Tang San's Failure

Flender felt Tang San deserved a chance. It wasn't charity or pity, but the basic care a teacher owed his student.

The other four had all proven themselves. Four strange men who had dropped from the sky had claimed to the entire Shrek Academy, through four utterly one-sided victories, that they weren't useless slackers.

Tang San wanted to prove himself too. Ever since those four had arrived at the academy, he'd been ground into the dirt. Han Li called him weak, Xiao Yan called him a floor tile, Shi Hao said he was no help, and Wang Lin couldn't even be bothered to give him a second glance.

His teammates in the Shrek Seven Devils hadn't said it outright, but Tang San could sense that subtle distance: "Third Brother, you're a good person, but you really are kind of annoying."

Even Xiao Wu had said, "Third Brother, you're just the kind of person people find annoying."

Tang San refused to accept it.

When Flender found Tang San, he was pounding a wooden post on the training field.

Flender stood beside him and watched for a while. Only after Tang San had thrown his hundredth punch did he speak. "Little San, tomorrow you'll have a match against Dai Mubai."

Tang San turned his head, sweat still clinging to his face, and stared in surprise. "Boss Dai?"

Flender nodded.

Tang San fell silent for a moment, then clenched his still-reddened fists. His voice was quiet but firm. "All right."

As Tang San walked back to the dormitory, his thoughts churned.

Dai Mubai, the Evil-Eyed White Tiger, a thirty-ninth-level Power Attack System Battle Soul Master, the highest-ranked and strongest fighter among the Shrek Seven Devils.

White Tiger Rending Heaven, White Tiger Intense Light Wave, White Tiger Vajra Transformation—three Soul Skills that combined offense and defense, with almost no weaknesses.

But Tang San wasn't desperate. It wasn't as if he had no trump cards: the Tang Sect Secret Arts, the Mysterious Heaven Skill, the Purple Demon Eye, the Mysterious Jade Hand, Controlling Crane Capturing Dragon, and Ghost Shadow Perplexing Track. Each of the five techniques had its own strengths.

He also had Hidden Weapons, a Soul Bone, and his own Martial Soul.

Tang San clenched his fists. This was his chance to prove himself.

The next day, Tang San stood on the east side of the training field, while Dai Mubai stood on the west. Their eyes met.

Tang San struck first. Ghost Shadow Perplexing Track—a Tang Sect Secret Art, its footwork exquisite, his movements elusive. Three afterimages streaked across the field, lunging at Dai Mubai from three directions at once.

He'd used this move against Han Li before. Though he'd been trapped by a formation, Dai Mubai didn't know formations. Dai Mubai stood still, the pupils of the Evil-Eyed White Tiger narrowing slightly as he tried to pick out the real one. Too fast.

Tang San's true form appeared behind Dai Mubai. Mysterious Jade Hand—his palm was like jade, concealing the force of a thousand jun. He slapped Dai Mubai in the back, his palm landing squarely between his shoulders.

Dai Mubai's body rocked, and he stumbled one step forward. Tang San's heart leapt. The first strike had landed; the second followed right on its heels. His Mysterious Jade Hands rained down in a flurry. This was Tang San's specialty: close-quarters combat, chaining strike after strike, each one aimed at Dai Mubai's vitals.

Dai Mubai was somewhat dazed by the barrage of palm strikes—not because he couldn't block them, but because Tang San was too fast. His Martial Soul didn't even have time to fully manifest.

The corners of Tang San's mouth lifted slightly. This might work! I really can hit Dai Mubai. I really can keep him on the back foot!

Then Dai Mubai released his Martial Soul. White Tiger Vajra Transformation, his third Soul Skill. His defense surged, his strength soared, and white Soul Power armor covered his entire body. Tang San's Mysterious Jade Hand struck the armor with a metallic clang. His palms went numb from the impact, but Dai Mubai didn't even sway anymore.

Tang San's expression changed. The Mysterious Jade Hand couldn't break through his defense. He immediately switched tactics: Controlling Crane Capturing Dragon. He grasped at the air with both hands, an invisible force pulling Dai Mubai toward him. At the same time, Eight Spider Lances burst from his back. Eight purplish-black spears gleamed with a cold sheen in the sunlight, each one sharp as a needle.

Tang San's trump card was laid bare. The Eight Spider Lances stabbed toward Dai Mubai all at once, sealing off every avenue of escape.

Dai Mubai didn't dodge. In his White Tiger Vajra Transformation state, he had no need to. He reached out and caught two of the lances stabbing toward his chest, then bent them with all his strength. They bowed, but didn't break.

Dai Mubai frowned. These things were tougher than he'd expected. Tang San seized the chance to drive the remaining six lances into Dai Mubai's body. They hit, but the White Tiger Vajra Transformation's defense was too strong. The lances pierced less than an inch before getting caught in the armor.

Tang San gritted his teeth and tried to inject poison. The venom in the lances was enough to paralyze a thousand-year Soul Beast.

Dai Mubai gave him no chance. He released one of the lances with his right hand, clenched his fist, and punched Tang San in the chest. It was a heavy blow. Tang San felt as though he'd been struck by a hammer, and a metallic sweetness surged up his throat.

But he didn't let go. The Eight Spider Lances dug in even deeper. He couldn't let go. If he did, he'd truly lose. Dai Mubai frowned and punched him again, even harder.

Tang San's body arched backward. The Eight Spider Lances gouged deep furrows into the ground, but he still didn't let go. Dai Mubai's frown deepened. He didn't like beating someone who refused to fall.

Tang San changed tactics again. Blue Silver Grass—vines erupted wildly from the ground, wrapping around Dai Mubai's legs, waist, and arms. The Blue Silver Grass was far tougher than ordinary Blue Silver Grass. Dai Mubai struggled, but to his surprise, he couldn't break free.

Tang San saw a glimmer of hope. Maybe he could win. Maybe he really could. He poured all his Soul Power into the Eight Spider Lances, driving all eight forward at once in an attempt to pierce the White Tiger Vajra Transformation's defenses.

Dai Mubai sighed and struck Tang San in the chest with his palm. This time, he used all his strength. The Eight Spider Lances shattered, purplish-black fragments scattering through the air like broken butterflies. Tang San's pupils contracted violently. The Eight Spider Lances—his External Soul Bone, his proudest trump card—had shattered.

The force of the palm strike passed through the broken lances and slammed squarely into Tang San's chest. He spat blood and flew through the air like a kite with its strings cut, crashing heavily to the ground and sliding several feet before stopping.

Dai Mubai withdrew his Martial Soul and stood where he was, looking at Tang San sprawled on the ground. There was no smugness or mockery in his eyes, only a complicated sense of apology.

Tang San climbed to his feet. Blood covered the corners of his mouth, and a large patch of his shirt was stained red. The aftereffects of the shattered Eight Spider Lances made his back feel as though it were on fire.

Dai Mubai looked at him. "Tang San, you're strong. But your Martial Souls, Blue Silver Grass and the Eight Spider Lances, are ultimately acquired from external sources. They can't compare to a born Power Attack System Martial Soul."

Tang San shook his head, his voice hoarse but firm. "I haven't lost yet."

Dai Mubai frowned and struck him with another palm. Tang San flew out again. He got up, only to be sent flying once more. He climbed to his feet again, and was knocked down again.

Oscar couldn't bear to watch from the sidelines. "Tang San, stop fighting! You'll die!"

Tang San climbed to his feet. Blood smeared his chin, and the wound on his chest had split open again. Every step felt like walking on the tip of a blade. "I refuse to accept it!"

The third time, the fifth time, the tenth time.

When Tang San fell to the ground for the tenth time, he couldn't get back up. He lay on his side, his cheek pressed against the cold stone slabs. The sunlight on his face was painfully bright. His Eight Spider Lances were shattered, his Blue Silver Grass had withered, and the Soul Power from his Mysterious Heaven Skill was spent. There wasn't a single part of him that didn't hurt.

He stared at the sky. It was blue, the clouds were white, and a bird flew past. Tears slid silently from the corners of his eyes and into his ears, cool against his skin.

Tang San wanted to sob aloud, but his throat felt blocked by something and no sound came out. He wanted to shout, "Resurrect, My Love," but suddenly realized that even if he did, no one could resurrect him, because he'd never truly died. He had only kept failing, again and again.

The four watched from the stands. Han Li's expression remained blank. His gaze rested on Tang San for a few seconds before moving away. He spoke in a voice as flat as if he were commenting on the weather. "Good willpower, but not enough strength, and your approach to cultivation has problems too. You rely too much on external aids and neglect your own foundations."

Xiao Yan folded his arms, lifting his chin slightly. There was no mockery in his tone, only matter-of-factness. "A floor tile is still a floor tile. What's there to say?"

For once, Shi Hao didn't shout "Arbitrary Eternity." He tilted his head and studied Tang San lying on the ground, then gave his analysis with complete seriousness. "His fighting style is too flashy. Palm techniques, footwork, Hidden Weapons, spider lances—he seems to know everything, but he's mastered none of it. He isn't focused enough."

Wang Lin leaned against the wall with his eyes closed. He hadn't opened them once from beginning to end. When Tang San fell for the tenth time, he finally spoke. His voice was quiet, but everyone heard him clearly. "This deity pities him."

The four showed a rare understanding. This time, they didn't mock him; they only stated the facts. What they didn't know was that simply stating the facts hurt Tang San more than mockery ever could.

Mockery at least meant you were worth mocking. Simply stating the facts meant you weren't even worth that.

Tang San heard them. He heard every word, but said nothing in reply, because he had no answer. Han Li was right: he relied too much on external aids. Xiao Yan was right: he really was a floor tile. Shi Hao was right: his fighting style really was flashy. Wang Lin was right: he really was pitiful.

Tang San closed his eyes and listened to the sound of his own heartbeat.

Once, twice, three times.

He remembered so many things: in his previous life, he'd secretly learned the Tang Sect's inner-door techniques, and when the elders discovered him, he'd leapt off a cliff to prove his resolve. In those years, he'd thought he was a genius.

After transmigrating to the Douluo Continent, he'd awakened the Blue Silver Grass Martial Soul and been mocked by everyone. He'd relied on the Mysterious Heaven Skill and Hidden Weapons to claw his way to where he was today. In those years, he'd thought he was a genius.

The first time he met Xiao Wu, the first time he used the Eight Spider Lances, the first time he defeated Zhao Wuji—in all those years, he'd thought he was a genius.

He'd always been trying to prove himself, always comparing himself to others, always telling everyone, "I'm not useless. I'm a genius."

Maybe Xiao Wu was right: "You've been weak for ages." Maybe Flender was right: geniuses were all oddballs. Maybe Dai Mubai was right: in life, there would always be someone even more freakish than you.

Tang San opened his eyes and wiped away the tears on his face. Bracing himself against the ground, he slowly sat up. The sunlight on his face was warm. He lowered his head and looked at his hands—hands that had practiced Hidden Weapons and palm techniques, hands that had learned countless ways to kill.

But he'd never practiced the most basic things: the fundamental ways Soul Power flowed, the most basic methods of tempering the body, or the simplest, most direct forms of combat.

He suddenly understood. He'd relied too much on cheats. The Tang Sect Secret Arts were a cheat, the Eight Spider Lances were a cheat, Hidden Weapons were a cheat, and even the Purple Demon Eye was a cheat.

He'd built a seemingly powerful version of himself with cheats, but that wall was hollow; one shove was all it took to topple it. Han Li didn't need cheats—he'd studied his formations himself. Xiao Yan didn't need cheats—he'd risked his life to obtain his Heavenly Flames. Shi Hao didn't need cheats—he'd built his strength one punch at a time. Wang Lin didn't need cheats—he'd comprehended the Dao of Causality over countless years.

Only he, Tang San, had always relied on cheats to get by, always thought he was a genius, when in truth, he was just an ordinary person with better luck.

Tang San took a deep breath. He decided to admit that he was weak—not because he'd resigned himself to fate, but because he'd finally seen himself clearly. He would start over, from the most basic things: Soul Power, physical conditioning, combat skills. He would hone each one anew.

He could set the Tang Sect Secret Arts aside for now. The Eight Spider Lances had shattered, which was just as well; now he wouldn't have to rely on them. Hidden Weapons could be a trump card, but they couldn't be his main weapon.

What he needed to train was himself—Tang San himself. Not the Mysterious Heaven Skill, not the Eight Spider Lances, not any other cheat.

Tang San stood up, brushed the dust off his clothes, and walked out of the training field. Xiao Wu hurried after him through the crowd, watching his retreating back with concern.

Third Brother had taken a heavy blow this time, harder than any before. She hurried after him and stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

"Third Brother, are you okay?" Xiao Wu asked softly.

Tang San looked at Xiao Wu and shook his head. "I'm fine."

Xiao Wu stared into his eyes for a long time, searching for the familiar red rims and damp corners, but they weren't there. Tang San's eyes were clear, like a mountain stream, without a single tear.

Xiao Wu asked in surprise, "You didn't cry?"

Tang San fell silent for a moment, then said something that didn't sound like him at all. "Crying won't help."

Xiao Wu froze. That didn't sound like something Tang San would say—not the Tang San who was always saying, "Resurrect, My Love."

She asked cautiously, "Are you really okay?" Tang San nodded and answered earnestly, "I'm really fine. I just figured some things out."

Xiao Wu pressed him. "What things?"

Tang San gazed into the distance and remained silent for a long time. The sun was setting, and the clouds on the horizon had been dyed gold and crimson. It was beautiful. His voice was so soft that Xiao Wu had to strain to hear him. "I always thought I was a genius, but Han Li, Xiao Yan, Shi Hao, and Wang Lin showed me that I'm not. I don't have their talent, their opportunities, or their..."

Tang San paused, as if searching for the right word. "Their purity."

Xiao Wu grew anxious. "Third Brother, even if you're not a genius, you're still good! You work hard, you're diligent, you're kind, and you treat everyone well."

Tang San smiled and shook his head. He didn't disagree; he'd finally made peace with it. "I know. But hard work and diligence aren't excuses. They're things everyone who wants to grow stronger should be doing."