A Genius Who Broke Through to Fifty Years Old at Level Twenty-Nine!

Yu Xiaogang followed his gaze.

A child of about six years old, fair-skinned and ordinary-looking, was walking toward them.

Su Mo.

Yu Xiaogang froze.

Master?

Tang San called him Master?

Before he could recover from his shock, Tang San had already hurried over to Su Mo, taking the items from his hands with the attentiveness of a little page boy: "Master, are you tired? Would you like some water? I have some dry rations here..."

Su Mo waved a hand, his gaze sweeping over the petrified Yu Xiaogang, and asked Tang San casually, "Who is this?"

Tang San scratched his head, thought for a long moment, and replied, "I don't know. He just came over, started rambling about martial souls or something, and said he wanted to be my teacher."

Su Mo raised an eyebrow and looked at Yu Xiaogang.

Yu Xiaogang's expression shifted.

He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but his mind was in complete chaos.

Tang San?

The disciple he had held in the palm of his hand for two lifetimes, the future Sea God, was actually calling a six-year-old toddler "Master"?

And doing so with such willingness and devotion?

He hadn't even been this attentive to him, his legitimate master!

Yu Xiaogang felt as if he had been cuckolded.

He felt his worldview crumbling.

He forced a difficult smile, attempting to salvage the situation: "This little... little friend, are you a spirit master as well?"

Su Mo glanced at him.

The man was dressed plainly, carried an air of pedantic pretension, and his eyes held a confidence that screamed "I'm a big deal," yet his spirit power fluctuations were... pitifully weak.

He nodded. "Yes."

Yu Xiaogang continued, "What do you teach him?"

Su Mo thought for a moment. "Reading."

"..."

Yu Xiaogang choked, nearly unable to catch his breath.

Reading?

That was it?

He took a deep breath, turned to Tang San, and spoke with a hint of urgency: "Little friend, you need to think clearly. What can you learn from reading? True martial soul theory, the true path of cultivation—only I can teach you that!"

Tang San looked at him with a strange expression.

Then, he spoke.

"What you're saying makes a lot of sense."

Yu Xiaogang's heart leaped—there was a chance!

Tang San continued, "However—"

Yu Xiaogang's smile froze.

"Everything you just said, my Master told me all about it on the night I became his disciple." Tang San counted on his fingers. "The vitality of Blue Silver Grass, the need to pair it with compatible spirit rings, and not ruining one's foundation by choosing rings recklessly—Master taught me all of that long ago."

Yu Xiaogang's mouth hung open.

Tang San continued, "Besides, my Master also tells me stories about protagonists. Xiao Yan, Sun Wukong, Nezha... they all overcame adversity and eventually became great figures!"

His eyes lit up. "And me, I'm going to be a protagonist too!"

Yu Xiaogang's brain completely shut down.

Protagonist?

What protagonist?

Who is Xiao Yan? Who is Sun Wukong? Who is Nezha?

He looked at Tang San's face, filled with adoration, and then at the calm expression of the six-year-old child beside him.

A surge of indignant rage flared up within him.

He, the dignified Grandmaster, the number one in martial soul theory, the man who had cultivated a god in his past life—

Was being outdone by a six-year-old brat?

Was being outdone by a guy who only told people to "read books"?

He couldn't swallow this insult.

A cold sneer twisted his face. "Heh, little friend, you certainly have a big mouth."

Su Mo raised an eyebrow.

Yu Xiaogang stood with his hands behind his back, striving to strike the pose of an expert: "You are just a six-year-old child; what could you possibly teach him? Reading books? Is that what you call cultivation? Is that what you call instruction?"

He grew more animated as he spoke, his voice rising a few notches: "I, Yu Xiaogang, have immersed myself in martial soul theory for decades, traveled across the continent, and authored books and treatises. Who in the spirit master world doesn't know my title of 'Grandmaster'? A wet-behind-the-ears brat like you thinks you're fit to compare yourself to me?"

Su Mo fell silent.

He stared at Yu Xiaogang for three seconds.

Then, he laughed.

It wasn't a polite laugh; it was the kind of laugh that said, "Are you kidding me?"

In his past life, he had never thought much of Yu Xiaogang.

"A grandmaster of martial soul theory?"

Su Mo's voice was not loud, but every word was crystal clear.

"Nothing more than a fraud who deceives the world for fame. How are you fit to be called a grandmaster?"

"What did you say? A little brat like you dares to question me?!"

He spoke slowly and unhurriedly: "Is that so? Then tell me this—"

Su Mo looked Yu Xiaogang up and down, his gaze filled with undisguised disdain.

"With a pig that can only fart and a spirit power level of twenty-nine, you'd likely meet a miserable end if you ever encountered a century-level spirit beast."

He paused, offering a faint smile.

"How exactly did you manage to research those high-level theories?"

Yu Xiaogang's breath hitched.

The people around them began to whisper.

"I..."

Yu Xiaogang opened his mouth, wanting to retort, but found his throat felt as if it were stuffed with cotton.

What could he say?

That his theories were all cobbled together from stolen work?

That he couldn't even defeat a century-level spirit beast?

That his martial soul, Luo Sanpao, had to brew for ages just to let out a single fart?

Su Mo watched his reaction and shook his head.

"However, there is one thing about you that I cannot compare to."

Yu Xiaogang was stunned.

What did that mean?

Was this kid about to back down?

He puffed out his chest and squeezed out a smug expression: "What? If you speak well, I might consider taking you as a disciple as well."

Su Mo laughed.

He laughed with extreme sincerity.

"Your age."

Yu Xiaogang: "...What?"

Su Mo counted on his fingers: "Look, you've only reached level twenty-nine spirit power, yet you've already broken through to fifty years of age. That kind of 'talent' is something I truly cannot compare to."

The surroundings went quiet for a second.

Then—

"Pfft—"

Someone couldn't hold it in and burst out laughing.

Then came a second person, then a third.

The crowd of onlookers erupted into uproarious laughter.

"Hahahaha, level twenty-nine and already broken through to fifty years old!"

"That talent is indeed incomparable!"

Yu Xiaogang's face turned from red to purple, from purple to green, and finally as black as the bottom of a pot.

He took a few deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down, his eyes filled with a touch of contempt.

"Hmph, I cannot be bothered to argue with you."

Having said that, he turned to Tang San, his tone becoming earnest.

"Little San, don't listen to his nonsense. This fellow is merely jealous of my talent."

Tang San blinked.

Where would such talent come from?

However, he still asked out of curiosity.

"Is your martial soul really a pig?"

Yu Xiaogang completely lost his composure.

His face flushed a deep red, and he froze in place, as if struck by lightning.

This matter had always been the deepest thorn in his heart.

Born into the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Family, yet his innate soul power was only half a level.

His martial soul was not the noble Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon, but an ugly pig.

It was laughable, really.

He called himself a master of martial soul theory, yet he couldn't even figure out why his own martial soul could only fart.

If he had attached dragon-type soul rings to Luo Sanpao, there might have been a chance to elevate its Golden Sacred Dragon bloodline.

At the very least, it wouldn't have resulted in two flatulence-based soul skills.

But he hadn't.

He hadn't researched anything at all.

The laughter around them grew even louder.

Tang San asked with a sincere expression, "So, is your martial soul really a pig? Then how do you have the nerve to call others' martial souls trash?"