Tang San: My Drunkard Useless Deceased Wife Douluo Father! The One Being Remembered

Inside the study.

Xiao Chengkun sat with a cup of hot tea in hand, legs crossed, happily admiring the newly replaced plaque on the wall.

The plaque bore seven gold-leafed characters: "My son has the bearing of a Title Douluo."

He had written it himself the day before yesterday.

The calligraphy was nothing to brag about, but every stroke was infused with immense pride.

He had paid out of his own pocket to have it framed in the finest material, climbed a ladder to hang it himself, and then stepped back three paces to stare at it for a full hour.

"Hehehe..."

Xiao Chengkun looked at the plaque, his eyes squinting into slits, looking exactly like an old fox who had stolen an entire coop of chickens.

He didn't even notice his tea had gone cold.

"Father."

"Yo! Yu'er is here!"

Xiao Chengkun set down his teacup, his smile growing even brighter.

"Come, come, have some tea with your old man. I'm in a great mood today, better than ever!"

"Father, I won't have any tea. I'm going on a long trip."

"...Huh?"

Xiao Chengkun's smile faltered.

"About ten days to half a month, maybe a month."

Xiao Chenyu's expression remained calm. "Help me ask for leave from the academy."

"Ha?"

Xiao Chengkun's smile finally faded a little. "Going out? Where to?"

"I have some private matters to attend to, regarding my cultivation."

Xiao Chenyu spoke vaguely.

He couldn't exactly say, "I'm going to steal the Clear Sky Douluo's late wife's spirit bone."

"..."

Xiao Chengkun stared at his son for three seconds.

It wasn't an interrogation, but an observation.

He noticed that his son's brows and eyes were filled with confidence and decisiveness.

That gaze was bright and firm, a far cry from the hopeless little brat he had been four years ago when he first awakened his martial soul.

Ever since his martial soul mutated, this kid had seemed like a different person.

No, not a different person—he had finally become who he was always meant to be!

Xiao Chengkun set his teacup down and nodded decisively.

"Fine."

"You have your own ideas now, so I won't ask too many questions."

He pulled a heavy coin purse from his robes and shoved it directly into Xiao Chenyu's hand, with enough force to suggest he was afraid his son might refuse it.

"Take plenty of money. Don't shortchange yourself while you're out."

"Buy whatever you want to eat, stay in whatever inn you like. Your old man isn't short on a few coins!"

Xiao Chenyu weighed the purse in his hand.

It was heavy.

Heavier than the cost of hiring the spirit hunting group last time.

His eyes stung slightly, but he forced the sensation back before it could reach his eyelids.

This was his father.

"Thanks, Dad."

"Don't mention it!"

Xiao Chengkun waved a large hand, returning to that smug smile.

"My son has the bearing of a Title Douluo and is destined to be a big shot in the future. This little bit of money is nothing."

"When you become a Title Douluo, that will be a grand event that brings honor to our ancestors."

"Oh, that's right, take a look at the plaque I just wrote."

Xiao Chenyu looked up at the gold-leafed "Bearing of a Title Douluo" plaque on the wall, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Dad, keep it low-key, keep it low-key."

"Low-key my foot!"

Xiao Chengkun's eyes widened. "My son is a genius; I wish the whole world knew it!"

"That's exactly why I told you to keep the second martial soul a secret, Dad."

Xiao Chenyu broke into a cold sweat.

This secret could not be exposed.

"I know, I know. Keeping it a secret is one thing, but didn't I listen to you and keep my mouth shut?"

Xiao Chengkun sounded righteous. "Can't I just be happy about it in private? Is it against the law to hang a plaque in my own study?"

Xiao Chenyu smiled helplessly, tucked the money pouch into his robe, and turned to walk toward the door.

"Be careful on the road, remember to bring supplies, and don't try to be a hero!"

His father's shout came from behind him.

"Got it!"

"And one more thing, my son Xiao Chenyu—"

"Has the potential to become a Titled Douluo! I know! Please, stop shouting!"

Xiao Chenyu waved his hand without looking back, though he couldn't suppress the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Departure.

Target: The mountain behind Holy Soul Village, the 100,000-year Blue Silver Emperor Right Leg Bone.

Mission codename: Home Invasion.

Holy Soul Village, Tang Family Blacksmith Shop.

The clanging of iron echoed through the small courtyard.

The rhythm was monotonous and heavy, like some ancient, weary ritual.

A burly yet disheveled man swung a hammer, striking a glowing red iron billet again and again.

Sparks flew everywhere.

They illuminated his stubble-covered face and hair that was as messy as a bird's nest.

His clothes hadn't been washed in at least half a month, emitting a complex odor that was hard to distinguish between stale alcohol and sweat.

This was the once-formidable Clear Sky Douluo, Tang Hao.

The legendary, ruthless man who had once hammered a Pope to death.

Now, in Holy Soul Village, he was nothing more than a down-and-out blacksmith who spent his days drinking, swinging a hammer, and giving his own son the cold shoulder.

"Achoo!"

Tang Hao suddenly sneezed, rubbed his nose, and muttered, "Damn it, who's talking about me..."

"Dad!"

A youthful voice came from outside the door.

Upon hearing this voice, Tang Hao's face darkened by a degree as if by reflex.

Five-year-old Tang San walked in steadily, his short legs carrying a bundle of firewood that was taller than half his body.

"Dad, did you catch a cold? I'll go boil some ginger soup for you!"

A flash of softness crossed Tang Hao's face—so fast it seemed like an illusion.

He immediately stiffened his expression and snorted, "What ginger soup? Your old man is perfectly fine! Is the food cooked? Is the firewood chopped? Stop slacking off!"

If it were an ordinary five-year-old child, they would have burst into tears after being scolded like that by their father.

But Tang San only lowered his head slightly.

"Oh, I'll go cook right now."

He stacked the firewood neatly beside the stove, meticulous to the last detail, and then walked quietly toward the kitchen.

That back, it didn't look like a child's at all.

There was no grievance, no resistance, not even a hint of dissatisfaction.

Tang Hao stared at that small back, his hammer suspended in mid-air, forgetting to strike.

An hour later.

The meal was served on the table.

A dish of pickled vegetables, two bowls of brown rice, and a pot of wild vegetable soup so thin it could serve as a mirror.

This was the standard fare for the Clear Sky Douluo and his future Sea God son.

Tang San sat on a small stool, holding his bowl with both hands and eating in large mouthfuls, his cheeks bulging like a hamster.

Tang Hao, meanwhile, downed his wine bowl after bowl.

It was as if that were not wine, but a bowl of plain water.

It was as if his stomach were not a stomach, but a bottomless vat for liquor.

"Dad, drink a little less." Tang San set down his bowl and reminded him in a soft voice.

"Don't you worry about me!"

"Bang!"

Tang Hao slammed the wine bowl heavily onto the table, sending liquid splashing across the surface.

His eyes were already somewhat glazed, yet that violent aura still made people afraid to draw near.

"..."

Tang San said nothing more.

Tang San continued to lower his head and shovel rice into his mouth.

After the meal.

Tang San took the initiative to clear the bowls and chopsticks, his movements extremely nimble.

He wiped clean the wine stains Tang Hao had splashed onto the table, even using the corner of a cloth to meticulously pick the dust out from the cracks in the wood.

"Dad, I'm going to the back mountain to train."

"..."

There was no response.

Tang Hao had already passed out drunk on the bed, his snoring like thunder.

The pungent smell of alcohol mixed with the scent of sweat permeated the entire room, so stifling that it was hard to keep one's eyes open.

Tang San stood at the doorway and looked back at the man who had once stood tall and upright.

On his five-year-old face, there was no disappointment, no resentment, only a calm as deep and bottomless as a pool.

Then, he turned and pulled the door shut.

"Creak—"

The door closed softly.

The sound of footsteps gradually faded into the distance.

On the bed.

Tang Hao, who should have been dead to the world, slowly rolled over.

He opened his eyes and stared at that dilapidated wooden door.

The eyes that had been murky just moments ago were now exceptionally clear.

Within them lay guilt, pain, unwillingness, and a complex emotion that was impossible to name or describe.

"San..."

His lips moved slightly, his voice as hoarse as sandpaper scraping against an iron plate.

Then, he closed his eyes once more.

In the smithy filled with the stench of alcohol, there remained only the silence of a man pushed to the absolute limit of restraint.