Following his cue, Ning Tian stood and nodded firmly, pride and reminiscence shimmering in her clear eyes.

“Ancestor is wise. You must have guessed the identities of me and Wu Feng.”

“I am unworthy, but favored by the clan. I am the heir to the sect master of the Nine Treasure Glazed Tile Clan.”

With that, Ning Tian raised her slender hand; thought stirred.

In an instant, a pagoda of brilliant light, flowing with pure seven-colored halos, surfaced above her palm, slowly rotating.

The body was exquisite and translucent, seven tiers in all, each level emitting rich glazed radiance and a strong aura—the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Pagoda martial soul.

“Nine Treasure Glazed Tile Clan?!”

“The sect master’s heir?!”

Even the ever-composed Ning Fengzhi was slightly moved, a trace of shock flickering in his eyes.

Sword Douluo and Bone Douluo exchanged a glance full of astonishment and gravity.

Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Clan renamed to Nine Treasure Glazed Tile Clan?

The significance was obvious—the Nine Treasure evolution had likely been achieved by Ning Rongrong.

And the status of “heir to the sect master” was weighty—this Ning Tian stood in their future with an importance equal to Ning Rongrong at this moment.

However, Ning Fengzhi’s keen eye immediately caught a discordant detail.

His brows knit slightly. Gaze sharp, he focused on the pagoda in Ning Tian’s palm—powerful, yes, but clearly seven-tiered. He asked in a low voice:

“The aura is pure—no doubt the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Pagoda. But… if you are heir to the ‘Nine Treasure Glazed Tile Clan,’ why is your martial soul still Seven Treasure?”

Several thoughts flashed through his mind.

At her age, to have such cultivation—her talent was surely exceptional. If the clan possessed a Nine Treasure bloodline, as heir she should have awakened a nine-tier pagoda.

Unless… though Ning Rongrong advanced to the Nine Treasure Pagoda and ultimately inherited the Nine-Colored Goddess god position, she did not pass that defying bloodline down?

If so, the long-term value of Nine Treasure to the clan would be greatly diminished.

At that thought, Ning Fengzhi’s heart sank slightly.

Ning Tian read the doubt and the fleeting heaviness in his eyes. She dimmed her martial soul’s light; her expression grew solemn, her voice tinged with helplessness:

“Ancestor, you guessed right. According to secrets passed down in the clan, though Ancestor Rongrong, by great fortune, evolved the Seven Treasure to Nine Treasure and ultimately inherited the Nine-Colored Goddess and ascended to the God Realm… precisely because she became a god, she was subject to strict constraints of the God Realm.”

She paused, regret deep in her tone:

“Gods cannot easily interfere in the lower realm, nor linger long. Not long after becoming a god, Ancestor Rongrong was forced to ascend.”

“And thus… she was unable to leave an immediate direct-line descendant in the lower realm. That heaven-defying Nine Treasure bloodline was not transmitted by blood.”

Ning Tian’s words echoed in the quiet courtyard; each syllable struck Ning Fengzhi, Sword Douluo, Bone Douluo, and Ning Rongrong.

She added, with a touch of unwillingness:

“If not for the Nine Treasure bloodline failing to pass on, with its peerless support ability, would our Nine Treasure Glazed Tile Clan be half-hidden ten thousand years later? Among the continent’s top powers, our clan should have a definitive seat.”

As a second-tier deity, Ning Rongrong would be strictly limited by divine rules. Moreover… given Tang San’s special identity and the Destruction God’s hostility and displeasure, she could do even less. Leaving inheritances like the Angel God or bestowing god-given martial souls were out of the question; she wasn’t even allowed to linger on Douluo. Bloodline inheritance was simply impossible.

“I see…”

Ning Fengzhi sighed, his voice full of complex emotion.

As a father, he felt pride and comfort knowing that Ning Rongrong would ascend to the God Realm and achieve godhood.

But as the sect master, bearing the clan’s legacy and rise, he’d hoped deeper down that she could pass on the Nine Treasure bloodline, allowing the clan to truly soar and be worthy of the Nine Treasure name.

Still, he was a sect master, his will firm; he quickly adjusted.

At least, from Ning Tian, he could confirm the clan’s incense still burned ten thousand years later, and that they could cultivate heirs as exceptional and composed as her. That was something to celebrate.

“Xiao Tian.”

He set aside his sigh, the signature warm smile returning, his tone growing more intimate.

“You and I share blood; no need for such rigidity. Since you come from a parallel world ten thousand years hence, your insight and vantage surely exceed ours. Regarding Rongrong’s god position, you seem to have another view? Speak freely.”

He well knew: after Xuan Zi had publicized that future, aiding Ning Rongrong to secure the Nine-Colored Goddess position had become geometrically harder.

All powers and hidden ambitions would fixate on it.

He needed to hear this heir’s perspective from the future Nine Treasure Glazed Tile Clan.

Ning Tian relaxed slightly at his receptiveness.

She organized her thoughts, calm and lucid, more like a strategist than a girl:

“Ancestor, I do not intend to alarm, only to judge objectively from present conditions.”

Her voice was steady, structured.

“First and foremost, the greatest variable is time. The Spirit Empire possesses two deities who have already completed inheritances—Bibi Dong and Qian Renxue. Their power is immediate, authority already in hand. In contrast, even if Ancestors Rongrong and Tang San depart for Sea God Island at once and find inheritances, they must undergo lengthy, grueling divine trials. That time could be years, even longer.”

She paused to let the harsh reality sink in, then continued:

“The Spirit Empire will not—and cannot—grant us this precious time to develop. Their blades are keen; the pace of unifying the continent will not stop.”

“I venture to predict: we may not live to see Ancestor Tang San complete the Sea God trials before the continent’s resistance is swept away, integrated, or destroyed with thunderous speed by the Spirit Empire.”

“By then, even if a few have obtained god positions, they’d face a vast empire already unified, its resources consolidated, and with two gods in residence. The situation would be ten times more difficult, a lone tree trying to hold up the sky—beyond salvation.”

Ning Rongrong paled slightly. She was lively and innocent, but not ignorant of the situation. Ning Tian’s analysis was a bucket of cold water, revealing harsh reality.

Ning Tian looked at Ning Rongrong, her gaze candid:

“Moreover, according to hazy entries in the clan’s secret annals, even on the relatively smooth historical track, in the final tri-god battle that decided the continent’s fate, Ancestor Tang San won by a hair’s breadth after extreme peril. Ancestors Rongrong and Oscar’s support was crucial—perhaps the key to reversing the battle. But the details are lost.”

She turned to Ning Fengzhi and posed the core question:

“That was after Ancestor Rongrong and the others had grown and acquired god inheritances. As for now, their cultivation, experience, even their state of mind are far from the level needed for such battles.”

“Even if they find trial grounds immediately, can they withstand divine trial intensity with their current foundation? Can they complete them smoothly under watchful enemies and the smoke of war across the continent? All unknowns—or rather… hopes are slim.”

Ning Tian’s words stripped away the hopeful façade, revealing stark, cold reality beneath.

She was not intoxicated by the excitement of being among ancestors, nor blindly optimistic because she knew history. Her analysis was fact-based, cool to the point of cold, and thus persuasive.

Sword Douluo and Bone Douluo were silent, faces growing graver. They understood.

Ning Fengzhi’s fingers unconsciously tapped the armrest—soft, regular clicks, crystal clear in the quiet.

His gaze was deep, outwardly calm, but within he weighed and computed rapidly.

Ning Tian’s dissection was like a scalpel, laying bare the thorns and abyss hidden under the lure of godhood, exposing the potential dead end.

The atmosphere grew even more congealed, hope and crisis entwined, unsettling the heart. Even their breathing softened.

All along, Sword Douluo Chen Xin, aura sharp as a sword, finally spoke again.

His voice was not loud but cut to the core, his sword-intent eyes like twin blades, landing precisely on Ning Tian:

“Ning Tian, girl.”

His address carried a senior’s scrutiny.

“You came specially, revealed blood ties, weighed pros and cons, your thoughts clear and straight to the point… Your purpose isn’t just to warn us, is it? Speak plainly.”

His words broke the brief silence and steered the topic to its crux.

Ning Tian met that penetrating gaze without fear or retreat.

She took a deep breath, as if making a decision, and admitted frankly:

“Ancestral Sword Douluo sees all. I… do have selfish intent. I have an unreasonable request—or rather, a proposal concerning the clan’s future, perhaps… a more reliable choice.”

Her eyes swept over the pensive Ning Fengzhi, the weighty Sword and Bone Douluo, finally resting on Ning Rongrong, still shocked and puzzled. Her tone became solemn.

“I boldly ask the ancestral sect master and all of our Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Clan to seriously consider… abandoning our foundation in this world, and through a stable spacetime passage, migrating the entire clan to the parallel world ten thousand years hence—my world.”

The proposal was beyond earth-shattering; it was like dropping a meteor into a placid lake.

For the first time, raw emotion flickered across usually placid Ning Fengzhi’s face; his pupils shrank.

A wisp of the sword intent Sword Douluo had contained slipped free, slicing the air.

Bone Douluo’s habitual laziness vanished, replaced by shock and scrutiny.

Ning Rongrong sucked in a sharp breath, hands clamped over her lips, eyes wide—Leave? Leave the Douluo Continent that raised them?

Ning Tian knew the impact. She didn’t allow them long to be stunned; she quickly set forth her reasons, clear and logical, trying to persuade them.

“Ancestors, forgive my bluntness. The general trend in this world, under the Spirit Empire’s two gods and surging armies, is already close to overturned, beyond saving. If the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Clan insists on staying, even if we exhaust the clan to aid Ancestor Rongrong in striving for that ethereal god position, the chance of success remains slim.”

“And in the process, centuries of accumulation and countless disciples will become cannon fodder at the front of a god war, paying a price we cannot bear—perhaps even total annihilation and broken inheritance.”

Her voice was unwavering.

“Rather than struggle in near despair, watching the clan slide to its end, why not blaze another trail—preserve our most precious flame, find soil where we can take root anew, even thrive?”

She turned again to Chen Xin and Gu Rong, eyes now openly filled with hunger for strength.

“In our world, although the Nine Treasure Glazed Tile Clan survives under the protection of our forebears’ legacy, we are no longer at the top and are often squeezed by powerful forces. It is difficult; we urgently need truly strong power for support and deterrence.”

Her tone heated.

“Ancestral Sword Douluo, your sword path nears the law itself; Ancestral Bone Douluo, your defense is peerless, the dragon-bone mystery profound. With your talent and foundation, barring mishap, you both have great chances to reach rank 98, even touch rank 99.”

“This power is priceless for the Nine Treasure Glazed Tile Clan ten thousand years later—a cornerstone to let the clan rise in the coming upheavals and stand unshaken. I urgently need this strength; the future Nine Treasure Glazed Tile Clan needs our ancestors’ guidance and protection.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep