A Yin God cultivator’s natal artifact naturally possessed a spirit, but Han’s was a bit of an outlier—different from the norm. Still, a spirited artifact was a huge perk, and Han had been itching for it. So, he dove deep into studying The Art of Awakening Spirits and Nurturing Divinity.


    To use this technique—whether on a beast or an object—you needed four specific treasures: Dust of Spirituality, Spirit-Birthing Water, Soul Essence Liquid, and a Stone of Revelation. Gather those, and for a beast, casting the art would spark its intellect and nurture its spirit. For an object, though, there was an extra step.


    You had to split off a wisp of your soul, infuse it into the item, and only then could the technique and treasures take effect. Beasts, even dim-witted ones like wild brutes, were alive—they had some innate spark. Objects? Dead as dirt. You had to plant that spark yourself. By merging your soul fragment into the item and guiding the treasures’ power, you’d forge a spirit seed. Once it “hatched,” the object gained its own spirit.


    Sounded straightforward, but it was riddled with hurdles. First off, the treasures: Dust of Spirituality and Stones of Revelation were Tianming Sect exclusives—the former a crafted concoction, the latter grown from the dust inside beasts. Spirit-Birthing Water and Soul Essence Liquid cropped up naturally in the world, but they were rare as hen’s teeth.


    Then there were the quirks of awakening. Beasts were one thing, but objects? They couldn’t be too big. Their quality had to be top-notch—no spirit would sprout from a hunk of scrap iron. And the kicker: merging your living soul with a lifeless thing. You had to become one with it—you are it, it is you—to coax out that spirit seed. Anyone could guess how dicey that got. Even if you pulled it off, you’d still need to nurture the spirit afterward.


    Han didn’t flinch, though. He was pleased with the technique. For most, soul-item fusion was a nightmare, but for him? No sweat. His natal artifact was already an extension of his soul—part of him. Merging was a breeze, and pulling back out was just as easy. The required treasures? Ding Liuling’s beast bag had them all—standard gear for beastcrafting. His artifact was compact and brimming with potential. This art might as well have had his name on it.


    Beyond Awakening Spirits, the Mandate packed other techniques: Beast Taming, Beast Enslavement Seal, Beast Speech, Roar of Frenzy—a whole toolkit for handling critters. Some leaned darker, too. Blood Extraction Curse drained a beast’s bloodline. Blood Transfusion Curse grafted it onto another. Soul Split-and-Merge Curse could shatter or fuse souls. Then there was the healer: Sacred Heart Curse, a rapid fix for internal and external wounds—body or soul. Master its basics, and you could reattach limbs; push it deep, and regrowth was on the table.


    A slew of quirky side arts rounded it out—no combat stuff, but they blew Han’s mind. High-grade, too. That was Tianming’s clout—only a titan could dream up this stuff. The experimental data was useless to him, but these techniques? They’d beef up his arsenal big time. Sacred Heart alone was a goldmine—his first healing art. And it was the near-Yellow Spring-grade gem Lu Qingmo had flagged. Made sense: beast experiments meant injuries galore. A killer healing art kept test subjects ticking.


    After sorting through the Mandate’s techniques, Han couldn’t help but blurt, “Tianming Sect—damn, they’re the real deal.” Just one Ding Six Beast Arena had handed him a treasure trove. Jackpot.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    “This Mandate’ll be a solid ace up your sleeve as you roam the world,” Lu Qingmo said earnestly. “Study the useful arts—especially Sacred Heart. A near-Yellow Spring technique? That’s rare.”


    Han nodded. “If any of these catch your eye, Aunt Mo, feel free to learn them.” He was generous—unlike core legacies, this wasn’t soul-bound. Countless could tap it; her studying wouldn’t cramp his style.


    It was night. After a quick cultivation session, Han jumped into the Mandate’s arts. First up: Beast Taming. If that egg hatched, he’d need it to rein in the beast. The Mandate had a Beast Enslavement Seal too, but that was a brutal shackle—hurt the beast bad. Han passed on it; legit taming was the way to go. Arts like Beast Taming or Ghost Control didn’t carry strict ranks—easy to pick up, though high-tier versions could get wild.


    He spent the night grinding—Beast Taming, Sacred Heart, Awakening Spirits. With his knack, progress was lightning-fast.


    Come morning, he slipped into a quiet room at the martial hall, pulled out the frail beast egg, and dripped a single bead of Creation Spirit Liquid onto it. Rise and shine, my little beast!


    The emerald drop sank in, and the egg flared to life. Its near-dead vitality surged back, fast and fierce, radiating an intense aura. The liquid delivered—big time. Han threw up a mental barrier, shielding the room from prying eyes.


    Thump! A heartbeat pulsed from within, faint at first, then booming. The egg gleamed, radiating life and wholeness. Han stared, pondering. It was alive—now what? How’d he hatch it?


    Crack! A split appeared, widening fast. The egg shattered. Han leaned in, anticipation buzzing. The Ding Six Arena’s crowning beast—what would it be? Majestic? Ferocious? Terrifying? Maybe downright eerie?


    A fuzzy head poked out—black-and-white fur, eyes glinting with smarts. “Awoo!” it yipped, a high-pitched, babyish roar.


    The “super beast” wriggled free, landing on all fours. Black-and-white fur, perky ears, stubby tail—palm-sized and adorable. It locked eyes with Han, who blinked back, stunned. His brain cracked like the egg.


    That look, those colors, that vibe… Why’d it scream dog?


    Han shut his eyes. Illusion, right? He peeked again—still there, dog-like as ever. The critter scampered over, wagging its tail, tongue lolling, nuzzling his leg with a happy “Woo-woo-woo!”


    “…” Han grabbed it by the scruff, lifting it. Its legs paddled the air, fearless, cozying up to him—no Beast Taming required.


    He rubbed his forehead. The more he looked, the more it screamed dog—specifically, a breed from his past life: Husky. Wolves and dogs had distinct gazes; he knew the difference. This was no wolf.


    “The Arena’s top creation?” he muttered. Did they grab the wrong egg?


    “Are you a dog?”


    “Woo-woo!” It squirmed, one paw pointing at the eggshell, the other at its mouth. Han got it—it wanted to chow down.


    He paused, impressed. This pup was sharp—packed with spirit. Before letting it feast, he cast Beast Taming, binding it as his own. It showed no aggression, but better safe than sorry. The beast didn’t resist—yipped gleefully, legs flailing. Released, it crunched through the shell, savoring every bite. With each piece, it grew a smidge, fur shinier. By the end, it hit one-and-a-half palms, then bolted back to rub his leg and roll around.


    “…” I hatched a damn egg-dog.


    Han scooped it up, inspecting. Oh, a girl pup too. “You understand me? Got any tricks?”


    “Woo-woo-woo!”


    “Good thing you don’t bark—”


    “Woof-woof-woof!”


    “…” What the hell did Ding Six cook up?


    Han sank into thought. This beast wasn’t ordinary. Tiny, sure, but he sensed a raw power coiled in its frame—dense flesh, sturdy bones. No average bloodline here. Dog or not, it wasn’t some mutt. Maybe its looks masked a wilder essence. He’d dig into the Mandate later for clues.


    “Whatever you are, you’re hatched and mine now,” he said, patting its head. “Let’s name you. Yap if you like it. ‘Little Black’?”


    Silence.


    “Blade Bro?”


    More silence. Smart pup—no brainless brute.


    Knock-knock-knock! A rap at the door. “Little Brother, someone’s here for you,” Bai Ruoyue called.


    “Woo-woo-woo!” The pup piped up.


    Han shot it a look. What, you wanna be ‘Little Brother’ or ‘Someone’s Here’?