It had been more than two weeks since Tang Hao had collapsed in his sister's arms. The week of intensive, high-level healing had worked miracles. His new wounds, the ones he had sustained in his brutal, glorious battle with the two Super Douluos, had been completely healed. His shattered meridians had been painstakingly re-knit, his depleted life force slowly, gradually, replenished by a constant diet of the most potent elixirs.
And his spirit power… it was returning.
He sat in the quiet, meditative stillness of his chamber, his hands resting on his knees. He could feel it. The slow, steady, and incredibly welcome trickle of spirit power flowing back into the vast, empty reservoir of his soul.
He had recovered four of his spirit rings. The first four. The two yellow, and the two purple. It was a slow, arduous process, the act of re-condensing a shattered ring a thing of immense, painstaking effort. But he was succeeding.
'Another two weeks,' he thought, his mind a cold, calculating machine. 'At this rate, I should be able to recover my fifth and sixth rings. And then… then I will be strong enough.'
He knew he could not stay here. The Moon Pavilion, for all its quiet, serene beauty, was a gilded cage. It was in the heart of the capital, a city that was crawling with the spies and enforcers of his most hated enemy.
And he knew, with a cold, hard certainty, that he could not return to Shrek Academy.
He had been found there once. The two old monsters from the Spirit Hall, they had come for him with a speed, a precision, that was not born of simple luck. They had known he was there. Which meant there was a leak. A spy. Or a method of detection he did not understand.
It did not matter. The result was the same. The academy was no longer a safe haven. It was a trap.
And his son…
A fresh wave of cold, hard, and deeply, profoundly, and terrifyingly paternal fear washed over him.
If he was not safe there, then his son, his last, precious hope, was in even greater danger. The Spirit Hall knew of his existence now. They knew he was a student of Shrek. And even if they did not act openly… there were other ways. A subtle poison. A staged accident. A "friendly" spar that ended in a tragic, and permanent, injury.
The thought of it, of his son being hurt, of his last hope being extinguished by the same, cowardly, and insidious methods that they had used against his own father… it was a thought he could not bear.
He had to act. He had to take his son away from this place. From this city. From this world of politics and deception and hidden, lurking threats.
He would take him away, and he would train him himself.
The plan, which had been a distant, hazy idea just a few weeks ago, now solidified in his mind with a new, urgent clarity. The Continental Tournament, the glory, the fame… it was all a secondary, insignificant concern now. Survival was the only thing that mattered.
He would take his son deep into the wilderness, to a place where the eyes of the Spirit Hall could not reach. And he would forge him into a weapon.
He would teach him the true, profound secrets of the Clear Sky Sect. He would make him master the Disorder Splitting Wind Hammer, not in a quiet, sterile training field, but in the heart of a raging waterfall, where the raw, untamed power of nature itself would be his teacher.
He would provide his son with Spirit Bones of atleast more than forty thousand year old spirit beast to strengthen his foundation, and push his power to a level that would make him a true monster among his peers.
And then… then he would take him to the Blue Silver Forest.
The thought of his wife, of his beloved Ah Yin, was a fresh, raw wound in his heart. He did not know who had taken her, who had stolen her precious Right Leg Spirit Bone. The mocking, arrogant message left in the cave was a constant, burning fire in his mind.
But he knew, with a deep, instinctual certainty, that his son, the child of their love, the one who carried her Imperial bloodline in his veins, still had a chance.
'Her body is gone,' he thought, a familiar, bitter wave of grief and rage washing over him. 'And it has been years. It is unlikely she has recovered enough of her strength to reclaim her title as the Blue Silver Empress. Which means… which means the title is vacant.'
'My son,' his heart gave a small, hopeful leap, 'he can become the new Blue Silver Emperor. He can go to her home. He can receive the faith of her clan. And he can awaken his Blue Silver Grass, his Blue Silver Emperor, to its true potential.'
The plan was a good one. It was a solid one. It was the only one.
He stood up, his movements slow and deliberate, his powerful body still aching with a deep, bone-deep weariness. But his eyes were shining with a new, fierce, and unshakeable resolve.
He walked to the door of his chamber and opened it. He found his sister in the quiet, sunlit corridor, a book in her hands.
"Second Brother," she said, her voice a soft, gentle sound. "You are awake. You should be resting."
"I have rested enough," he said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "I am leaving."
She looked at him, and she saw the new, hard light in his eyes. She did not argue. She did not question. She just nodded.
"Where will you go?" she asked, her voice a quiet, sad sound.
"To get my son," he said simply.
The journey to the new Shrek Academy took him less than an hour. He did not fly. He did not run. He simply… walked. But he was a Titled Douluo. His every step seemed to bend the very space around him, the city a blur of motion as he moved through it, an unseen, untouchable ghost.
He arrived at the academy, a place he now associated with a deep, profound, and utterly, completely, and soul-crushingly humiliating defeat. He did not bother with the gates. He simply phased through the wall, his presence a silent, unnoticed ripple in the air.
He found him easily. In his new, well-organized, and incredibly cluttered office.
Yu Xiaogang was hunched over his desk, his brow furrowed in a familiar, academic concentration. He was in the middle of designing a new, more brutal, and likely equally ineffective, training regimen for his nephew.
He did not even notice Tang Hao's presence until a deep, gravelly voice, a sound that seemed to come from the very shadows of the room, spoke his name.
"Yu Xiaogang."
The Grandmaster jumped, a small, startled yelp escaping his lips. He spun around in his chair, and his eyes widened with a mixture of shock, awe, and a deep, underlying fear.
"Your… Your Excellency," he stammered, his usual calm, analytical composure completely gone. He scrambled to his feet and performed a deep, reverent bow.
Tang Hao just looked at him, his expression a mask of stone. "I am here for my son," he said, his voice a low, flat sound that brokered no argument. "I am taking him with me. He will no longer be a student of this academy."
Yu Xiaogang's face paled. "But… Your Excellency… the tournament… his training…"
"His training will continue," Tang Hao interrupted him, his voice a cold, final sound. "Under me. The Spirit Hall is watching this place. It is no longer safe for him here."
He looked at the small, stiff, and so obviously terrified man before him. "You have done well, Yu Xiaogang," he said, the words a rare, and incredibly valuable, piece of praise. "You have laid a solid foundation for him. But the time for theory is over. Now, his true training begins."
He turned to leave.
Yu Xiaogang's mind was a screaming, white-hot vortex of panic. 'He's taking him? Now? But… but the hammer… the grass… he doesn't know! He's going to find out! And he's going to be so angry! He's going to kill me!'
He wanted to speak. He wanted to tell him. But the words were a stone in his throat. He thought of the crater that had once been the central plaza of Suotuo City. He thought of the cold way that this man had destroyed the Suotuo City's central plaza and killed so many people in his rage..
His fear, his own pathetic, cowardly self-preservation, won out over his loyalty to his own disciple.
'It's not my fault,' a small, treacherous voice whispered in the depths of his soul. 'And besides, His Excellency is a Super Douluo. A legend. He will surely have a way to fix it once he finds out. It's better for him to discover it himself than for me to be the bearer of such disastrous news. Yes. This is the safest course of action.'
"I understand, Your Excellency," he said, his voice a low, submissive sound. He bowed his head again. "But may I make one small request?"
Tang Hao paused, his hand on the doorknob.
"The Continental Tournament," Yu Xiaogang said, his voice a pleading, desperate sound. "It is my dream… it is Xiao San's dream… to win it. To prove the value of his spirit. To prove the value of my theories. Please… when the time comes… send him back. Let him fight."
Tang Hao was silent for a long, heavy moment. "He will return," he said finally, his voice a low, promising rumble. "And when he does, he will not just be a Spirit Ancestor. He will be a powerful expert. A talented expert far greater than me who will shake the very foundations of this world."
The decision, once made, was absolute. Tang Hao did not linger in the quiet, book-lined office. He gave Yu Xiaogang a final, curt nod, a gesture that was both a dismissal and a silent acknowledgment of the man's limited utility. Then, he turned and walked out, his presence a heavy, oppressive weight that seemed to suck the very air from the room.
He moved through the grounds of the new Shrek Academy, a ghost in the late afternoon sun. He was a creature of shadow and sorrow, his every step a silent, powerful statement of his purpose. The students he passed, the new recruits and the old, familiar faces, instinctively moved aside, their boisterous, youthful energy faltering in the face of his immense, suffocating aura. They did not know who he was, but they knew he was a being to be feared.
He found him on the main training field.
Tang San was in the middle of a light, solo practice session, his body moving through the familiar, ethereal patterns of the Ghost Shadow Perplexing Track. His face was a mask of grim, focused concentration, his every movement a testament to his unbreakable will.
He saw the figure approaching, and he froze.
This was his father.
Tang San stood there, his body suddenly feeling small, weak, and impossibly, terrifyingly young. He looked at the tall, imposing figure who was now standing just a few feet away from him, at the familiar, handsome features that were now etched with a profound, soul-deep weariness, and a wave of pure, unadulterated, and almost painfully intense emotion washed over him.
It was a chaotic, beautiful, and utterly overwhelming cocktail of joy, of pride, of a deep, profound, and almost religious reverence. This was his father. The man who had been a drunken, listless blacksmith, was a hero. A legend. The Clear Sky Douluo. The youngest Titled Douluo in the history of the world.
And he had come back. For him.
"Father," Tang San said, the word a soft, choked, and almost inaudible whisper.
Tang Hao looked at his son. He saw the new, hard-won strength in his posture, the fierce, unyielding resolve in his eyes.
A flicker of something, a hint of a deep, paternal love and a profound, all-consuming guilt, entered his own, burning eyes. But it was gone in an instant, replaced once more by a mask of stone.
"We are leaving," he said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that was not a request, but a command.
He reached out and placed a heavy, calloused hand on his son's shoulder. The touch was firm, possessive, and surprisingly, wonderfully, and beautifully gentle.
Tang San just nodded, his own heart a frantic, happy drum against his ribs. He had a thousand questions. He wanted to know everything. But he knew, with a wisdom that was far beyond his years, that now was not the time.
Tang Hao's grip on his shoulder tightened slightly. "Come," he said. And he began to walk.
He was in a rush. He could feel it. The faint, almost imperceptible thrum of anxiety that radiated from his father's powerful form. He knew, on some deep, instinctual level, that they were in danger. That the shadows of this city held threats that even a man as powerful as his father had to respect.
He did not look back. He did not have the chance. He did not get to say goodbye to Xiao Wu, to Dai Mubai, to his friends, and to his teacher. He simply followed his father, a silent, willing shadow in the wake of a living legend.
They walked out of the academy, their departure a quiet, unnoticed thing. And then, the world became a blur.
The journey was a long, silent affair. For a full week, they flew. They flew with a speed that was a testament to his father's profound control over his own power. They were a pair of ghosts, a father and a son, moving through the vast, beautiful, and uncaring landscape of the Heaven Dou Empire.
They stopped only in small, remote towns, their stays brief, their interactions with the local populace minimal. And during those long, quiet days, his father finally began to speak. He told him of his new training.
"The first stage of your training will be to master the hammer," Tang Hao had said one evening, his voice a low, rumbling sound that was a stark, jarring contrast to the gentle, crackling hiss of their small campfire. "You will learn the Disorder Splitting Wind Hammer technique. Not just the movements. You will learn its soul. You will learn to feel the weight of it, the rhythm of it, the very essence of its power, until it is no longer a tool in your hand, but an extension of your very being."
He had looked at his son, and his eyes, in the flickering firelight, were burning with a fierce, almost fanatical intensity. "You will forge your body in the crucible of nature. You will become strong. Stronger than you have ever been before. Strong enough to face any enemy. Strong enough to protect what is precious to you."
He had spoken of the hammer. He had spoken of strength. But he had not spoken of the Blue Silver Grass. When Tang San had, with a hesitant, almost fearful voice, asked about his first Spirit, his father had simply shaken his head.
"That is for the second phase of your training," he had said, his voice a low, final sound that brokered no argument.
And in his own, private mind, Tang Hao had smiled. 'He does not need my help with that,' he had thought, a flicker of proud, proprietary glee in his heart. 'My wife's clan, her most loyal subjects… they will handle it. The Blue Silver King will sense the Imperial bloodline in my son. He will guide him. He will help him awaken his true power. He will help him become the new Blue Silver Emperor.'
Tang San had not pressed the issue. He had trusted his father. But with every word his father spoke of the hammer, of its power, of its legacy, a cold, hard, and deeply, profoundly, and terrifyingly sick knot of fear and shame tightened in his gut.
'How can I tell him?' he thought, his own heart a frantic, terrified drum against his ribs. 'How can I show him what has been done to it?'
He thought of the three pathetic, white Spirit Rings, the aural testament to his own, inexplicable violation. He thought of the two fluffy, white ears that now sprouted from his clan's most sacred weapon.
A wave of pure, unadulterated, and almost physically tangible rage, a fury so intense it made his hands tremble, washed over him.
'Whoever did this,' he vowed to himself, his eyes burning with a cold, hard, and murderous light, 'I will find you. And I will make you pay a price a thousand times more painful than what you have done to me.'
But the rage was a fleeting thing, quickly consumed by a deep, profound, and humiliating shame. He could not tell his father. Not yet.
'I will prove myself first,' he had decided, his resolve a cold, hard thing in his chest. 'I will master this Disorder Splitting Wind Hammer. I will become strong. And then, and only then, when I have earned his respect, when I have shown him that I am worthy of his name, will I show him the truth.'
The lie was a bitter, shameful taste in his mouth, a heavy, secret burden that he carried with him every single day.
After a week of this silent, intense travel, they finally arrived.
Their destination was a place of profound, beautiful, and almost religiously profound desolation. It was a deep, hidden valley, nestled in the heart of a remote, uncharted mountain range. The air here was clean, crisp, and so silent that the only sound was the distant, thunderous roar of a massive waterfall.
The waterfall was a magnificent, terrifying sight. It was a colossal, hundred-meter-wide curtain of pure, white, and furiously churning water that fell from a high, mist-shrouded cliff. It crashed into a deep, dark, and almost bottomless pool below, its roar a constant, deafening symphony of pure, untamed natural power.
Beside the pool, tucked away under the shelter of a massive, overhanging rock, was a small, dark, and unassuming cave. This was to be their new home.
Tang San looked at the simple, rustic dwelling, and he did not feel a flicker of disappointment. He did not feel a hint of resentment. He felt… at peace. This place, this wild, untamed corner of the world, it felt right. It felt like a place where he could become strong.
Tang Hao led him into the cave. The interior was sparse, but clean. A simple, stone fire pit. Two rough, but comfortable-looking, beds of dried grass and fur. It was all they needed.
That evening, as they sat before a small, crackling fire, his father looked at him, his expression serious.
"Tomorrow," he said, his voice a low, final command, "your training begins."
The next morning, Tang Hao led his son to the edge of the deep, dark pool at the base of the waterfall. The roar of the water was a deafening, physical thing. The air was thick with a cool, fine mist that soaked their clothes in a matter of seconds.
"Your first task," Tang Hao said, his voice a deep, powerful rumble that somehow cut through the roar of the water, "is to stand on that rock."
He pointed to a large, black, and incredibly slick-looking boulder that stood in the very center of the pool, directly under the full, crushing force of the waterfall.
He then did something that sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated shock through Tang San. He reached out and placed a hand on his son's chest. A wave of pure, potent, and incredibly powerful spirit power flowed from his palm.
Tang San felt his own, much weaker, spirit power being… sealed. Locked away in the deepest corner of his soul. He was now, for all intents and purposes, a commoner.
His father then handed him a new hammer. It was not the magnificent, peerless Clear Sky Hammer. It was a simple, crude, and incredibly heavy forging hammer, its head a solid, unadorned block of black iron.
"You will stand on that rock," Tang Hao repeated, his voice a calm, unwavering command. "And you will swing this hammer. Eighty-one times. You will complete the full cycle of the Disorder Splitting Wind Hammer technique. And you will not stop until you have done it."
He looked at his son, and his eyes were as hard and as unyielding as the black iron of the hammer he now held. "Do you understand?"
Tang San just nodded, a grim, determined look on his face.
He waded into the cold, churning water of the pool. He climbed onto the slick, black boulder. He stood under the full, crushing force of the waterfall, the water a physical, tangible weight on his shoulders.
And he began to swing.
Tang Hao stood at the edge of the pool, a silent, watchful observer. He watched his son, his last, precious hope, begin the long, arduous, and incredibly painful journey to true power.
And he was completely, utterly, and almost comically, and tragically, oblivious.
He had no idea that the Blue Silver Grass spirit that was supposed to be the key to his son's second awakening was now a crippled, weakened thing, its Imperial bloodline stolen. He had no idea that the Clear Sky Hammer, the very spirit that his son was now trying to master, had been defiled, its three most important, most foundational spirit rings now filled with the pathetic, useless power of ten-year-old rabbits.
And he had no idea that his own, well-intentioned, and carefully planned act of sealing his son's spirit power had just ensured that this devastating, soul-crushing secret would remain a secret, for just a little while longer.
~~
A/N: Check out my other novels like "Harem Master: Seduction System" and the "Villain: Manipulating the Heroines into hating the Protagonist" and I hope you like this story and those stories as well.
Check out more chapters on my P.atreon. The P.atreon will have 20+ Chapters ahead for this story. I hope you like it.
The link of p.atreon is: bit.ly/evildragon