Douluo Continent: Tonight, a Fairy Tale Descends

Once inside the city, Tang San finally saw clearly the city that had been transformed by the Haotian Sect.

Most of the shops on both sides of the street have changed their signs. Blacksmith shops, herbal medicine shops, and soul tool workshops are all industries related to soul master cultivation.

Occasionally, one could see a few restaurants and fabric shops still open, all displaying the insignia of the Haotian Sect. Most of the people on the street were disciples dressed in Haotian Sect robes, with a few commoners occasionally hurrying by.

Zhao Wu led Tang San through two main streets and stopped in front of a magnificent mansion.

This mansion was originally the residence of the local city lord, but it was requisitioned by the Haotian Sect as a temporary residence after they took over.

Two imposing stone lions stood at the entrance. The plaque that used to hang above the gate, bearing the three gilded characters "City Lord's Mansion," had been removed and replaced by a dark ironwood plaque with a relief of a Haotian Hammer. The hammer was wrapped with nine dark gold patterns, which was the symbol of the Haotian Sect.

Four disciples of the Clear Sky Sect, dressed in black, stood at the entrance, each exuding a calm and composed aura, their backs ramrod straight. Upon seeing Zhao Wu approach, the leader nodded slightly, his gaze then falling on Tang San behind Zhao Wu.

The gaze was initially filled with doubt, then turned into scrutiny, and the expressions of the four disciples changed almost simultaneously.

They were all rotated down from the front lines; their hands were stained with blood, they had killed people, and they had seen mountains of corpses and seas of blood.

They were all too familiar with the murderous aura forged in the clash of swords on the battlefield.

But the aura emanating from the blue-haired boy in front of them was completely different from the murderous aura they were familiar with.

It's cold. It's so cold.

It wasn't the scorching, blood-stained killing intent of a battlefield, but rather a chilling aura that seeped from the deepest abyss, making one tremble to the bone.

Chapter 511 Learning with Tang Yuehua

It felt as if someone had placed a knife, freshly taken from an ice cellar, on the back of their necks, the blade pressed against their skin, threatening to cut them at any moment.

The leading disciple instinctively placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. It wasn't that he wanted to fight; it was his body reacting instinctively in a defensive manner.

Seeing this, Zhao Wu quickly stepped forward and lowered his voice, saying, "This is Tang San, Lord Tang Hao's son. I just brought him back, so please don't make a fuss."

The four disciples exchanged bewildered glances. The son of Lord Tang Hao. No wonder.

Since Tang Hao returned to the Haotian Sect, rumors about his son who had been living away from home have never stopped.

Some say the child is exceptionally talented, possessing twin martial souls, a prodigy rarely seen in a century. Others say Tang Hao threw him into an extremely dangerous trial ground, and whether he will survive is uncertain.

A few days ago, Tang Hao personally ordered Zhao Wu to pick up Tang San. As soon as the news spread, the entire camp knew that Tang San was coming.

The person is right in front of me now, and he's quite different from the rumors. It's not a matter of talent, but rather his aura.

The leading disciple slowly removed his hand from the hilt of his sword and stepped aside to make way.

His movements were somewhat stiff, as if he was trying hard to control himself from retreating.

"Please," he said.

Zhao Wu led Tang San through the gate and into the front yard.

The front yard is very spacious. It was originally a place where the city lord used to train his private soldiers, but now it has been converted into a temporary martial arts training ground by the Haotian Sect.

Several young disciples were sparring in the arena, the sounds of fists and feet colliding rising and falling, occasionally interspersed with muffled groans and cheers.

A row of forging hammers was neatly stacked on the weapon rack next to it, ranging from the smallest weighing thirty jin to the largest weighing three hundred jin. Iron filings from the forging process still remained on the surface of the hammers.

When Tang San entered the front yard, the disciples who were sparring stopped one after another.

They first saw Zhao Wu, and then they saw Tang San behind Zhao Wu.

The noise in the training ground gradually subsided. Some people put down their forging hammers, some stopped sparring, and some subconsciously took a step back before forcibly stopping.

All eyes were fixed on the blue-haired boy, filled with undisguised shock and disbelief.

Such a strong murderous aura.

It was heavier than those Soul Masters who had fought the Spirit Hall on the front lines.

No, this goes beyond just "heavy." They also exude a murderous aura; who among those who have come from the battlefield hasn't taken a few lives?

But the murderous aura emanating from them was diffuse, rough, and mixed with the smell of sweat and blood, like a rough iron billet just taken out of a blacksmith's shop.

But the killing intent emanating from Tang San was different. It wasn't a rough iron blank; it was a blade that had been tempered a thousand times. The blade was so thin that you couldn't see it, yet it was there, carrying a deadly sharpness that made people instinctively want to stay away.

How many people did he actually kill?

No one asked the question aloud, but the question was written in everyone's eyes.

Tang San ignored the stares around him. He simply followed behind Zhao Wu, his pace neither fast nor slow, his long blue hair gleaming coldly in the afternoon sunlight.

His handsome face was expressionless, like a frozen lake; you couldn't see what lay beneath the ice.

Zhao Wu felt the chill behind him growing stronger, so he quickened his pace, crossed the front yard, and stepped onto the stone steps leading to the main hall.

Just then, the door to the main hall was pushed open from the inside.

A slender figure strode out. She wore a pale purple dress, her long, dark hair styled in an elegant updo, a few stray strands falling beside her ears, making her delicate face appear even whiter. It was Tang Yuehua.

Tang Yuehua stopped on the steps, her gaze passing over Zhao Wu and landing on Tang San behind him.

Those clear eyes held no fear, no scrutiny, and none of the instinctive retreat one would feel when seeing Tang San like others do.

She simply watched the blue-haired boy quietly, observing the chilling murderous aura emanating from him that made everyone want to stay away.

Then her eyes reddened slightly.

This is the second brother's son.

This is the son of her second brother, who has been wandering and struggling on the brink of life and death all these years. He has grown up to be even more handsome and outstanding than she had imagined when she heard those rumors in Yuexuan.

He was as outstanding as his second brother was when he was young.

Tang Yuehua walked down the steps and stood before Tang San.

Her steps were steady, completely unaffected by the murderous aura. During this time, she was busy at the Haotian Sect's base, helping to treat the wounded, allocate supplies, and comfort the young disciples who had returned from the front lines.

She had seen too many children ravaged by war, some with broken arms, some with disfigured faces, and some whose skin was slowly rotting after being hit by the Spirit Hall's poison-type soul skills.

She saw fear, despair, and the relief of surviving a catastrophe in the eyes of those children.

But at this moment, she saw nothing in Tang San's eyes.

It's not that he has no feelings; it's that those feelings are wrapped up in layers of coldness, buried too deep, so deep that even he himself might not be able to touch them.

Tang Yuehua's heart suddenly ached.

How much suffering has this child endured outside?

She reached out, wanting to gently stroke Tang San's cheek.

Tang San's gaze remained fixed on the woman's every move. The instant she raised her hand, his body reacted even faster than his mind.

He silently took half a step back with his right foot, and his whole body glided back three feet like a leaf blown by the wind.

Tang Yuehua's hand froze in mid-air.

That wasn't some profound soul skill, nor some exquisite movement technique; it was purely instinct honed through countless life-and-death battles.

In the hellish killing arena of the killing city, any seemingly harmless approach could be a deadly sneak attack.

Tang San had seen too many people approach with a smile and then stab someone in the heart. Those people's smiles were much more sincere than this woman's, but their actions were more ruthless than a poisonous snake.

If the situation here weren't unclear, and if this woman didn't seem to have a close relationship with Tang Hao, she would have been beheaded long ago if she encountered someone who laid a hand on her in the Killing City.

Tang Yuehua looked at her empty hands, a very subtle hint of disappointment flashing in her eyes, but it was quickly replaced by a deeper tenderness.

She slowly withdrew her hands and crossed them in front of her again, her movements still dignified and elegant, as if the moment of rejection had never happened.

“Little mistress,” she said softly, as if afraid of disturbing something, “I am your aunt.”

aunt?

Tang San snorted coldly in his heart.

What aunt? Where was this aunt when he was starving and freezing in Holy Soul Village?

Where was this aunt when he and his sister were abandoned by Tang Hao in Notting City, facing the scheming Yu Xiaogang all alone?

When he was carving a bloody path through the hellish killing field of the killing city, did this woman who called herself his aunt ever appear even once?

Since it never happened before, what's the point of talking about family ties now?

Of course, Tang San wouldn't say these words aloud. He wasn't one of those kids who would wear his heart on his sleeve.

Now, after spending so much time in the Killing City, the first thing he's learned is to never let anyone know what you're thinking.

A faint hint of hesitation appeared on his face. His deep eyes lingered on Tang Yuehua's face for a moment before he lowered his gaze slightly.

"aunt."

Two words, neither too light nor too heavy, perfectly positioned between probing and acceptance. It wasn't like the utter estrangement of complete strangers, nor like genuine intimacy. It was like someone who had groped in the dark for too long suddenly seeing a glimmer of light, wanting to reach out and touch it, yet fearing it was an illusion.

Tang Yuehua's eyes reddened slightly.

She didn't see the frozen lake deep in Tang San's eyes, only his lowered eyelids and that perfectly timed hesitation.

She thought it was the bewilderment of a long-awaited reunion, the awkwardness of being touched by sudden family affection.

"That's right, I am your aunt." Her voice was a little choked up, but she couldn't suppress the smile on her lips.

"I never imagined you'd grow up so much..." she said, tears finally streaming down her face.

Tang San watched her tears fall, making no move. He neither stepped forward to comfort her nor interrupted her, but simply stood there quietly, like a young man unsure how to handle such a situation.

His performance was impeccable, at least for Tang Yuehua.

Tang Yuehua quickly wiped away her tears and pulled Tang San's sleeve, heading towards the main hall. This time, Tang San didn't hide, not because he had accepted this aunt, but because he needed to extract information from her.

Where is Tang Hao? Where is Cinderella? This woman surely knows the answers to these questions.

After all, she is Tang Hao's sister.

The layout of the main hall, like the exterior of the mansion, is practical to the point of being austere.

Several heavy ironwood chairs surrounded a long table, and a rubbing of the Haotian Hammer hung on the wall; apart from that, there were no other decorations.

Tang Yuehua led Tang San to sit down at the table, poured him a cup of hot tea, and then sat down opposite him.

“Mistress,” Tang Yuehua said, her hands folded on her knees, still the elegant and dignified chief of Yuexuan, but her tone was more solemn than when she was at Yuexuan, “Before your father left, he asked me to do something.”

Tang San held his teacup but didn't drink; he simply raised his eyelids to look at her.

“You just came from the City of Slaughter, and your killing intent is too strong. If you don’t tone it down, you’ll be too conspicuous.”

Tang Yuehua's gaze fell on the invisible aura surrounding Tang San. There was no fear in her clear eyes, only the scrutiny of a healer looking at a patient.