Douluo: Yu Hao is reborn, this Tang San is different

Chapter 128 The Master Goes to Wuhun City
The morning mist at the edge of the Star Dou Great Forest had not yet dissipated, and the damp moss at Tang San's feet oozed cool sap. His hand, gripping the Blue Silver Grass, suddenly tightened—this plant, which served as a warning, was trembling violently, and the dew condensed on its leaves rolled down in a rustling sound.

"Something's not right." Tang San turned around abruptly and saw Liu Erlong frantically tearing at the bushes, her blood-stained fingernails filled with dead branches.

"Xiao Gang! Where have you been!" Liu Erlong's roar startled the birds in the forest. Nine blue lightning bolts slithered wildly behind her, tearing tree bark to shreds. Since leaving the battlefield, she had always held the unconscious Yu Xiaogang in her arms, but now she could only touch a damp, withered leaf.

Tang Hao frowned and squatted down, his fingertips brushing over the messy footprints on the ground. Dark red soul power spread along the patterns: "Someone deliberately concealed their aura; it must be at least a Soul Saint level technique."

Tang San's spiritual eyes gleamed with golden light, and his mental detection spread out like ripples. When it touched the cliff three miles to the southeast, his pupils shrank sharply—fresh scratches remained on the rocks there, along with half of Luo Sanpao's martial soul mark, deeply embedded in the mud.

"Over there!" Before he finished speaking, Liu Erlong had already transformed into a bolt of blue lightning and shot off, leaving scorched marks on the grass where his tail swept.

The wind, carrying decaying leaves, whipped against her face from the edge of the cliff, and Liu Erlong's dragon boots crushed half of a bloodstained bandage. Staring at the bottomless canyon, she suddenly staggered and clung to the rock wall, her dragon eyes welling with tears: "Impossible... how could he be injured like that..."

Tang Hao silently picked up a piece of gravel with shallow engravings. The crooked writing on it made his expression change drastically: "Erlong, look at this."

The moonlight pierced through the clouds, illuminating the blood-red words on the rubble: "Do not search, I am going to Wuhun City."

Liu Erlong's fingernails dug deeply into her palms, and blood dripped down the lines: "He's gone mad! In his current state, going to Wuhun City is just suicide!" Her roar shook the cliff face, causing soil to fall and the dragon scales to glow with an ominous red light under the moonlight.

Tang San crouched down and found a water-stained letter under the moss. As he unfolded it, the scorch marks on the edges of the letter still emitted a faint smell of gunpowder.

"Erlong, by the time you read this letter, I will have already embarked on my journey to Wuhun City." Tang San's voice trembled slightly, and Yu Xiaogang's handwriting was powerful and penetrating. "Bibi Dong sent Chrysanthemum Douluo to take my life, not only for Tang Hao, but also because she wanted to completely erase the truth of twenty years ago. If I were to live on in disgrace, how could I face the innocent people who died at their hands?"

The letter curled slightly in the wind, revealing a hastily written note on the back: "Tell Xiao San to put the matter of the Ice and Fire Yin-Yang Well aside for now and protect Erlong."

Liu Erlong suddenly let out a whimper like a trapped beast, and her dragon tail drooped limply to the ground.

Memories of that rainy night twenty years ago flooded back like a tidal wave—the same resolute figure, Yu Xiaogang carrying her in his swaddling clothes as he rushed out of the Blue Lightning Tyrannosaurus Rex clan, Luo Sanpao's sobs mingling with the shouts of his pursuers. The bloodstains on the letter, still wet, were exactly the same as those that had splattered on her skirt back then.

"We can't let him go!" Liu Erlong turned to leap into the air, but was stopped by Tang Hao's strong arm. The Haotian Douluo's face was as solemn as iron: "Chasing after him now will only distract him."

He looked towards the direction of Spirit City, where the night sky was dyed an eerie purple by the lights of the Spirit Hall. "Bibi Dong was prepared. Since Yu Xiaogang dared to take the risk alone, he must have a backup plan."

Tang San carefully put the letter into his soul tool, the Blue Silver Grass wriggling restlessly at his fingertips. He recalled his teacher's focused expression during instruction, and the martial soul theory manuscripts revised repeatedly late into the night. Suddenly, he clenched his fist: "Father is right. Teachers don't make meaningless sacrifices. What we should do now is become stronger."

His voice carried a maturity beyond his years, and his bright eyes shone with unwavering determination. "When Teacher returns from Wuhun City, we will crush that city of sin together."

Liu Erlong stood there, stunned, her dragon eyes fixed on the distant horizon. The morning mist gradually dissipated, and the first rays of sunlight pierced through the clouds, but couldn't warm her cold fingertips. She knew that the man who always stood in front of her in times of danger had once again chosen the most perilous path.

This time, she could only wait in place, waiting for that figure, covered in wounds yet forever stubborn, to reappear in the sunlight.

The autumn rain was falling softly, washing the bluestone pavement of Wuhun City until it shone.

Yu Xiaogang wrapped his tattered gray robe tighter around his body. Luo Sanpao's martial spirit weakly rose and fell on his chest, its pink light dimming like a candle flickering in the wind. This was the seventh day of his trek. The blisters on the soles of his feet had long since burst, and every step felt like walking on a knife's edge.

"Hot and fresh meat buns!" In the steaming white mist of the bun shop on the street corner, the proprietress used bamboo tongs to pick up golden buns, the oil droplets glistening temptingly under the lantern.

Yu Xiaogang's Adam's apple bobbed, and blood seeped from his chapped lips. He reached into his pocket, where only half a wild vegetable pancake, soaked by the rain, remained—something he had found three days ago in the dilapidated temple.

"Sir, would you like two steamed buns?" The proprietress's smile froze the moment she caught sight of him. Yu Xiaogang's hair was stuck to his forehead, which was covered in scabs; his left eye was swollen shut; his exposed neck and the back of his hands were covered in whip marks; and the hem of his gray robe was still stained with swamp mud. She grabbed a rag and vigorously wiped the table, saying with disgust, "Go to the city gate if you're a beggar, don't dirty my shop!"

The surrounding diners frowned, and some pinched their noses and moved away. Yu Xiaogang staggered and grabbed the door frame, saying hoarsely, "I...I have money."

His trembling hand pulled out a few copper coins, but they fell to the ground because his fingers were stiff. The coins rolled under the table and came to rest right next to the boots of a Soul Master.

The man sneered and kicked the money into the mud: "With this little bit of money, you think you're worthy of entering Martial Soul City?"

A burst of laughter erupted from the steamed bun shop. Yu Xiaogang felt a metallic taste rise in his throat, and his stomach churned and groaned. In a daze, he seemed to see himself twenty years ago, wearing the magnificent robes of the Blue Lightning Tyrannosaurus Rex family, discussing martial spirit theories at a banquet.

Now, he can't even get a hot meal.

As the proprietress picked up the bucket of swill and threw it at him, Yu Xiaogang suddenly caught sight of steaming buns in the steamer. Hunger, like a wild beast, instantly broke through the defenses of reason.

He lunged forward, grabbed two steamed buns, and stuffed them into his mouth. The scalding hot dough brought tears to his eyes, but the savory meat filling made him swallow them almost frantically.

"Stop thief!" The landlady's scream pierced the rain. Two waiters grabbed rolling pins and rushed over, raining blows on Yu Xiaogang's back. He curled up, protecting the steamed buns in his arms, his Luo Sanpao martial spirit weakly whimpering, unable to even form the most basic defense.

"A beggar dares to steal!" The shopkeeper grabbed his hair and slammed his head against the table. Stars exploded before Yu Xiaogang's eyes, and blood dripped from the corner of his mouth onto the steamed bun.

"I know the Pope!" Yu Xiaogang suddenly screamed, his voice as shrill as a trapped beast, "I want to see Bibi Dong! Let me see her!"

Those words silenced the entire room instantly, the waiter's wooden stick hovering in mid-air. The proprietress's face changed drastically, and she rushed over, slapping him hard across the face: "How dare you mention His Holiness the Pope? Beat him to death!"

Raindrops mixed with blood dripped down Yu Xiaogang's chin. He felt several of his ribs were broken, yet his consciousness grew increasingly clear. His memory flashed back to last night, to the vow he had carved with rubble in the cracks of the dilapidated temple wall: "Bibi Dong, I want you to tell me yourself, why?"

These words kept echoing in his mind, keeping him conscious during the beating.

The autumn rain poured down, soaking the bluestone paths of Wuhun City. Yu Xiaogang huddled at the entrance of a steamed bun shop, the wound beneath his gray robe stinging in the rain. His Luo Sanpao martial spirit flickered weakly on his chest, its pink light dimming like a candle in the wind. The proprietress waved her greasy apron, her shrill voice piercing the rain:
"Kill this beggar who stole the steamed buns!"

Two men, wielding rolling pins, pounced on him like ferocious demons. The wooden sticks struck Yu Xiaogang's back with a dull thud that made one's teeth ache. He instinctively protected the steamed buns in his arms, the scalding meat filling spilling out between his fingers, mixing with blood and dripping down his arm.

With a "thud," he was kicked in the abdomen, his whole body crashing against the cold wall, and a sweet, metallic taste of blood welled up in his throat.

"Stop!" With a clang of metal clashing, a squad of Wuhun City guards formed ranks. The captain, clad in gilded armor, the six-winged angel emblem on his chest gleaming coldly in the rain, surveyed the mess before his gaze fell upon Yu Xiaogang's bloodstained fingertips.

"What happened?"

The proprietress immediately squeezed out tears and rushed to the guard, crying, "Your Honor, please see the truth! This man stole my steamed buns in broad daylight, and even after being caught, he still spouted nonsense!"

She suddenly grabbed Yu Xiaogang's hair and shoved his face into the mud. "Didn't you say you knew His Holiness the Pope? Keep talking!"

Yu Xiaogang suddenly looked up, his left eye swollen shut, but his right eye blazing with intense light: "I want to see Bibi Dong! Immediately! Right now!"

His roar, mingling with the sound of rain, startled the surrounding diners, who quickly retreated. The captain of the guard's face instantly darkened, and his sword was drawn three inches from its sheath: "To blaspheme His Holiness the Pope is an even greater crime!"

"He's a madman!" the waiter shouted, raising a rolling pin. "He just said the Pope was his old flame!" Amidst the laughter, Yu Xiaogang felt a heavy blow to the back of his head, and countless stars exploded before his eyes. He swayed, trying to steady himself, but a guard kicked him in the knee, sending him crashing to his knees on the flooded street.

"Take her away!" the captain waved impatiently. Two guards roughly grabbed Yu Xiaogang, the chains leaving deep marks on his wrists. "I really know her!"

Yu Xiaogang struggled and roared, "Twenty years ago... in..." Before he could finish speaking, an iron fist smashed into his mouth, and several teeth sprayed out mixed with blood.

As he dragged himself forward, Yu Xiaogang's gray robe was torn to shreds by the stone slabs, revealing his back covered in whip marks. He looked towards the towering main hall of Wuhun City, where the glazed tiles gleamed coldly in the rain.

His memory suddenly flashed back to his youth, to his secret rendezvous with Bibi Dong on the back mountain of the academy, when her eyes still held a starlight within them. And now, he was forced to tear open that long-buried past in such a disheveled state.

The dungeon's iron door slammed shut, releasing a damp, musty smell. Yu Xiaogang was thrown against the moss-covered wall, the chains clanging. The captain of the guard pulled out a leather whip, the metal tip grazing Yu Xiaogang's cheek: "Dare to mention His Holiness the Pope again, and I'll whip your mouth raw!"

The moment the whip fell, Yu Xiaogang suddenly exerted his strength, slamming his forehead into the other man's nose.

"You're asking for death!" the captain roared, the whip coiling around Yu Xiaogang's neck like a venomous snake. Despite the suffocating feeling, Yu Xiaogang laughed, blood trickling down his chin: "Bibi Dong...did you hear me? I've come to collect my debt from back then..."

The maniacal laughter echoed through the gloomy dungeon, startling the patrolling guards who quickened their pace as if fleeing some ominous creature.

In the dead of night, Yu Xiaogang huddled on a pile of moldy straw. The pain from his wounds surged like a tidal wave, but he stubbornly refused to lose consciousness. Through the narrow air vent of the dungeon, he could see the spire of the Martial Soul Main Hall piercing the night sky.

The musty smell of the Wuhun City dungeon seeped into his bones. Yu Xiaogang huddled by the iron bars, watching as moldy black bread was torn apart by dirty hands.

Among the prisoners scrambling for food, some were missing half an ear, some had white spots in their eyes, and their prison uniforms were tattered, yet they were hardly cleaner than Yu Xiaogang.

"New guy, pretty arrogant, huh?" The earless prisoner stepped on Yu Xiaogang's hand, his cloudy eyes close to Yu's bleeding forehead. "I heard you know the Pope?"

Snickers erupted around him; someone flicked cigarette ash onto his wound, while another tapped the back of his head with a rusty spoon.

Yu Xiaogang gritted his teeth and looked up, his cracked lips parting: "I am a martial soul theorist—" Before he could finish speaking, the white-haired prisoner suddenly grabbed his hair and shoved his face into a wooden basin filled with swill. The moment the dirty water filled his nostrils, he coughed violently, his lungs feeling like they were on fire.

"Theoretical master?" The earless prisoner ripped the tattered cloth off Yu Xiaogang's neck, revealing hideous whip marks. "I was a Soul Master back in the day, and now I'm licking the boots of His Holiness the Pope's dog!" He suddenly gripped Yu Xiaogang's wrist tightly, and with a snap, the excruciating pain of dislocation made Yu Xiaogang's vision go black. "Wash my clothes, or I'll throw you to feed the rats!"

The days that followed were like falling into hell. Every day, Yu Xiaogang had to wash hundreds of smelly prison uniforms, his hands becoming white and swollen from being soaked in water, his wounds festering and suppurating.

The prisoners took pleasure in torturing him—some mixed sand into his food, others burned his back with cigarette butts, and some even forced him to pick up a wooden spoon that had fallen into excrement and urine with his mouth. Whenever he trembled and said, "I know Bibi Dong," he was always met with even more brutal beatings.

"I heard His Holiness the Pope has never even touched a man. Who do you think you are?" The prisoner with the white robes grinned maliciously, dripping scalding hot wax onto Yu Xiaogang's hand. "If you dare mention her again, I'll rip your tongue out!"

Yu Xiaogang bit down on two of his back teeth, the blood mingling with the burnt smell of wax, making him almost vomit. He recalled the high spirits he had when he wrote "The Ten Core Competencies of Martial Soul," when he firmly believed that theory could change the world. He never imagined that one day he would be forced to live a humiliating life by a latrine, begging for scraps.

One stormy night, Yu Xiaogang finished washing the last piece of prison clothing with his severed finger, and heard several prisoners whispering in the corner.

"You mean that idiot really knows the Pope?"

"So what if we know each other? Would the Pope care about a piece of trash whose martial spirit is ruined?"

These words were like a dull knife, cutting another wound into his already scarred heart. He touched his chest; the light of Luo Sanpao's martial spirit had faded to almost nothing—just like his fading hope.

In the middle of the night, the earless prisoner kicked him awake and threw him a wad of blood-stained clothes: "Wash them clean for me, I stole them from the warden!"

Just as Yu Xiaogang received the lantern, the sound of leather boots suddenly came from outside the iron gate. Everyone fell silent instantly. A Soul Guard carrying a lantern passed by, and when the light shone on Yu Xiaogang's face, he suddenly roared with all his might, "Bibi Dong! Do you still remember the willow tree at Notting Academy!"

A roar exploded in the deathly silence of the dungeon. The prisoners stared at him in terror, as if he were a madman. The one-eared prisoner lunged at him, raining punches down on his face: "You fucking don't want to live anymore!"

Yu Xiaogang laughed, blood and foam spilling from the broken corner of his mouth. For the first time, he felt that pain could be so sobering.

(End of this chapter)