I was becoming the axis of destiny, the focal point of the world's greatest hopes.
In dreams, I drifted through starlit skies, soaring high above the land. I saw the rivers winding through mist, forests dark with ancient secrets, mountain peaks where dragons had once slept. And everywhere, I felt the pulse of energy, as if the world itself was whispering encouragement into my bones.
I could not see it, but those close to me—my family, my brothers, even the villagers I had taught—were also bathed in this tide of fortune. Their bodies would become stronger. Their minds, clearer. Their paths, smoother. All simply by being near me, the axis of a new destiny.
It would be weeks, months, perhaps years before they understood why their crops grew better, why illnesses faded faster, why children learned more quickly and hunters returned with greater success. But the cause was simple: the world had placed its hopes in humanity, and in me as the first to reach beyond the limits of fate.
But destiny's turning is never quiet.
Far away, at the center of the Divine Dragon Realm—a domain of shifting clouds, golden palaces, and endless horizons—the Dragon God sat in meditation, a being of immeasurable power and pride. Once, the world's luck had flowed to him and his kind without question. The dragons had dominated Douluo with claws and fire, ruling not only the land but the tides of fate itself.
Now, something was wrong.
A ripple of cosmic energy disturbed the Dragon God's meditation. At first, he ignored it. He had long grown beyond concern for the little world below; his cultivation had reached the level of God King. Yet, as the movement of luck intensified, even he could not remain indifferent.
His senses reached out, touching the web of destiny that stretched from the core of Douluo to the highest heavens. He saw the flow of fortune bend, spiral, and shift—away from the dragon race, away from the ancient lords of power, and toward a single, flickering light on the surface of the world.
With a flick of his will, the Dragon God gazed through the fabric of reality, peering into the mundane realm. What he saw gave him pause.
A human child, not yet grown, had achieved two miracles: he had invented the mechanical clock and the calendar, compressing a thousand years of civilization into a single leap. He had opened all the meridians, drawing forth a new, dense spirit energy—something even most dragons could not claim to do in their youth.
The Dragon God's eyes narrowed. For a moment, the pride of the old order warred with the curiosity of a true sovereign.
"So, the world chooses you, little human," he murmured. "You are its true child, its son of nature. Not a mere usurper, not a conqueror from the stars. But what will you do with that power?"
But he was not angry. He was beyond jealousy, beyond spite. To the Dragon God, Douluo was but one world among many. Its destiny no longer held his heart, its luck a passing bauble. The age of dragons had been glorious, but he saw now that it was always meant as a prelude. He closed his eyes and withdrew, leaving the tides of fate to flow as they would.
Let the world bet everything on this child, he thought. It was no longer his concern.
I awoke at sunrise, feeling lighter than I could ever remember. The air in my room shimmered faintly with power; my skin prickled with energy. I stretched, feeling a strength and clarity that defied explanation.
Yet as I moved about my day, it became clear that the world itself had changed, too. My mother's plants were greener, her step lighter. My father's business, long steady, began to boom—his partners drawn to him by a luck they could not explain. My brothers returned from the hunt with record hauls, laughing at their newfound speed and aim.
Even the villagers seemed happier. Children learned more quickly; elders recovered from illness; every trade ran smoothly. A current of harmony wove through every hour, every meeting, every festival.
I could sense it all, even if I did not yet know the cause: a tide of luck and power, flowing outward from my soul, carrying the promise of a new era.
That evening, as the village settled into sleep, I sat beneath the old oak, letting the new energy circulate within me. My thoughts raced, not with pride, but with wonder—and a growing sense of responsibility.
Was this what it meant to be the Child of Destiny? To bear the hopes of a world, to carry not just my own fate, but the future of all humanity? I did not know if I could live up to such expectations. But I knew I would try.
With my transcendent understanding, I summarized my breakthrough: the twelve meridians opened, the dantian now a well of dense spirit energy, the sense of a boundary broken, a world changed. I resolved to write it down, to remember every sensation and thought, so that tomorrow, I could share it with my family—and, perhaps, one day, with the entire world.
I fell asleep under the stars, the spirit energy within me pulsing like a second heartbeat, the world's hopes settling gently on my shoulders.