Tang San's Failure

Flender felt that he should give Tang San a chance—not out of charity or pity, but as a teacher's basic concern for his student.

The other four had all proven themselves; four oddities who descended from the sky, using four victories devoid of suspense to declare to the entire Shrek Academy that they were not layabouts here to waste time.

Tang San also wanted to prove himself. Ever since those four arrived at the academy, he had been constantly ground into the dirt. Han Li said he was weak, Xiao Yan called him a floor tile, Shi Hao said he was useless, and Wang Lin couldn't even be bothered to spare him a second glance.

Although his teammates in the Shrek Seven Devils didn't say it outright, Tang San could feel that subtle alienation: "Third Brother, you're a good person, but you're really a bit annoying."

Even Xiao Wu had said it: Third Brother, you just have an annoying personality.

Tang San refused to accept it.

When Flender found Tang San, he was hitting a wooden stake in the training field.

Flender stood by and watched for a while, waiting until Tang San finished his hundredth punch before speaking: "Little San, spar with Dai Mubai tomorrow."

Tang San turned his head, sweat still clinging to his face, and froze for a moment: "Boss Dai?"

Flender nodded.

Tang San was silent for a moment, clenching his still-reddened fist, his voice quiet but firm: "Alright."

Walking back to the dormitory, Tang San's mind raced.

Dai Mubai, Evil-Eyed White Tiger, a thirty-ninth-level power attack system battle soul master, the highest-leveled and strongest combatant among the Shrek Seven Devils.

White Tiger Rending Heaven, White Tiger Intense Light Wave, White Tiger Vajra Transformation—his three soul skills combined offense and defense, leaving almost no weaknesses.

But Tang San did not despair, for he was not without trump cards. The Tang Sect's peerless arts—Mysterious Heaven Skill, Purple Demon Eye, Mysterious Jade Hand, Controlling Crane Capturing Dragon, and Ghost Shadow Perplexing Track—each had its own strengths.

There were also his hidden weapons, his External Soul Bone, and his own martial soul.

Tang San clenched his fist; this was his chance to prove himself.

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

Tang San struck first. Using Ghost Shadow Perplexing Track, a peerless Tang Sect footwork technique, his movements were elusive and ethereal. Tang San's figure left three afterimages on the field, lunging at Dai Mubai from three directions simultaneously.

He had used this move against Han Li before; although he had been trapped by a formation then, Dai Mubai knew no such formations. Dai Mubai stood his ground, his Evil-Eyed White Tiger pupils slightly constricting as he tried to discern the real body—it was too fast.

Tang San's true form appeared behind Dai Mubai. With Mysterious Jade Hand, his palms as clear as jade and hiding the strength of a Thousand Jun, he struck Dai Mubai's back, the blow landing solidly.

Dai Mubai's body swayed, his footing unsteady as he took a step forward. Tang San felt a surge of joy; having landed the first hit, the second followed immediately. He struck repeatedly with Mysterious Jade Hand—this was Tang San's specialty, close-quarters entanglement, palm after palm, never leaving Dai Mubai's vitals.

Dai Mubai was somewhat dazed by this barrage of strikes, not because he couldn't block them, but because Tang San's speed was so fast that his martial soul couldn't even fully manifest.

The corners of Tang San's mouth curled up slightly. There was a chance! He could actually hit Dai Mubai; he could actually suppress him!

Then, Dai Mubai released his martial soul. White Tiger Vajra Transformation, his third soul skill, caused his defense and strength to skyrocket. A white armor of soul power covered his entire body. Tang San's Mysterious Jade Hand struck that armor with the sound of clashing metal, his palms vibrating until they went numb, but Dai Mubai didn't even sway.

Tang San's expression changed. Mysterious Jade Hand couldn't break the defense, so he immediately switched tactics. Using Controlling Crane Capturing Dragon, his hands grasped at the air, an invisible suction pulling Dai Mubai toward him. At the same time, his Eight Spider Lances erupted from his back, the eight purple-black limbs shimmering with a cold, eerie luster under the sun, each as sharp as a needle.

Tang San's trump card was revealed. The Eight Spider Lances stabbed at Dai Mubai simultaneously, sealing off all his room to dodge.

Dai Mubai didn't dodge; in his White Tiger Vajra Transformation state, he didn't need to. He reached out, grabbed two of the lances stabbing toward his chest, and bent them with force. They bent, but did not break.

Dai Mubai frowned; this thing was sturdier than he had imagined. Tang San seized the opportunity to stab the remaining six lances into Dai Mubai. They hit, but the defense of the White Tiger Vajra Transformation was too strong; the lances only pierced less than an inch before being caught by the armor.

Tang San gritted his teeth, trying to inject his poison—the toxin of the Eight Spider Lances was enough to paralyze a thousand-year soul beast.

Dai Mubai didn't give him the chance. He released the lances with his right hand, balled it into a fist, and smashed it into Tang San's chest. The blow was heavy; Tang San felt as if his chest had been struck by a hammer, and a sweet, bloody taste surged into his throat.

But he didn't let go; the Eight Spider Lances actually pierced deeper. He couldn't let go—if he did, he would truly lose. Dai Mubai frowned and threw another punch, even heavier than the last.

Tang San's body arched backward, the Eight Spider Lances carving deep furrows into the ground, but he still didn't let go. Dai Mubai's brow furrowed even tighter; he didn't like fighting someone who refused to fall.

Tang San changed tactics again. Blue Silver Grass vines grew wildly from the ground, binding Dai Mubai's legs, waist, and arms. The toughness of the Blue Silver Grass far exceeded that of ordinary vines, and Dai Mubai struggled, unable to break free.

Tang San saw hope. Perhaps he could win; perhaps he could really win. He poured all his soul power into the Eight Spider Lances, all eight exerting force at once, attempting to pierce through the defense of the White Tiger Vajra Transformation.

Dai Mubai sighed and struck Tang San's chest with his palm. This time, he used his full strength. The Eight Spider Lances shattered, the purple-black fragments dancing in the air like broken butterflies. Tang San's pupils constricted violently—the Eight Spider Lances, his External Soul Bone, his proudest trump card, were shattered.

The residual force of that palm strike passed through the broken lances and slammed solidly into Tang San's chest. Tang San spat out blood, flying backward like a kite with a broken string, crashing heavily to the ground and sliding several feet before coming to a stop.

Dai Mubai retracted his martial soul and stood where he was, looking at Tang San sprawled on the ground. There was no triumph or mockery in his eyes, only a complex sense of apology.

Tang San crawled up from the ground. His mouth was covered in blood, his chest soaked red by his own gore, and the aftereffects of the Eight Spider Lances shattering made his back feel as if it were burning.

Dai Mubai looked at him: "Tang San, you are very strong, but your martial soul, the Blue Silver Grass and the Eight Spider Lances, are ultimately acquired external objects. They cannot compare to an innate 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 a palm. Tang San flew out again, crawled up, flew out again, crawled, and flew again.

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

Tang San crawled up from the ground, blood from his mouth smearing his chin, the wound on his chest reopening. Every step felt like walking on the tip of a blade: "I don't accept this!"

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

When Tang San collapsed for the tenth time, he couldn't crawl up again. He lay on his side, his face pressed against the cold stone slab. The sunlight was blinding as it shone on his face. His Eight Spider Lances were shattered, his Blue Silver Grass withered, and his Mysterious Heaven Skill soul power was exhausted. There wasn't a single part of him that didn't ache.

He looked at the sky. The sky was very blue, the clouds very white, and a bird flew past. Tears slid silently from the corners of his eyes, flowing into his ears, feeling cold.

Tang San wanted to cry out, but his throat felt blocked by something, and he couldn't make a sound. He wanted to shout, "Resurrect, My Love," but he suddenly realized that even if he shouted it, no one could resurrect him, because he had never truly died—he was just constantly failing.

The four stood on the viewing platform. Han Li was expressionless, his gaze lingering on Tang San for a few seconds before moving away. He spoke, his voice as flat as if he were stating the weather: "The will is good, but the strength is insufficient. The cultivation direction is also flawed; over-reliance on external objects ignores the foundation of the self."

Xiao Yan crossed his arms, his chin slightly raised. There was no mockery in his tone, merely a statement of fact: "A floor tile is just a floor tile. What else is there to say?"

Shi Hao rarely refrained from shouting Arbitrary Eternity. He tilted his head to watch Tang San lying on the ground for a while, then analyzed with great seriousness: "His fighting style is too flashy. He uses palm techniques, footwork, hidden weapons, and spider lances. It looks like he knows everything, but he has mastered nothing. It lacks purity."

Wang Lin leaned against the wall with his eyes closed, never opening them from start to finish. When Tang San fell for the tenth time, he finally spoke. His voice was soft, yet everyone heard it clearly: "This Seat finds him pathetic."

The four shared a rare moment of tacit understanding. This time, there was no mockery, only a statement of fact. But what they did not know was that stating facts was far more painful to Tang San than mockery.

Mockery at least implies that you are worth mocking, while stating facts means you do not even qualify to be mocked.

Tang San heard it; he heard every single word. He did not refute it because he had no way to refute it. Han Li was right—he relied too much on external objects. Xiao Yan was right—he was indeed a floor tile. Shi Hao was right—his fighting style was indeed flashy. Wang Lin was right—he was indeed pathetic.

Tang San closed his eyes, listening to the sound of his own heartbeat.

One beat, two beats, three beats.

He remembered many things: stealing the inner sect techniques of the Tang Sect in his past life, jumping off the cliff to prove his resolve after being discovered by the elders. In those years, he thought he was a genius.

After transmigrating to the Douluo Continent and awakening the Blue Silver Grass martial soul, he was mocked by everyone. He relied on the Mysterious Heaven Skill and hidden weapons to reach where he was today. In those years, he thought he was a genius.

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

He had been proving himself, constantly comparing himself to others, constantly telling everyone: "I am not trash; I am a genius."

Perhaps Xiao Wu was right—being weak wasn't a one-day occurrence for him. Perhaps Flender was right—geniuses are all freaks. Perhaps Dai Mubai was right—life is just about someone being more monstrous than you.

Tang San opened his eyes and wiped the tear stains from his face. He pushed himself off the ground and sat up slowly. The sunlight shone on his face, warm and gentle. He looked down at his own hands—hands that had practiced hidden weapons, palm techniques, and countless ways to kill.

But he had never practiced the most fundamental things: the basic circulation of soul power, the basic tempering of the physique, or the most basic, straightforward approach to combat.

He suddenly understood: he had relied too much on cheats. The Tang Sect techniques were a cheat, the Eight Spider Lances were a cheat, the hidden weapons were a cheat, and even the Purple Demon Eye was a cheat.

He had used these cheats to build a seemingly powerful version of himself, but that wall was hollow—it would collapse at a single push. Han Li did not need cheats; his formations were researched by himself. Xiao Yan did not need cheats; his Exotic Flame was earned with his life. Shi Hao did not need cheats; his fists were forged punch by punch. Wang Lin did not need cheats; his Dao of Causality was realized through countless years of enlightenment.

Only he, Tang San, had been living off cheats, always thinking he was a genius, when in reality, 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 was resigning himself to fate, but because he finally saw himself clearly. He would start from the beginning, from the most basic things: soul power, physique, combat techniques—polishing them one by one.

The Tang Sect techniques could be set aside for now. The Eight Spider Lances were broken, which was perfect—he would no longer rely on them. Hidden weapons could serve as a trump card, but not as his primary strength.

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

Tang San stood up, brushed the dust off his body, and turned to walk out of the training ground. Xiao Wu chased after him from the crowd, looking at his back with concern.

Third Brother had been hit hard this time, heavier than any time before. She hurried to catch up and stood in front of Tang San, blocking his path.

"Third Brother, are you okay?" Xiao Wu's voice was soft.

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 those familiar red rims and moist corners, but there were none. Tang San's eyes were clear, as clear as a mountain stream, without a single tear.

Xiao Wu asked with some surprise: "You didn't cry?"

Tang San was silent for a moment before saying something unlike him: "Crying is useless."

Xiao Wu was stunned. This didn't sound like something Tang San would say; it didn't sound like the Tang San who would constantly cry out, "Resurrect, My Love."

She asked cautiously: "Are you really okay?" Tang San nodded and said earnestly: "I'm really okay. I just realized a few things."

Xiao Wu pressed: "What things?"

Tang San looked into the distance and remained silent for a long time. The sun was setting, and the clouds on the horizon were dyed golden-red—it was beautiful. His voice was so soft that Xiao Wu had to prick up her ears to hear him: "I always thought I was a genius, but Han Li, Xiao Yan, Shi Hao, and Wang Lin made me realize that I am not. I don't have their talent, I don't have their opportunities, and I don't have their..."

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

Xiao Wu grew anxious: "Third Brother, you might not be a genius, but you aren't bad either! You are hardworking, diligent, kind, and you are good to everyone."

Tang San smiled and shook his head—not in disagreement, but in final relief: "I know, but hard work and diligence are not excuses. Hard work and diligence are things that everyone who wants to become stronger should do."