Just Looking

at the same time.

A hunched figure turned into an alley three blocks away from the expo venue.

There were no lights in the alley; only the light from the streetlights in the distance shone in a small patch, casting a blurry grayish-white shadow on the ground.

Footsteps echoed in the narrow alley, one after another, with an abnormal pause.

The sound of his right leg landing was always heavier than his left, as if he was dragging something.

The man stopped halfway through the alley.

He stood up straight.

To be precise, he is finally no longer hunched over.

His back straightened up little by little, as if someone had pulled a string up from above his head, transforming him from a hunched old man into a tall, slender man in just two seconds.

He took off his old dark gray coat, crumpled it up, and threw it into the trash can in the corner.

Underneath the coat was a dark-colored jacket, clean and sharp.

His movements were no longer slow and clumsy, but precise and fluid, with each joint turning perfectly, like a meticulously calibrated machine.

He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his face—no, not wiped his face, but peeled something off his face.

He gently peeled off an extremely thin mask, revealing a sallow complexion covered in wrinkles, folded it neatly, and tucked it into his inner pocket.

Beneath the mask lies a completely different face.

He was in his early thirteens, with a thin face, slightly prominent cheekbones, and eyes that shone brightly in the darkness.

His lips were slightly downturned, bearing the serious expression characteristic of someone who had been pondering for years, but at this moment his eyes were shining, as if he had just finished something extremely important and was waiting for the result.

He lifted his foot and continued walking deeper into the alley, this time with steady and even steps, without any trace of limping.

After walking about twenty steps, the alley suddenly widened and a small fork appeared.

A person stood at the fork in the road, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, seemingly having been waiting for some time.

The streetlights barely illuminated this spot, enough to make out the outline, but not the face.

But that posture—relaxed and casual, with shoulders slightly tucked in.

If Yun Jingheng were here, he would recognize him.

That's Zhao Yu'an.

The man walked up to Zhao Yu'an and stopped.

The two were silent for a few seconds.

Zhao Yu'an spoke first, his voice low but still clear in the quiet alley. "Given it?"

"I gave it to you," the man said.

His voice was no longer the hoarse, aged voice from before, but had become deep and steady, carrying a power that made people want to believe him.

"What do we do next? Yu An, even if we give it to him, he can't build it. We..."

"Wang Tiangu."

Wang Tiangu was taken aback; this was the first time the other party had addressed him so seriously, but he still did so.

"You know Chen Weitao won't let this go, we have to do something."

Zhao Yu'an sighed, "Our cultivation level is too low. All we can do is give him what we can."

Wang Tiangu pressed on, "Where 'Jing Cheng? Could she...?"

Zhao Yu'an remained silent, not looking at him, for a long time.

"We had no other choice..."

The wind blew in from the side of the alley, carrying the unique coolness of an early autumn night.

"From the very beginning?"

Zhao Yu'an nodded gently. "You haven't forgotten what your teacher said before he passed away, have you?"

Wang Tiangu snorted coldly, "Forgot? How could that be?"

"Good that you haven't forgotten. Let's continue according to the original plan."

Star Luo Grand Hotel, third floor.

Yun Jingheng gently closed the door, placed the bag in his hand on the table, and then leaped onto the bed.

After lying down for a while, he straightened up, sat cross-legged on the bed, and stretched his shoulders.

The storage bracelet lit up briefly.

A dark brown hardcover book appeared in his hands.

The room was lit with warm yellow light, much brighter than the streetlights and more realistic than the lighting in the exhibition hall.

Under this light, the texture of the cover was clearly visible. It was not ordinary leather, but a material he had never seen before. It felt somewhere between leather and metal, slightly cool to the touch, and the surface texture was fine and even, like some kind of synthetic product.

There was no text on the cover.

But those faint dark patterns became exceptionally clear under strong light.

Yun Jingheng turned the book over so that the cover faced the light, and squinted.

It was a miniature sculpture.

The entire cover depicts a battlefield scene.

Countless fine lines, as thin as hair, outline the collapsed city walls, broken weapons, and crawling figures; each stroke seems to have been carved with some kind of craftsmanship that surpasses the limits of human ability.

But Yun Jingheng's gaze hardly lingered on those battlefields, not because they were unimportant, but because the thing in the very center of the battlefield instantly captured all his attention.

A tower.

The tower is wider at the bottom and narrower at the top, presenting a highly oppressive tapering line from the base to the spire, like a sharp sword thrusting out from the depths of the earth, or a giant claw reaching out from the Abyss.

The top of the tower is so sharp it seems to pierce the sky. Within the tiny space of the miniature carving, the tip of the cone is so thin it is almost invisible, yet it is still so sharp that one dares not look directly at it.

The material of the tower is vividly depicted in the micro-sculpture; it is a dark blood-red substance somewhere between metal and bone, with fine textures faintly visible on its surface, resembling both the casting patterns of metal and the growth patterns of bone.

Even more bizarrely, those patterns were not static. Under the refraction of the light, Yun Jingheng almost had an illusion: something was slowly flowing on the surface of the tower, like blood, like energy, or like some kind of living, self-aware liquid.

Flowing light.

A dark red, blood-red glow.

They meander and spiral across the tower, flowing from the base to the top and then back down to the base, forming a never-ending cycle.

The longer Yun Jingheng stared at those streaks of light, the more he felt that they were not light, not energy, but blood.

It is the most concentrated essence remaining after countless lives have been squeezed, refined, and compressed.

His gaze followed the trail of light upwards, then stopped.

The tower is covered with bas-reliefs.

It's not an ordinary decorative relief; it's a demon mask.

The tower is covered with countless ghost faces, layer upon layer, embedded on every level and every side of the tower.

Some of the ghost faces are as big as a fist, while others are as small as a fingernail, but regardless of size, each face is lifelike, or rather, deathly lifeless.

Their mouths were agape, their eyes sunken, and the muscles in their faces contorted into a silent wail.

There was no sound, but Yun Jingheng could feel the ghostly faces howling and shrieking, emitting a kind of painful roar that transcended hearing and reached the depths of the soul.

They all have different shapes and sizes.

Some resembled young warriors, their faces resolute yet crumbling in the face of death.

Some resembled elderly people in their twilight years, their wrinkles etched with despair.

Some looked like children, their small faces filled with fears that didn't belong to their age.

But they have one thing in common—their eyes are empty.

It's not that the eyes weren't carved, but rather that the eye positions were deliberately left recessed, as if something had been forcibly dug out of the eye sockets.

And in the depths of those depressions, one can vaguely see Sisi fine blood-red lines, as if something had flowed from the eye sockets, leaving a permanent mark on the face.

Vengeful spirit.

The word flashed through Yun Jingheng's mind.

These are not ordinary reliefs.

These are vengeful spirits.

They are restless souls imprisoned in this tower.

They are solidified on the surface of the tower, becoming part of the tower, the source of its power, its weapons, and its fuel.

Yun Jingheng gently rubbed the book cover with his fingers, and after hesitating for a moment, he turned the page.

Title page: Blank.

Turn it over again.

The characters that came into view were in traditional Chinese characters, but they were very similar to the current script of the Sun Moon Federation, so there was no problem reading them.

At the top of the page, a line of large characters is centered, with strokes as sharp as if carved by a knife:

Design Concepts and Insights

Yun Jingheng looked at these four words and tilted his head slightly.

What exactly are concepts and insights?

He continued reading.

The first paragraph wasn't long, but every word was clearly printed on the yellowed pages:

"This Soul Tool is the culmination of my lifelong research in soul guidance. Its design philosophy is completely different from all other Soul Tool of the world. It does not pursue the intricacy of soul guidance arrays, but rather takes the concept of 'death' as its core—using death as its source, death as its medium, and death as its destination. On the day the tower was completed, all life within a hundred miles was extinguished. It has finally become Level 10 Soul Tool."

Level 10 Soul Tool.

Yun Jingheng's gaze lingered on those five words for a moment.

Level 10.

Level 10? Level 10 Soul Tool exist in this era?

I vaguely remember seeing something like that in the last era, and then it just disappeared?

Then his gaze fell on the bottom right corner of the page.

There's a signature there.

Three words.

Ye Xishui.

Yun Jingheng's finger stopped at the edge of the page, as if he had been paused.

Death God Douluo Ye Xishui?

So... this thing is...

Death, god, tower?

When those three words exploded in his mind, he felt his heart skip a beat.

He slammed the book shut.

The dark brown hardcover closed, and the dark red tower was once again hidden beneath subtle dark patterns.

Yun Jingheng placed the book on his lap, his hands pressed against the cover, his knuckles turning slightly white.

This thing shouldn't be in my hands.

He got out of bed and strode toward the door, but hesitated, his hand on the doorknob not pressing it.

What he held in his hand was a book about Level 10 Soul Tool.

Throughout the entire history of the Douluo Continent, there are only two such structures: the Death God Tower and the Silver Moon Divine Light Shield.

The Death God Tower was destroyed in an explosion ten thousand years ago, while the Silver Moon Divine Light Shield was damaged and its whereabouts are unknown.

For ten thousand years, countless Soul Engineer have attempted to reconstruct the theory and technology of Level 10 Soul Tool, but none have succeeded.

It wasn't because I wasn't smart enough, or because I didn't work hard enough; it was because all the data was gone.

a thousand years.

For a full ten thousand years, Level 10 Soul Tool existed only in history books, in the sighs of old scholars, and in research projects that attempted to recreate them but ultimately failed.

Now, Yun Jingheng looked down at the book in his hand.

One of the design blueprints is likely in his possession, even though it's the Death God Tower, known as a forbidden Soul Tool.

He had a million reasons in his mind to open the door right now, go out, find Cai Yue'er, and hand over the book.

Something no one has seen in ten thousand years: the design manuscript of Level 10 Soul Tool.

The Death God Douluo Ye Xishui's handwritten notes—every minute you keep this in your hands increases the risk.

But he didn't move.

It wasn't because of cowardice, nor because of greed, but because his mind was in turmoil.

He stood at the door for almost two minutes, then turned and went back inside.

It's not that I've decided not to pay.

He realized he needed a more compelling reason to hand over the item, rather than handing it over without knowing anything about it.

You haven't even finished reading what's written inside, what are you going to hand in?

When you hand it to Teacher Cai, she asks you, "What is this?" What do you say?

"I don't know, but it looks like the blueprints for the Death God Tower?"

You should at least know what this thing is, how much it's worth, whether it's poisonous, or whether it's a trap.

Yun Jingheng came up with a series of reasons in his mind, each one sounding reasonable, rational, and impeccable.

He sat back down on the edge of the bed and picked up the book again.

The dark brown hardcover glowed faintly under the warm yellow light, and the dark red tower was silently engraved on it, its grim face and blood-red light seemingly still slowly rotating.

Just take a look.

He repeated it to himself again.

Just take a look; it's not like looking at it will cause any trouble.

Just taking a look.

Open it.

I've already read "Design Concepts and Insights".

Turn it over.

Next page.

After Yun Jingheng glanced through it, he finally understood why the Death God Tower was called a forbidden Soul Tool.

This thing uses the souls of the dead as fuel, is based on evil, and aims at extinction, violating the basic ethics and laws of power in the Soul Master World.

Its energy source is blasphemous and contrary to the laws of nature.

It doesn't rely on conventional Soul Power or soul guidance arrays at all; instead, it directly devours, compresses, and enslaves vengeful spirits.

The key to its great success lies in the forced absorption of the vengeful spirits of hundreds of thousands of innocent victims into the tower, which serves as its core energy source.

Furthermore, in the ethics of Soul Master, plundering the souls of the dead and using the souls of the dead as motivation is the behavior of Evil Soul Master, which is regarded by the mainstream as blasphemy against life and going against the will of Heaven.

Moreover, its power is essentially a forbidden fusion of evil spirits and soul guides.

The Death God Tower forcibly combines the Evil Soul Master's ability to devour the undead with top-tier Soul Guidance Technology.

The resulting effect is a combination of high-temperature, high-pressure Soul Power, vengeful spirit curses, and mental erosion.

With a range of 5000 meters, Titled Douluo would be severely injured if it grazed past.

Furthermore, the vengeful spirits devour life force and assault the Sea of Spirit, ignoring the defenses of conventional Soul Master.

Mainstream Soul Tool prioritize stability, controllability, and non-harm to the soul, while the Death God Tower is purely about killing, uncontrollable, and dedicated to destroying souls, thus falling under the dual taboo of technology and ethics.

A single strike can instantly kill hundreds of Soul Saint and severely injure Super Douluo.

It absorbs the life force and Soul Power of any living being it kills, growing stronger with each kill.

Such indiscriminate and uncontrollable extinction-level Soul Tool, once out of control, would destroy the entire continent's order; it would be strange if they weren't listed as absolute taboos.

But!

You can deny the tower's purpose, but you cannot deny its design.

This thing deals high damage with its left hand and high damage with its right hand.

Yun Jingheng solemnly reopened the most crucial part of the book—the section containing the design blueprints for the Death God Tower.

He didn't plan to hand it over to Cai Yue'er. Who knows what might happen if this thing left his hands? It's better to let it... "die" in his hands.

At least... wait until I finish my research?