Spirit City, Spirit Hall's Healing Hall.
Yan lay on the cold white-jade treatment bed, wrapped up like a cocoon. The skin exposed between the bandages was charred black. His once-flamboyant, fiery red hair had curled at the ends from the flames, and his face was swollen and shiny, like a risen dough bun.
The Spirit Hall healer responsible for treating him withdrew his Soul Power and wiped the sweat from his brow. Turning to Chrysanthemum Douluo Yue Guan and Ghost Douluo Gui Mei, who stood beside him, he said gravely:
"Your Excellencies, Young Master Yan's external injuries are easy to treat. Applying the juice of an Extreme Fire Lingzhi for half a month will be enough for them to scab over. But his Soul Power foundation was scorched by that strange ray. There's an extremely peculiar weakening property in the weapon—one we've never encountered before—and we can't cure it completely. In the future, the very best he can hope for is to reach level eighty-nine. As for going any higher..."
The healer paused, his tone leaving no room for doubt. "Becoming a Titled Douluo is out of the question."
"Boom!"
Yan suddenly sat bolt upright on the bed, reopening wounds all over his body. He hissed in pain, but didn't care. His bloodshot eyes bulged as he roared, "That's bullshit! I'm part of the Spirit Hall Golden Generation! I'm His Holiness the Pope's personal disciple! How could I possibly fail to become a Titled Douluo?! That Ning Xiaochun used sorcery! He ambushed me! I won't accept it! I won't accept it!"
He flailed his arms, wrapped in thick gauze. Blood still seeped through the bandages, and he looked utterly deranged.
"I want to see His Holiness the Pope! I want another match against Ning Xiaochun! That piece-of-junk weapon of his