Yu Xiaogang's Change

"He took common knowledge, rephrased it, packaged it as theory, then called himself a master."

"That chart of his on Soul Ring absorption limits was just compiled data, wasn't it? Anyone could visit a Spirit Hall branch, flip through the archives, and summarize it."

"He spent his entire life proving that his theory was wrong. I almost want to applaud that spirit of sacrificing himself to disprove it."

Every one of those blades was nonlethal, yet every one stabbed straight into the softest place.

Now even a few lowlife bandits could trample him beneath their feet, grind his face with their soles, and smack his head with the flat of their blades.

They were laughing, laughing at him for being trash.

They could not even be bothered to deal with him seriously, because taking trash seriously would lower their standards.

Yu Xiaogang closed his eyes, the corner of his mouth twisting into something uglier than a sob.

There were no trash martial souls, only trash Soul Masters.

That was the declaration he had been proudest of his entire life, the strongest shield he had used against every mockery.

Yet in the end, he himself was the greatest counterexample to that declaration.

His martial soul was trash, and he himself was trash too.

Two pieces of trash together could save neither one.

If he could not even fool himself, how could he hope to fool anyone else?

Once the bandits had had their fun, they took Yu Xiaogang's few dozen Gold Soul Coins and swaggered away, whistling as they vanished into the depths of the forest.

Luo Sanpao climbed up from the ground, shook its mud-covered purple fur, then limped over to Yu Xiaogang's side. It nudged his arm with its wet nose and let out a low whimper.

Yu Xiaogang turned his head and saw his bruised, swollen reflection in Luo Sanpao's large dark-blue eyes.

At that moment, Yu Xiaogang found himself utterly ridiculous.

Theory?

It was useless crap. He might as well enjoy life properly.

In this world where strength reigned supreme, those theories were worthless. Even a dog would not listen to them.

Luo Sanpao nudged Yu Xiaogang's arm with its nose, a low whine rumbling in its throat. Its large dark-blue eyes were filled with undisguised concern.

It did not understand why its master was lying on the ground instead of getting up. It only knew that its master was injured, bleeding, and looked to be in pain.

Luo Sanpao crouched down on its four short legs and pressed its round body tightly against Yu Xiaogang's side, trying to offer him a little comfort with its warmth.

Yu Xiaogang turned his head and looked into Luo Sanpao's eyes, which reflected his miserable state.

A smile suddenly appeared on his bruised and swollen face. He could not tell whether it was bitter or relieved. When the movement of his lips tugged at the wounds on his face, he hissed sharply in pain.

"Sanpao," Yu Xiaogang said in a low voice, "what exactly have I been clinging to all my life?"

Luo Sanpao tilted its head, its tiny tail wagging.

It could not understand such complicated words. It only knew that its master was speaking, so things probably were not as bad as they looked.

Yu Xiaogang lay flat on his back in the mud, staring through the layered canopy at the sky cut into fragments.

Sunlight spilled through the gaps in the leaves, casting shifting patches of light and shadow across his face.

Yu Xiaogang thought of Bibi Dong.

If he had never met Bibi Dong back then, would he still have ended up like this?

The answer did not need any thought at all.

Without Bibi Dong, he would still be trash.

His martial soul was trash, his theories were garbage, and his entire life had been a joke from beginning to end.

Bibi Dong's appearance had merely added an even more ironic footnote to that joke. Even the one woman who claimed to appreciate him had been fake in the end.

He had blamed all his misfortune on Bibi Dong's schemes, Deng Tianxin's ridicule, the bandits' fists, and the unfairness of this world.

But after assigning blame again and again, he realized that the most useless one was still himself.

If he were a Titled Douluo, would Bibi Dong have dared plot against him?

If he were a Titled Douluo, would Deng Tianxin have dared demean his theories as worthless in front of so many people?

If he were a Titled Douluo, would those lowlife bandits have dared grind his face beneath their shoes?

He talked about theory changing the world, talked about there being no trash martial souls, yet in the end, he could not even change himself.

Half an hour later, Yu Xiaogang sat up. He had made a decision in his heart.

He would return to the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Clan, marry, have children, and raise his son into a powerful man.

His life was already ruined, and Luo Sanpao was already ruined. No matter how much he struggled, he could not stir up any waves.

But he could have a son, a son with a brand-new martial soul and brand-new talent.

Though all his theories could not make himself stronger, they were more than enough to raise the next generation.

He knew what age was suitable for absorbing what age of Soul Ring, what environments best suited the cultivation of different martial souls, the principles of Soul Bone compatibility, and the techniques for combining soul skills.

Those things could not help him defeat a two-ring Soul Grandmaster, but they could spare his son more than a decade of detours.

As long as his son became strong, he could wash away his humiliation.

He had never considered this path before.

It was not that he had failed to think of it. He had simply been unwilling.

He had always believed he still had a chance to turn things around, that his theories would sooner or later be recognized by the world, that one day he could stand before everyone and use irrefutable achievements to slap all those who had mocked him across the face.

But now he no longer wanted to slap anyone. After slapping that face for so many years, the only one he had hurt was himself.

The thought of returning to the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Clan filled him with both resistance and longing.

His father's disappointment, the elders' contempt, the whispers of those from his generation—those memories still hurt like needles whenever he recalled them.

But the longing was real too. After wandering outside for so many years and being called trash for so many years, he wanted more than anyone a place that could shelter him from the wind and rain.

And the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Clan, no matter what, was still his home.

As long as he humbled himself, stopped arguing with others over the greatness of martial soul theory, honestly admitted that he was trash, and returned to live as a useless freeloader, the clan would not truly throw him out.

After all, Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon blood ran through his veins, and his father was the clan leader.

Even if the clan members looked down on him, for his father's sake, they would not deny him even a meal.

Once he returned, he would beg his father to find him a wife.

She did not need to be beautiful, nor did she need exceptional talent. She only needed to live an honest, steady life with him.

He did not even dare ask that she come from some great clan. An ordinary family would do, as long as she did not despise him for being trash.

Then he would have a son and stake all the dreams he had failed to realize and all the curses he had failed to break on that child.

At that thought, Yu Xiaogang suddenly froze.

Yu Xiaogang looked down at his hands, then at Luo Sanpao lying beside his feet.

A pig that could fart, and a piece of trash who would never break through Rank 30—what made him think he could father a genius son?