"Let's take his most central theory," Deng Tianxin said, holding up three little fingers. "First, there are no useless Martial Souls, only useless Soul Masters. Sounds incredibly inspiring, right? But he's the best counterexample himself. His Martial Soul mutated into a farting pig, and he's been unable to break through level thirty. He's the useless Soul Master. He spent his whole life proving his own theory wrong. I almost want to applaud him for sacrificing himself to disprove it."
The corner of Liu Erlong's mouth twitched. She wanted to laugh, but felt it would be a little unkind.
"Second," Deng Tianxin said, folding down another finger, "the Martial Soul Mimicry Cultivation Theory. Basically, cultivating in an environment suited to your Martial Soul gets better results. There's nothing wrong with that, but did he really need to be the one to sum it up? What Soul Master hasn't known for centuries that they should cultivate somewhere suitable for them? It's common sense. He just turned common sense into a paper and then called himself a grandmaster of theory."
"Third, the theory of Soul Ring absorption limits. This is the one thing he can really show for himself: he summarized how many years' worth of Soul Rings someone can absorb at each level." Deng Tianxin paused, his expression growing more complicated. "But nothing is absolute. Can you guarantee that everyone has the same limit?"
As Liu Erlong listened to Deng Tianxin analyze things one by one, she was at first somewhat curious. As he went on, her expression gradually turned serious.
She leaned back in her chair, folded her arms across her chest, and furrowed her brow slightly, as if carefully digesting every word he said.
"So what you're saying, kid, is that the man's theories are all just empty show?" Liu Erlong asked. There was no hint of disagreement in her tone; she was simply curious.
"Not all of them." For once, Deng Tianxin was being fair. He picked up the half-eaten chicken leg again. "The theory of Soul Ring absorption limits is genuinely useful. It filled a gap in research. His research on Soul Ring compatibility with Tool Martial Souls and Beast Martial Souls is decent too. The ideas weren't his originally, but he organized them fairly systematically. As for the rest..."
Deng Tianxin paused to take a bite of his chicken leg, then mumbled, "Either it's common sense dressed up in different words, or it's poisonous chicken soup that even he can't live up to. But to be fair, in an age without systematic theoretical guidance, it really wasn't easy to summarize these things. The problem is, theory is theory, and practice is practice. He's been stuck at level twenty-nine for so long that his words carry no weight. It's only natural that people don't believe him."
Deng Tianxin's voice wasn't especially loud, but the first floor of the inn was quiet, and merchants at several tables were all straining to listen.
As soon as he finished speaking, the middle-aged merchant at the next table slapped his thigh. His wine bowl thumped heavily against the table.
"Exactly!" the merchant exclaimed, his face alight with excitement, as if he'd found a kindred spirit. "That little brother's saying what's in my heart! I've flipped through Yu Xiaogang's book too. When I finished, all I could think was, isn't this all just a load of nonsense? Take his classification of Tool Martial Souls and Beast Martial Souls. Even a three-year-old knows that. Did he really need to summarize it?"
"You can say that again," chimed in an old man at the opposite table, wearing a felt hat. He puffed on his pipe, sending clouds of smoke billowing out. "This old man's been around the Soul Master community for forty years. What theory haven't I seen? That book of his, Ten Core Competencies, is nothing more than the old ancestors' wisdom repackaged with a fancy name. Martial Soul Mimicry Cultivation? Isn't that just finding a suitable place to cultivate? Do I need him to teach me that?"
"The funniest thing is that line about there being no useless Martial Souls," a young Soul Master in the corner sneered, turning his wine cup in his hand. "He's the biggest waste of all. He slunk out of the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Clan and got stuck at level twenty-nine without budging an inch. And he says there are no useless Martial Souls? Isn't he a living, breathing counterexample?"
"That's not entirely fair," said a more seasoned merchant, smoothing his beard as he tried to mediate. "His chart of Soul Ring absorption limits is pretty useful. At least young people don't have to blindly guess when adding Soul Rings anymore. They can just follow the chart."
"Useful or not, when you get right down to it, isn't that just data? You could walk into any Spirit Hall Branch and look through the records to compile the same thing. He dressed it up as a core theory, then wrote a book and went around preaching it. What is that, if not a bid for fame?" The young Soul Master curled his lip in scorn.
Listening to the chatter around him, Deng Tianxin's lips curved in a barely perceptible smile. He kept munching on his chicken leg.
Watching him sit there looking so carefree, Liu Erlong couldn't help kicking him under the table. Lowering her voice, she said, "You sure know how to fan the flames."
"I didn't do anything," Deng Tianxin replied, blinking innocently. "I just analyzed things based on the facts. The people can see the truth for themselves."
Suddenly, a heavy footstep sounded upstairs, followed by the sharp bang of a door being flung open.
Someone came out of a room. It was Yu Xiaogang.
"A useless man's still useless, no matter how much he writes. Think a book makes him somebody?"
"What future could a theorist possibly have? This world cares about strength, not the written word."
"He's a level-twenty-nine Soul Master with a Trash Martial Soul. How dare he teach others that there are no useless Martial Souls?"
Yu Xiaogang's fingers nearly dug into the wooden railing. The rough splinters pierced his fingertips, leaving tiny beads of blood, but he didn't feel a thing.
His gaze swept across the merchants downstairs, one face at a time, until it finally landed on the little boy in the corner who was still gnawing on a chicken leg.
The child looked no older than seven or eight. A pair of smooth, rounded dragon horns rose from his forehead. He tilted his head as he gnawed on his chicken leg, cheeks bulging and mouth glistening with grease. He looked utterly harmless.
But those clear, incisive rebuttals had come from that little mouth.
A seven- or eight-year-old child had torn his theories to shreds, and everyone around him was agreeing.
A child.
The theories he'd spent so long putting together had been turned into a joke by a child.
Yu Xiaogang recognized the boy as Deng Tianxin, Bibi Dong's son.
Soon, Yu Xiaogang understood.
This had nothing to do with Deng Tianxin at all. It was Bibi Dong's scheme!
How could a child possibly understand his theories? There was only one explanation: Bibi Dong had arranged this!
Fine. Fine, Bibi Dong. You truly are a poisonous woman.
She'd tried to make him take responsibility before, then run off without a second thought. Now this woman, Bibi Dong, was actually trying to ruin him.
He'd never met a woman so vicious.
Yu Xiaogang was now immensely relieved—relieved that he'd decisively broken up with Bibi Dong back then and hadn't listened to her lies. Otherwise, she would have had him wrapped around her little finger.
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