Chapter 103: The Trumpet Assault

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It was his own oversight that he had forgotten Ultraman’s place in a child’s heart.
It was not a mere character; it was a form of faith.

With a sigh, Zhang Kai looked sternly at Zhang Yao and said, “That jump you saw on TV was from a hundred-zhang cliff, many times higher than this. What you did here hardly counts. Still, you are fortunate to have met me; call it fate. Let me ask you plainly—what do you want to learn?”

Zhang Yao didn’t care about any of that and replied at once, “I want to become light.”

Zhang Kai bared his teeth.
Nonsense.

At present, only one Ultraman is allowed to exist. Even if it is one’s own sister, no second copy can be tolerated. How could I explain that to the outside world?

“Sorry,” Zhang Kai said after a pause. “Your request is too ambitious. This bit of destiny has passed.” He set Zhang Yao down and began to leave.

“Grandpa, don’t go—I don’t want it anymore!” Zhang Yao cried in alarm.

“I want very strong martial arts, arts powerful enough to protect my father, mother, and brother,” she said at once, changing her request. She was so earnest that, if Zhang Kai had not known exactly what kind of child she was, he might have been moved.

“Oh? What do you mean by ‘very strong’?” Zhang Kai asked with a smile.

Zhang Yao said, “I’m afraid of pain, so make it not hurt when people hit me. I’m weak, so make my strength bigger. And I like eating—I want to be able to eat a lot, a lot of food.”

Zhang Kai frowned silently.

In truth this had nothing to do with protecting anyone; it was simply for herself. He thought so, though she was his own little sister. He had no great expectations anyway. If she could at least protect herself, that was enough.

After thinking it through, Zhang Kai did discover a martial art suited to this little girl.

It was called **Belly Universe**.

It drew strength from eating.
The more one ate—and the better the food—the more energy could be transformed, and the greater one’s power became.

But this art, though wondrous, had one flaw: the expansion of energy would enlarge the body as well.
In other words, one would become broad, heavy, with a bear-like, bull-necked frame.

At the thought of his sister becoming like that, Zhang Kai hesitated.
Who would want his little sister to become a chunky brute?
Wasn’t this setting her up for trouble?

Yet seeing her hopeful eyes, Zhang Kai squared his shoulders.

Fine. A strong frame is better than a fragile little girl. With enough force, she might even be able to make her way with whichever man she liked.

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“Very well. Since this destiny suits you, I will pass on Belly Universe, the foremost divine art under Heaven,” Zhang Kai said in the form of a kindly old grandfather.

Zhang Yao’s face immediately lit up.

Then Zhang Kai tapped the center of his sister’s brow, and a stream of information passed into her.

When Zhang Yao opened her eyes again, he had already gone.
But now her eyes gleamed sharply.
She liked this art.
The more she ate, the stronger she became.

There was one requirement, of course:
one had to digest well to gain strength. Poor digestion made this art unsuitable.

As for digestion, Zhang Yao judged it was perfect for her—three meals a day, three visits to the washroom, digestion astonishingly powerful.

This was only the beginning for Zhang Yao.

Afterward, under the global watch of **Huagu Long**, Zhang Kai began searching for disciples through a series of small aliases, and before martial arts in the human world had entered their thriving age, he first laid the groundwork for a true martial prodigy background.

By the shoreline, a ten-year-old boy kept watching the sea day after day.
His skin, already sun-scorched dark, and his body thin and wiry, but his eyes were hard and steady—mature beyond his years, almost unnervingly so.

“What are you looking at, kid?” a raggedly dressed man approached with a cheerful tone.

“I’m watching for my father,” the boy replied.

The man glanced to the sea. “I see you here often. Is that your father, then?”

“Yes. Three months ago he went out to fish and has not returned.”

“Sorry, that is unfortunate. But you can’t come every day. At your age you should study and grow, become something. Let your mother—”
“She left the next day and has sent no news since.”

“What about your grandparents?”

“They’re all gone.”

“So you have no relatives?”

“I do.”

“That’s not too bad, then—”

“He plans to make me quit school and work in his factory. Dad borrowed him over a hundred thousand to buy the boat and can’t repay it. I’d have to work ten years or more to clear it.”

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The man sighed. “You are wretched. This is a pure hero’s origin story.”

The boy smiled. “A hero? If that’s how one becomes one, I’d rather be an extra.”

The man laughed kindly. “You look very mature. Any plans?”

“As my father has not returned, there is nothing I can do as his son except mourn him here for three months. After that, I must work to repay the debt. It is a responsibility I cannot shirk.”

The man asked, “Have you never thought of studying well? The government is promoting martial arts now. If you could succeed, you could repay it better.”

The boy replied, “I’m no longer a child. Martial arts isn’t that easy, and without money one can’t start it. Thank you, uncle. You’ve stayed with me for several days; I’ve noticed it all. But tomorrow I won’t come. We’ll meet again if destiny allows. If I ever have money, I’ll treat you to a drink.”

He turned to leave.

At that instant, the once-calm sea roared to life, rising seven or eight meters high in a surge that swept over him and swallowed the boy at once.
The boy stood in stunned silence.

Then, in the waves, the man appeared and smiled at him.

“Young man, you are meant to become my disciple. Remember my name and title: the true master, Martial Deity of the East Sea. From this day forward, you are my direct disciple. Inherit my mantle, walk the world, and never let your teacher’s name be disgraced.”

A rush of seawater enveloped the boy, and countless pieces of martial information appeared in his mind:
“Boundless Celestial-Sea Divine Art, Azure Wave Palm, Stacked-Wave Steps, and Thousand-Wave, Myriad-Wave Saber Technique.”

Line after line of arts opened before him like manuals in thought.
The Divine Art was an elemental art of the water type. At its highest level, it could command the sea and release immeasurable force.
Though bewildered, the boy accepted the mysterious transmission.

Wutai Mountain, Golden Light Temple.
It was an ordinary monastery, so remote it never even brushed by nearby scenic traffic. It looked old and worn, and naturally the incense there was sparse.

Inside, a thirteen- or fourteen-year-old novice monk lay seated beneath the Buddha’s image, deeply absorbed in a lurid comic.

“Namo Amitabha,” a chant sounded.

It startled the novice.
Clumsy with panic, he hurriedly hid the comic and, flushed with embarrassment, turned toward the sound. He found an old monk in worn robes standing there, whose presence was extraordinary and unforgettable at first glance.

At once the novice grew even more flustered, too ashamed to meet his eyes, and lowered his head, murmuring, “I pay my respects, Master.”
The old monk smiled softly.

“I am Baiyun. I have come to place this master’s notice.”