The Useless Tang Hao

Zhou Qiubai had walked for about five miles when he suddenly slowed down.

Someone was behind him.

And no ordinary person at that.

The footsteps were too deliberate, as though they had been carefully matched to his own pace.

Yet it was precisely that deliberate lightness that exposed the tracker's presence.

Zhou Qiubai did not turn around.

The other person was at least a Soul Saint, perhaps even stronger.

Is it Tang Hao...? Zhou Qiubai wondered.

In Suotuo City, a powerhouse above the Soul Saint level had appeared right after he defeated Tang San. Other than Tang San's father, Tang Hao, he could think of no one else.

If it had been someone from the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect, they would have come knocking half a month ago.

So he continued forward, though he began replanning his route.

Three miles ahead was a fork in the road. One path led south toward the heartland of the Balak Kingdom, while the other turned northeast into a stretch of hills.

The hills were thick with vegetation and riddled with complicated terrain, making them perfect for shaking off a pursuer.

He chose the northeastern road.

His steps remained unhurried, but each one changed in subtle ways.

By the time he entered the hilly region, the mist seemed to have thinned somewhat.

Zhou Qiubai's figure flickered, and he suddenly accelerated.

His white clothes nearly blended into the dim surroundings.

A hundred yards away, a flicker of surprise passed through Tang Hao's eyes.

"Good lad."

He could tell that the boy had discovered he was being followed and was trying to shake him off with that exquisite footwork.

What surprised him even more was that Zhou Qiubai had not fled in a panic. Instead, he strategically used the terrain and surroundings, displaying extraordinary calmness and adaptability.

However, a Title Douluo was still a Title Douluo.

Tang Hao did not move, but the Soul Power beneath his feet gave a faint Quake.

His entire body drifted up like Ghost. Rather than widening, the distance between them slowly shrank.

Eighty yards, seventy yards, sixty yards...

Zhou Qiubai's heart sank.

He could feel the pressure from behind growing stronger, and the sense of danger prickling at his back became increasingly intense.

But there was nothing he could do. The disparity in cultivation was not something his movement technique could overcome.

Zhou Qiubai gritted his teeth and abruptly changed direction, rushing into a dense forest.

Yet Tang Hao followed him like a shadow.

This could not continue.

Determination flashed through Zhou Qiubai's eyes.

A sheer cliff appeared ahead, with a rushing river below.

He dashed to the edge and leaped off without hesitation.

In the instant he fell, his right hand struck a protruding rock on the cliff face three times in succession, borrowing the force to slow his descent.

The moment he reached the river, his toes lightly touched the water, and his body skimmed toward the opposite bank.

The entire sequence flowed as smoothly as drifting clouds and running water, perilous yet composed.

Tang Hao stood at the cliff's edge and watched Zhou Qiubai vanish into the forest across the river. There was no anger in his heart; instead, a trace of appreciation surfaced.

But appreciation was appreciation. He still had to kill him.

"Fine footwork. Fine temperament."

He took a swig of wine, then his figure flashed as he leaped directly from the Upper Cliff.

He borrowed no force during his descent and plunged straight toward the river.

Yet at the instant he touched the water, the Soul Power beneath his feet gave a Quake. He sprang up like a cannonball, crossed the sixty-yard-wide river, and landed steadily on the opposite bank.

The moment Zhou Qiubai rushed into the forest, he sensed the presence behind him catching up once more.

The distance was sixty yards.

"Come out."

Zhou Qiubai stopped and turned to face the path behind him.

He knew he could not shake him off.

If a Title Douluo wanted to track someone, escape was simply impossible unless one possessed sufficient strength.

The only thing he could do now was face him head-on.

In the morning mist, a tall figure slowly emerged.

A tattered robe, a slovenly appearance, tangled hair and beard, and a strong stench of alcohol.

If not for the faint yet ever-present pressure surrounding him, Zhou Qiubai would have nearly taken him for a down-and-out vagabond.

But he was Tang Hao.

The Clear Sky Douluo, a level ninety-five Title Douluo.

Though he was crippled.

"Senior, you have followed me for so long. May I ask what guidance you have for me?" Zhou Qiubai asked calmly. His right hand hung naturally at his side, only three inches from his sword hilt.

Tang Hao studied him, his expression complicated.

At close range, the boy appeared even more extraordinary.

Faced with the pressure of a Title Douluo, he could remain so composed. His breathing was steady, and even the hand near his sword did not tremble in the slightest.

Such temperament was more precious than his footwork.

"What is the name of your footwork?" Tang Hao asked in a hoarse voice.

"Floating Cloud Nine Palace Steps."

"Who taught you?"

"I taught myself."

Tang Hao laughed, his laughter carrying a hint of mockery.

He knew the other man did not believe him, but it was the truth.

"Never mind if you will not say." Tang Hao waved a hand. "I came to find you today for two matters."

"Please, speak."

"First, hand over that footwork and sword technique of yours." Tang Hao's tone was calm, but it carried unquestionable dominance. "The Clear Sky Sect needs them."

Zhou Qiubai's gaze sharpened.

Just as he expected.

"And the second?"

"Second, swear upon your Martial Soul to serve my son, Tang San." A sharp glint flashed through Tang Hao's eyes. "I will provide you with resources and guidance, allowing you to reach the Soul Saint realm before you turn thirty. But you must become Xiao San's right-hand man and help him rise to the pinnacle."

The air instantly fell silent.

Morning mist drifted slowly through the woods, and at some point, the birdsong had vanished.

The entire forest became deathly still, with only the rustle of wind brushing against leaves.

Zhou Qiubai stared at Tang Hao for a long time.

Then he smiled.

The laughter was soft, yet it carried an indescribable mockery.

"Senior, have you misunderstood something?" he said slowly. "I, Zhou Qiubai, have never been anyone's subordinate."

"What did you say?" Tang Hao's eyes turned cold.

"I said..." Zhou Qiubai enunciated every word with perfect clarity, "my martial arts are my path. I walk my own road. I need serve no one, and I will not hand my path over to anyone."

The moment his words fell, the atmosphere froze.

The pressure surrounding Tang Hao spread outward as though it had substance.

The leaves around them stirred without wind, while loose stones on the ground trembled faintly.

Even the slightest leak of a Title Douluo's anger was enough to make ordinary Soul Masters fall to their knees and beg for mercy.

Yet Zhou Qiubai remained standing firm.

His white clothes snapped loudly beneath the pressure, but his back remained perfectly straight.

"Kid, do you know who you are talking to?" Tang Hao's voice was low and filled with killing intent.

"I do." Zhou Qiubai answered frankly. "The Clear Sky Douluo—the useless man whose wife died and who enraged his own father to death."

They had already torn their masks off. Why should he show any courtesy?

Though he truly coveted Ah Yin's Soul Ring and Spirit Bone, his feelings for her were genuine.

A cold glint flashed through Tang Hao's eyes as he raised a hand and clenched it in the air.

No Soul Rings lit up, nor was any soul skill released. It was only a simple clench.

Yet the air around Zhou Qiubai instantly solidified, as though an invisible giant hand had seized him.

Terrifying pressure surged in from all directions, and his bones creaked under the unbearable strain.

This was the strength of a Title Douluo.

Without even attacking, Soul Power pressure alone was enough to render a "genius" like him incapable of moving.

"I will give you one more chance." Tang Hao said coldly. "Hand over the footwork, swear your loyalty, or else..."

His fingers tightened slightly.