The alley was so quiet they could hear their own heartbeats.
Chen Xin looked at Ning Rongrong, the worry in his eyes slowly turning complicated.
"You're not coming back?" he repeated, his voice soft. "Do you know how worried your father is? Do you know how many days the whole sect has spent searching for you?"
Ning Rongrong lowered her head and bit her lip.
Chen Xin took a step forward. Yang Wudi's spearpoint moved with him, never wavering from his chest.
He stopped and looked at Yang Wudi.
"Boy from the Breaking Clan," he said, "are you really going to stop me?"
Yang Wudi grinned.
"Level 96 Title Douluo," he said. "I've never fought one in my life."
Chen Xin fell silent for a second, then slowly reached behind him and gripped the hilt of his sword.
The Seven Kill Sword slid from its sheath.
Its blade was long and slender, silver-white from hilt to tip, with a faint glow rippling along its edge. Nine Spirit Rings rose from beneath his feet—yellow, yellow, purple, purple, black, black, black, black, black—and slowly revolved around him.
The pressure of his aura made it hard to breathe.
Ning Rongrong's face paled. She had seen Grandpa Sword fight before, but never from this close. His oppressive presence felt like a mountain pressing down on her chest.
Yang Wudi's eyes, however, lit up.
"Good!" he roared. His Soul Breaking Spear trembled, and all eight of his Spirit Rings blazed to life.
Without the slightest hesitation, he thrust his spear.
Fast.
Fast as a streak of light.
The shrill whistle of the spear tore through the air as its point shot straight for Chen Xin's throat.
Chen Xin didn't move.
When the spearpoint was three inches from him, he moved.
The Seven Kill Sword swept gently across.
Clang—
Sparks flew in all directions.
Yang Wudi's spear was knocked aside, and he staggered back two steps.
Chen Xin didn't pursue. He remained where he was, looking at Yang Wudi with a slight frown.
"Rank 83," he said. "You've got some nerve, daring to attack me."
Yang Wudi steadied himself and grinned.
"If you don't have nerve, how are you supposed to fight?"
He charged again.
This thrust was faster and fiercer than the last. The spear left a streaking afterimage in the air as it drove straight for Chen Xin's heart.
Chen Xin turned aside, letting the spearpoint pass, and swept the Seven Kill Sword diagonally downward.
Yang Wudi pulled back his spear and raised it to block.
Sword met spear with another crisp clang.
The impact sent Yang Wudi stumbling back three steps. His hand went numb.
But he didn't retreat.
The third thrust.
The fourth.
The fifth.
One thrust followed another, relentless as a rising tide. Every strike was made with all his strength, with no thought of leaving himself a way back.
Chen Xin deflected them one by one.
His sword wasn't fast, but every movement was perfectly timed. No matter how fast Yang Wudi's spear was, it couldn't reach him.
The alley rang with a rapid barrage of metal clashing against metal.
Clang, clang, clang, clang, clang—
Ning Rongrong stared, afraid to even blink.
She saw Yang Wudi drenched in sweat, his muscles taut, every thrust made with all his strength. She saw Chen Xin at ease, his sword flowing like clouds and water, unhurried and smooth.
She saw the gulf between them.
Rank 83 and Rank 96.
A Soul Douluo and a Title Douluo.
A full thirteen ranks apart.
Yang Wudi suddenly stopped.
He stood there, panting heavily, his hand trembling around his spear.
Chen Xin looked at him, a trace of admiration in his eyes.
"Not bad," he said. "Among the Soul Douluo I've met, you'd rank in the top three."
Yang Wudi laughed.
His smile was a little pained, but genuine.
"Rank 96," he said. "You really are too strong for me."
He glanced back at Zhang Mo.
"Boy, watch closely," he said. "This is the Breaking Clan's final thrust."
He turned to face Chen Xin.
His hand gripping the spear no longer trembled.
He stood straight as a spear himself.
Chen Xin's expression changed.
He could feel that this thrust was different.
Yang Wudi moved.
Not fast, but slow.
So slow that every step could be seen clearly. So slow it seemed time itself had frozen.
Yet the force of his presence grew stronger and stronger.
Chen Xin tightened his grip on the Seven Kill Sword.
The spear shot forward.
This time, there was no whistle.
Silent.
It had reached the extreme of speed—and beyond that, there was no sound.
Chen Xin's pupils narrowed slightly.
The Seven Kill Sword rose across his chest.
Clang—
The ringing blow was louder than any of the clashes before it.
Fragments of stone shook loose from the walls on either side of the alley.
Yang Wudi's spear struck the blade of the Seven Kill Sword.
The shaft bent into an arc.
Then it snapped.
The Soul Breaking Spear broke in two.
The front half flew away and embedded itself in the wall, humming without end.
Yang Wudi stood frozen, staring at the half of the spear left in his hand.
Chen Xin lowered his sword and looked at him.
"The Breaking Clan's spear lives up to its name," he said. "Too bad your rank isn't high enough."
Yang Wudi was silent for a few seconds, then suddenly laughed.
He tossed aside the broken half of the spear and looked at Chen Xin.
"I lost."
Chen Xin nodded.
Yang Wudi turned and walked to the wall, then sat down against it.
He looked at Zhang Mo and grinned.
"Boy, I'm leaving this to you."
Zhang Mo didn't say anything.
Chen Xin's gaze fell on him.
He studied Zhang Mo for several seconds, then looked past him at Ning Rongrong.
Ning Rongrong clutched Zhang Mo's sleeve so tightly her knuckles had gone white.
Chen Xin noticed.
His expression changed.
"Rongrong," he said, "come here."
Ning Rongrong shook her head.
Chen Xin fell silent for a second, then stepped forward.
Zhang Mo moved in front of Ning Rongrong.
Chen Xin stopped and looked at him.
"You're Zhang Mo?"
Zhang Mo nodded.
Chen Xin stared at him for a long time.
"Rongrong refuses to come back," he said. "Is it because of you?"
Zhang Mo thought for a moment, then said:
"Yes."
Chen Xin's hand tightened around the hilt of his sword.
Ning Rongrong panicked and rushed out from behind Zhang Mo, placing herself in front of him.
"Grandpa Sword! It's not his fault!"
Chen Xin looked at her, his expression complicated.
"Rongrong, move aside."
Ning Rongrong shook her head, tears already welling in her eyes.
"Grandpa Sword, please listen to me—"
"Move," Chen Xin said, his voice sinking.
Ning Rongrong didn't budge.
She stood in front of Zhang Mo like a mother hen protecting her chick.
Chen Xin looked at her—at her red-rimmed eyes and her refusal to back down, at the unspoken something between her and that man.
He suddenly sighed.
The Seven Kill Sword slid back into its sheath.
"Three days," he said. "I'll give you three days."
Ning Rongrong froze.
Chen Xin looked at her.
"In three days, tell me whether you're coming back with me."
He turned and headed for the mouth of the alley.
After walking a few steps, he stopped and said without looking back:
"I'll be staying nearby for those three days."
His figure disappeared at the end of the alley.
Sunlight spilled in, falling on the stunned Ning Rongrong, on Yang Wudi as he sat against the wall catching his breath, and on Zhang Mo.
The alley was quiet, with only the wind for company.
Yang Wudi suddenly chuckled.
"Interesting," he said. "A Title Douluo with a soft heart."
He stood up, picked up the broken half of the Soul Breaking Spear, looked at the snapped end, and sighed.
"What a shame about my spear."
Ning Rongrong was still standing there, motionless.
Zhang Mo walked over and stood beside her.
She suddenly turned and threw herself into his arms.
Her whole body trembled as she sobbed.
Zhang Mo held her and gently patted her back.
Sunlight bathed them both.
Yang Wudi glanced at them, curled his lip, and carried the broken spear toward the building.
"I'll head upstairs first," he said. "You two can take your time hugging."
Ning Rongrong ignored him.
She clung to Zhang Mo for a long time.
When she finally finished crying, she lifted her head and looked at him.
Her eyes were swollen, and tears still streaked her face.
"Zhang Mo."
"Hmm?"
"Grandpa Sword said he'd give me three days."
Zhang Mo nodded.
She looked at him, her eyes reddening again.
"What am I supposed to do three days from now?"
Zhang Mo thought for a moment, then said:
"Whatever you want."
Ning Rongrong stared at him, tears welling up again.
"Aren't you afraid I'll go back with him?"
Zhang Mo fell silent for a few seconds, then said:
"I am."
Ning Rongrong froze.
Zhang Mo looked at her, his eyes calm.
"But that's up to you," he said. "You have to choose for yourself."
Ning Rongrong stared at him for a long time.
Then, suddenly, she smiled.
As she smiled, tears streamed down her face again.
She reached out and tugged at his sleeve.
"Zhang Mo."
"Hmm?"
"I've made my choice."
Zhang Mo looked at her.
She lifted her head, her eyes shining.
"Three days from now, I'll tell him."
Yang Wudi returned upstairs, tossed the two broken halves of the Soul Breaking Spear into the corner, and plopped down on the sofa.
Ning Rongrong followed him inside. Her eyes were still red, but she'd stopped crying.
Zhang Mo went to the kitchen to boil water and make tea.
Yang Wudi stared at the two broken halves of the spear in the corner for a long time, then suddenly said:
"Kid."
Ning Rongrong looked up at him.
Yang Wudi said, "What did you make of that sword strike from your Grandpa Sword?"
Ning Rongrong thought for a moment, then said, "He didn't use all his strength."
Yang Wudi nodded.
"He didn't use all his strength," he repeated. "A level ninety-six against a level eighty-three, and he didn't even use half his power."
He paused, then added:
"Do you know what that means?"
Ning Rongrong shook her head.
"It means if he wanted to kill me, one strike would be enough."
Ning Rongrong fell silent.
Yang Wudi leaned back on the sofa and gazed at the ceiling.
"I've practiced spear techniques for fifty years," he said. "The Breaking Clan's spear art can only be passed down to one person in each generation. I took over as clan leader at thirty, broke through to Soul Douluo at forty, and reached level eighty-three at fifty. I thought that even if I couldn't beat a Titled Douluo in my lifetime, I could at least make it a fight to the death."
He smiled, but it was a bitter smile.
"Only today did I learn how much of a difference thirteen levels can make."
Zhang Mo came out carrying tea and poured him a cup.
Yang Wudi took it and had a sip, then bared his teeth at the scalding heat.
"What is this stuff?"
"Tea."
Yang Wudi stared at the brown liquid in his cup and frowned.
"Is this what people around here drink?"
"Yeah," Zhang Mo said.
Yang Wudi took another sip, this time tasting it slowly.
"Not bad," he said. "A little bitter, but I can live with it."
He put down his cup and looked at Zhang Mo.
"Kid, what are you planning to do?"
"Wait three days," Zhang Mo said.
"What for?"
"To wait for her to make up her mind."
Yang Wudi glanced at Ning Rongrong, then at Zhang Mo, and suddenly smiled.
"Interesting," he said. "I think I've got you figured out. You really don't care whether you live or die."
Zhang Mo said nothing.
Yang Wudi stood up and went to the window, looking outside.
"If that little girl says she's staying three days from now, your Grandpa Sword will definitely come looking for you," he said without turning around. "Can you take him?"
"Even if I can't, I'll have to."
Yang Wudi turned and looked at him.
"What are you after?"
Zhang Mo thought for a moment, then said:
"Nothing."
Yang Wudi stared at him for a few seconds, then burst into loud laughter.
His laughter made the windows rattle.
"Interesting!" he said. "Very interesting!"
He walked back to the sofa, sat down, and picked up his teacup for another sip.
"All right," he said. "I'll keep an eye on things for these three days. If your Grandpa Sword sneaks in at night to spirit her away, I'll stop him."
Ning Rongrong glared at him. "Grandpa Sword would never sneak anyone away!"
Yang Wudi let out a couple of chuckles but said nothing.
At dusk, Zhang Mo went out to buy groceries.
Ning Rongrong stood by the window, watching his back disappear at the mouth of the alley. Then she suddenly said:
"Uncle Yang."
Yang Wudi paused and looked up at her.
Ning Rongrong didn't turn around. She kept looking outside.
"Where do you think Grandpa Sword is staying out there by himself?"
"A Titled Douluo can stay wherever he likes."
"Oh." She fell silent for a few seconds, then asked, "Has he eaten?"
Yang Wudi rolled his eyes.
"Kid, your Grandpa Sword's level ninety-six. He won't starve to death after a few days without food."
Ning Rongrong said nothing.
But she remained by the window, gazing outside.
Yang Wudi watched her, then suddenly sighed.
"If you want to go find him, go ahead," he said. "I'll keep an eye on Zhang Mo."
Ning Rongrong shook her head.
"He won't let me go."
Yang Wudi was taken aback. "Who won't? Zhang Mo?"
"I won't let myself go."
She turned around and looked at Yang Wudi.
"If I go, he'll ask me whether I've made up my mind. I haven't. What am I supposed to say?"
Yang Wudi fell silent.
Ning Rongrong went back to the sofa and sat down, wrapping her arms around her knees and burying her face in them.
Her voice came out muffled.
"I miss Dad, Grandpa Sword, and Grandpa Bone. I miss the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect, my bed, and all the people who've looked after me since I was little."
She paused.
"But I also want to stay."
Yang Wudi said nothing.
Ning Rongrong raised her head and looked at him, her eyes red.
"Uncle Yang, what do you think I should do?"
Yang Wudi was silent for a long time.
Then he reached out and patted her on the head.
"What should you do?" he said. "Figure it out yourself."
Ning Rongrong froze.
Yang Wudi said, "It's your decision. None of us can make it for you."
He stood up, went over to the corner, and picked up the two broken halves of the spear, examining the break.
"When I took over as clan leader, I asked myself what I should do, too. My father had just died, the clan was in chaos, and people outside wanted to swallow up the Breaking Clan. I asked my master, and he told me the same thing—figure it out yourself."
He turned around and looked at Ning Rongrong.
"I thought about it for three days. Then I decided to kill. I killed five Spirit Saints and three Soul Douluos who'd come to attack us. After that, no one dared to covet the Breaking Clan again."
Ning Rongrong stared at him, eyes wide.
"I'm not telling you to kill anyone," Yang Wudi said. "I'm telling you to make your own decision. Once you've made it, don't regret it."
Ning Rongrong lowered her head and looked at the floor.
After a long while, she said softly:
"I'm afraid I'll choose wrong."
"If you choose wrong, change your mind. If you can't, then bear it. If you can't bear it, then die. What's there to be afraid of?"
Ning Rongrong looked up at him.
Yang Wudi's face was calm, as if he were talking about something perfectly ordinary.
She suddenly remembered what Zhang Mo had said—
If you can't run, stand your ground. If you can't hold them off, die.
She bit her lip and slowly stood up.
"I've made up my mind," she said.
Yang Wudi looked at her.
Ning Rongrong said, "Three days from now, I'll tell Grandpa Sword I'm not going back."
Yang Wudi froze, then smiled.
"You're sure?"
Ning Rongrong nodded.
"I'm sure."
Just then, footsteps sounded outside the door.
Zhang Mo pushed it open, carrying groceries.
He saw the two of them standing face-to-face and paused.
"What's going on?"
Ning Rongrong ran over and threw her arms around him.
Zhang Mo nearly toppled over from the force of her hug, and the groceries fell from his hands.
"Rongrong?"
Ning Rongrong buried her face against his chest, her voice muffled.
"It's nothing."
Zhang Mo looked down at her, then glanced at Yang Wudi.
Yang Wudi shrugged and turned to pick up the groceries from the floor.
"Don't ask me," he said. "I don't know."
Ning Rongrong held on to Zhang Mo for a long time.
Then she let go and crouched down to help him pick up the groceries.
Zhang Mo crouched down too.
They picked them up together, their fingers brushing.
Ning Rongrong looked up at him. Her face flushed, but she didn't pull her hand away.
Yang Wudi watched them and rolled his eyes.
"Enough, enough," he said. "Hurry up and cook. I'm starving."
He carried the groceries into the kitchen.
Ning Rongrong stood up and followed him.
When she reached the kitchen doorway, she suddenly turned back and looked at Zhang Mo.
"Zhang Mo."
"Hmm?"
"In three days, I'll tell Grandpa Sword I'm not going back."
Zhang Mo looked at her.
She stood in the kitchen doorway, the setting sun shining through the window and dyeing her hair gold.
Her eyes sparkled, and a faint blush still lingered on her face.
He gazed into those eyes in silence for a few seconds, then said:
"Okay."
Ning Rongrong smiled.
Her smile was more beautiful than the sunset.
She turned and went into the kitchen. Yang Wudi's booming voice rang out from inside:
"Little girl, hand me that scallion!"
"This one?"
"Not that one, the thin one!"
"This one?"
"That's it! Give it here!"
Zhang Mo stood in the living room, listening to the sounds from the kitchen, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.
He walked to the window and looked outside.
The sun was sinking, painting the horizon orange-red.
In the distance, a figure stood on a rooftop, his white robe billowing in the wind.
Chen Xin.
He stood there, looking this way.
Across several hundred meters, their eyes met.
Chen Xin watched him for a few seconds, then turned and disappeared from the rooftop.
Zhang Mo looked away and gazed at the sunset outside.
Three days left.
Before you continue