Qi Luck Fluctuations! Tang Hao: You little punk, how dare you curse your old man, take a big slap from me!

[Will of Douluo Planet]: Speaking of destiny! Avenger, I was just about to talk to you about this.

[Will of Douluo Planet]: Just now, I sensed that Tang San's destiny value on Douluo Planet suddenly dropped. Although the margin was small, it definitely shifted.

"Oh?"

Xiao Chenyu's eyes lit up as he flipped in mid-air, maintaining a steady flight.

This was going even more smoothly than he had anticipated.

He had originally thought that swindling the secret manual was merely opening an extra side quest, and that obtaining a cultivation technique would be the end of it.

He hadn't expected the level of destiny to be affected as well—killing two birds with one stone, double the joy.

[Xiao Chenyu]: At this rate, if I mess with him a few more times, will his destiny drop significantly?

[Will of Douluo Planet]: Theoretically, yes—huh?

[Will of Douluo Planet]: Wait, this is strange.

[Xiao Chenyu]: What is it?

[Will of Douluo Planet]: Tang San's destiny just experienced a strange fluctuation, as if something were forcibly tugging at it, but it vanished just as quickly—too fast for me to capture exactly what it was.

[Will of Douluo Planet]: I don't know what happened, but I have a premonition that this definitely isn't a good thing.

[Will of Douluo Planet]: Destiny doesn't fluctuate without reason; there must be an external force interfering.

Xiao Chenyu frowned slightly.

Destiny fluctuation? Could something have gone wrong on Tang San's end?

[Xiao Chenyu]: Notify me immediately if there are any changes. If it really is external interference, we need to prepare in advance.

[Will of Douluo Planet]: Received! This Will shall monitor Tang San's destiny 24 hours a day and report any movement the moment it happens! (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧

Meanwhile.

Behind Holy Soul Village.

The morning mist had mostly dispersed.

The first rays of sunlight spilled through the gaps in the leaves onto the clearing.

The moonlight illuminated the scattered fallen leaves and a small figure kneeling on the ground.

That figure was bruised and swollen.

Saliva mixed with blood hung from the corner of his mouth.

Yet, he continued to slap himself mechanically.

"Slap."

"Haotian is a dog."

"Slap."

"Haotian is a dog."

Tang San's cheeks were already swollen high, turning a reddish-purple; at a glance, it looked as if he had stuffed two walnuts into his mouth.

His voice had shifted from its initial resonance to a barely audible rasp.

Every word he spat out sounded like sandpaper scraping against glass.

His throat had long since been injured and torn from the shouting.

A metallic, bloody taste permeated his throat.

But his hands did not stop, nor did he dare to.

The elder had said he must shout it one thousand times.

One less, and the Tang Sect would not accept him.

One less, and the sins of his past life would not be redeemed.

There was nothing more important than becoming an inner disciple of the Tang Sect!

And at this moment.

In his home.

Tang Hao was awakened by hunger.

He rolled over in bed, eyes closed, habitually sniffing toward the direction of the kitchen.

"Hmm?"

He didn't smell the fragrance of breakfast.

Tang Hao frowned and opened his eyes.

Every morning before he woke up, that brat Tang San would have breakfast ready, keeping the food warm in the pot before heading up the mountain to train.

This habit had not been broken since Tang San was two years old, regardless of wind or rain.

Today, the pot was empty, and the stove was cold.

Is that brat addicted to training?

Tang Hao circled the room and shouted "Little San" twice in the yard, but no one answered.

He glanced at the sky.

The sun had already risen.

According to his usual routine, Tang San should have returned half an hour ago.

He carried his wine gourd, swaying with every step as he walked toward the back mountain.

He hadn't taken it seriously at first.

Although Tang San was only five, he had always been sensible, unlike a typical child.

He was even more reliable than his own father.

Perhaps he had chased a wild rabbit too far, or had lost track of time while discovering some herbs on the mountain.

But as he approached the back mountain, he heard Tang San's voice.

"Clear Sky is a dog."

"?"

Tang Hao's footsteps came to an abrupt halt.

He thought he had misheard.

The wind in the forest was strong, and the chirping of birds and insects was mixed together; it was normal to mishear things.

"Clear Sky is a dog."

"?!"

This time, he heard it clearly.

That raspy, childish voice was distinctly shouting, "Clear Sky is a dog."

Not a word off, crystal clear.

Clear Sky.

That was his title!

The name he had used to dominate the continent back in the day, Clear Sky Douluo!

The peerless ruthless man who had smashed the Pope of Spirit Hall with a single hammer!

Yet now, his own son was slapping himself while calling him a dog.

Tang Hao's face turned as black as the bottom of a pot.

He gripped his wine gourd tightly and strode toward the source of the voice, his feet unconsciously cracking the mountain path beneath him.

He wanted to see exactly what his "good son" was doing in the back mountain!

Tang Hao rushed into the clearing in the back mountain.

The scene that met his eyes left him stunned for a moment.

His five-year-old son, Tang San, was kneeling in a pile of fallen leaves.

His cheeks were swollen like leavened buns.

Saliva mixed with blood foam hung from the corners of his mouth.

He was in a semi-conscious state.

But even with his eyes unfocused, that small hand was still slapping his own face out of habit.

"Slap."

"Clear Sky is—"

Before the fourth word, "dog," could escape his lips, the furious Tang Hao swung a palm across.

"SLAP!!!"

The force of this blow was fiercer than all one hundred of Tang San's self-inflicted slaps combined.

Tang San was sent flying, rolling three times in the pile of leaves before coming to a stop.

A clear, red palm print appeared on his face, layered over his already swollen cheek, looking shocking to the eye.

"Little San! What are you doing!"

Tang Hao roared, his voice shaking pine needles from the trees above.

"?"

Tang San lay on the ground, seeing stars, his ears ringing.

But that slap also jolted him completely awake from the effects of the Hallucination Powder.

The phantoms of those Tang Sect elders receded like a tide.

The gazes of the Law Enforcement Hall vanished into nothingness.

All that remained before him was a disheveled man, hair standing on end in fury and reeking of alcohol.

His own father... Tang Hao!

"I... I just now..."

Tang San looked around in a daze.

There were only he and Tang Hao in the clearing.

No Tang Sect elders, no grey-robed figure, no stern gazes from the Law Enforcement Hall.

Only a patch of fallen leaves, left in disarray after the morning mist had cleared.

And he himself was sprawled on the ground, face covered in blood, his cheek burning as if scorched by fire.

Then, his memories came flooding back like a torrent.

That grey-robed man.

That voice claiming to be a Tang Sect elder.

Himself kneeling on the ground, kowtowing and begging for mercy, and the item he had respectfully pulled from his crotch and held high above his head to surrender—

The Xuantian Record!

"Oh no!!!"

Tang San's face turned deathly pale, three shades whiter than when he had been slapped just moments ago.

He had a terrible premonition.

He hurriedly reached down to check his crotch.

"San?"

Tang Hao frowned, suppressing his rage as he watched Tang San's bizarre behavior.

Tang San could not care about his father's presence right now; he only cared about the Xuantian Record.

Soon, he discovered that his crotch was completely empty.

He patted down his entire body, even taking off his shoes to check the soles.

Nothing, nothing, there was nothing at all!

The Xuantian Record... was gone!