The savior of humanity

After Zeal cultivated his strength for three long lazy hours, his previously pallid face was washed clean by the handwriting of time. Zeal rose with the smile of a flower and walked straight to the verandah where Sou Long sat and savored his hot tea.

"Thank you, master Sou, for your teaching." Zeal decided to pay respect to the old thing. Although Sou Long had constantly pushed him closer to the death gate, Zeal did improve because of his constant urging. So he was grateful too.

Sou Long laughed unceremoniously for a while. "It's not a problem. But you must continue to improve yourself." At least the lad still understood good things, Sou Long secretly beamed. In fact, he wasn't about to waste precious time with Zeal; to him, quietly drinking his tea was enough to gain the happiness of a million years. Not to mention the young milking lad, even if someone dropped stacks of boxes full of gold, he would neglect them and seriously face his tea; it gave him much more inner peace.

Zeal didn't know the use of that steaming tea that the old thing suffered himself now and then to down, but his inner sense told him never to meddle with adult affairs. He avoided that topic no matter how curious he was; after all, the old thing never allowed him to taste the so-called tea. He could only drive Zeal away with some mere unbelievable lies like 'this tea is for adults.' Like hell! When did tea become adult stuff? Zeal forced himself to believe in his golden lie, even if it was just once.

So, while Sou Long kept torturing Zeal with the glorified excuse of a training master, Zeal had wondered one thing. 'What's the power level of this old thing.' Although Zeal believed Sou Long to be an idler with a laudatory appetitive tea-drinking craze, he was careful enough not to provoke him. He thought the old thing could earn himself the epithet: the legendary ancient tea drinker. But of course, he couldn't care more or less which name he received—all were names, after all. However, he couldn't just dismiss that curious flame to ask about his power level, but he didn't have the gut to cause such irreversible damage. Still, Karl Zeal believed the man before him—was unordinary; his wisdom was even more profound than the very heaven. At least, that's what he thought. After all, Zeal hadn't seen more of life, so he couldn't accurately predict how broad Sou Long's knowledge stretched. But even with those little displays, he had already concluded it was incomparable. Who was he? Zeal had the sudden urge to know this man. However, Zeal knew it was too dangerous to ask what he shouldn't; he shook his head in dismissal of the sprouting idea. He couldn't afford to offend such a martial giant. So he bowed once more and walked past him with a passing word: "I will rest first, Master Sou."

"You go ahead." Sou Long answered indifferently.

...

Karl Zeal could be said to be in heaven. Only that there weren't heavenly maidens assigned to treat him. After all, he was still a child. Well, forget it! So he lived these past seven days with oblivious enjoyment because he only ate, shit, and cultivated. Nothing could be more enjoyable than that. At the very least, he wouldn't hear anything about that old thing's trials and death sentences. However, before the sun awoke on the seventh day, his smile faded into the oblivious evening.

"Brat, come out!" Sou long hollered from the outside. At that moment, Zeal knew his peaceful days were practically over. The old thing must have scavenged one death site to bury him.

Zeal came out to see Sou Long sitting in the sitting room; he randomly took a seat. But of course, he made sure to stay away from Sou Long. Well, it was naturally out of respect. In fact, what nonsense; it was out of those hellish imaginations he conjured up about him.

"Master Sou, is it time for another trial?" Zeal spoke with his childish voice;

he intended to leak Sou Long's boot to see if the old thing would have mercy on him. But unfortunately, that man was an unfeeling shrewd. He had seen through Zeal's little play. Ironically, Zeal forgot Sou Long could precisely read his thoughts like the back of his finger. Anyway, only the greatest god was qualified to do that.

Sou Long ignored Zeal's ridiculous display of loyalty and proceeded with the day's business. "Brat, you have come a long way, and I know you don't want to quit here, do you?"

'What does your ghost mean by that? Who wouldn't cheerfully run away from this hell training?' Zeal thought in stark annoyance.

"If that's the case, you have finally found yourself the hidden avenue to get lost from this place. Mind you: if you leave, you should know that I don't even consider you my disciple. At the same time, you will lose everything you learned here to nothing. Similarly, I won't walk you home. So whether you die or live had nothing to do with me. Of course, I won't give you a dime." Sou Long explained unhurriedly.

'Damn! Is that the hidden avenue he's talking about—that's death? Why didn't he say he found a hidden hell?' Zeal cursed. Seeing the severity, he cleared his tiny throat and began his boot licking service: "Father Sou, don't seriously consider my inner thought. I promise you that my heart thinks on his own accord and utter meaningless rubbish, that even heaven would drown in an unparalleled sorrow if they listen to its silly thought. My mind and soul's thoughts are actually different from the genuine me. So I want to train till I exhaust the course outline. After all, I still need your studentship badge." Zeal wouldn't stop his comedic yapping. It was already tiring to listen to his uncoordinated and unrealistic lies.

Sou long shot him an indifferent gaze and snorted. An insignificant fly wasn't worth his attention. But of course, Zeal was different from those flies. That's why he had to come down to Jankao to take care of it. After all, no one deserved to train Zeal except him. In any case, he had to awaken the sleeping fool inside the brat. No, that wasn't right. He had to train the lad's body to be good enough to accommodate the sleeping spirit.

"Good for you to understand your situation. I'm lazy to hear your unpalatable lies and pretentious acting. In any case, the training difficulty would increase, but if you pass, you become qualified to some extent."

That very statement of 'increased difficulty' transfixed Zeal on the spot. What the hell did the old thing mean. Wasn't he suffering enough? How vengeful and psychotic can the old thing be? Zeal thought it was already terrible to have such emotional complexity at his age. Did the old thing want to die young? But his concerns weren't even necessary or welcomed. Still, only that word had succeeded in tearing Zeal's world apart. Even after his chaotic thoughts, Zeal still remained calm and quiet to hear what Sou Long would say. After all, interrupting him again might lead to his early death or injurious dismissal.

After a moment of silence, Sou Long began: "This training is called reconstruction. And it's not for any characteristic show of skills but for tenacious endurance. Your perseverance should be like that of a wild beast. As long as you have breath, you must courageously move forward—no shirking." Sou Long said with a tepid voice. Although Sou Long covered his sadness with the veneer of indifference, he was actually sorrowful. This training was fundamental and a crucial point in the training scale. This training would differentiate talent and mediocre, gods and men. However, Sou Long believed he wasn't wrong about the child. After all, he personally chose the vessels of elemental gods. So he already knew the end from the beginning.

Of course, the dumbstruck paled Zeal didn't know what the Old Man thought. He was already thinking of the apt name for his epitaph; he would deliver it to the Old Man to pass it to his lovely mother. He believed that 'trained to no return' should be the aptest of all the laudable epithets of death. Zeal confusedly stood and dazedly moved to the courtyard. No one needed to tell him that he smelled like death. After all, he could perceive it clearly; 'it was no wonder the Old Man gave me some days. It was for me to prepare my mind for the funeral,' Zeal thought in self-mockery. What did he do to heaven to deserve this cruelty of life? A drop of tears clumsily darted from his eyes. But he didn't even know.

Karl Zeal briefly left the courtyard and returned quickly. Now that he had written his funeral song and his proudest epitaph. He was finally ready to visit the long-awaited death gate. He believed he had teased death long enough. After all, how many times had he nearly visited that ludicrous joker of all humanity, but he slipped out just by some miraculous chance. Zeal believed the so-called death must be impatient now. So he stood in the middle of the courtyard with indifference. What must come must come! He consoled himself. He had no time pleading; he must die like a man. After all, he was the salvation of all men. Zeal charged himself in stark mockery.