The Clown Tang San

Meanwhile.

Soto City, Wantong Hotel.

It was the same private room, the same round table, but the atmosphere was now worlds apart from what it had been a few days ago.

Tang San sat alone at the table, staring at the stack of intelligence reports spread out before him.

His face was terrifyingly grim, his eyes bloodshot, his breathing ragged, and he was seething with rage.

The information recorded in those reports was exactly what he least wanted to see.

In Heaven Dou City, the Golden Spatula Pavilion was packed to capacity every single day. The queues were only growing longer, with some people arriving at dawn just to secure a spot to experience the latest researched team compositions.

Within the territory of the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect, the number of newly registered players had increased by nearly forty percent compared to the previous week. Ning Fengzhi had even publicly stated that the Golden Spatula was highly beneficial for training a soul master's tactical thinking, encouraging his sect disciples to participate enthusiastically.

On the side of the Star Luo Empire, the Zhu Family had high-profilely announced that they had secured the exclusive agency rights for the Golden Spatula. The Star Luo branch was already in preparation, and it was said that even the Star Luo Emperor had tacitly approved of this cooperation, showing no signs of opposition.

Even the Heaven Dou imperial family had publicly expressed their support for the Golden Spatula. Crown Prince Xue Qinghe had personally attended related events and even held an exhibition match against Dugu Bo. Although he had lost quite miserably, he still smiled broadly and remarked, "This game is very interesting and worth promoting."

As for the rumors he had painstakingly spread, the feedback he received only made his chest feel tight.

He had originally thought that as long as he spread the "conspiracy theory," it would inevitably trigger some people's vigilance and panic.

After all, the traditional concepts formed over thousands of years on the Douluo Continent were deeply rooted; a disruptive new phenomenon should have been met with resistance and skepticism from conservative forces.

Yet, reality had slapped him hard in the face.

Some said, "Those who have played it know the truth in their hearts. We know whether this game is useful or not; we don't need others to teach us."

Some said, "Even if there really is some conspiracy, with Yi Chen's strength, would he need to use such methods? If he wanted to do something evil, he could just act directly. Why go through all this trouble?"

Others said, "The people making up these rumors probably haven't even touched the game and are just worrying for nothing. If the Spirit Hall and the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect aren't worried, why are you?"

Even more ironically, some people had developed a strong curiosity about the Golden Spatula precisely because they heard those rumors. They went to register an account with the mindset of "I want to see what kind of trickery this game has," only to get hooked after one try, becoming more loyal players than anyone else.

Those "revelations" he thought were so clever not only failed to achieve the expected effect but instead served as free publicity for the Golden Spatula.

Thinking of this, Tang San felt a surge of blood rush to his head, his temples throbbing.

"Bang!"

He slammed his fist onto the table. The solid mahogany surface split with a fine crack; the teacup jumped, tea splashed across the table, and it dripped onto the floor along the edge.

"Why... why does no one believe me?"

His voice was hoarse and low, carrying an extreme, suppressed anger and resentment.

His chest heaved violently, his breathing becoming heavy and rapid, like a beast trapped in a cage, fruitlessly slamming against the iron bars.

He had clearly made full preparations.

He had carefully selected three influential people in Soto City: Xiong Lie, leader of the Fierce Tiger Mercenary Group, a level 56 Soul King with high prestige in the southern part of the city.

Li Fuyuan, owner of the Wantong Trading Firm, who had extensive connections and access to information.

Zheng Mingyuan, deputy official of the Tax Bureau, a man in the government with a certain amount of weight to his words.

He thought that by spreading the information through these three people, he could at least form a certain momentum of public opinion.

He used the logic he considered most persuasive to analyze the potential harm the Golden Spatula could bring: the collapse of the traditional cultivation system, the turmoil of the soul master class, and the conspiracy that Yi Chen might use this to control all the soul masters on the continent.

He even went so far as to expose some of his own trump cards, such as his profound understanding of martial souls and the cultivation system, to win their trust and support.

But what was the result?

Those rumors were like stones thrown into the sea; they didn't even splash before being drowned out by the enthusiasm and adoration of the players.

No one believed him.

No, it should be said that no one was willing to believe him.

For those ordinary soul masters and commoners, the Golden Spatula brought them unprecedented fun and tangible benefits.

They had finally found a path to become stronger without having to risk their lives, so why would they give it up because of a few baseless "warnings"?

For those nobles and officials, the forces behind the Golden Spatula were deeply intertwined—the Spirit Hall, the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect, the Poison Douluo—none of them were easy to provoke. Who would offend these people for a vague "conspiracy theory"?

And he, Tang San, a level 30-something Soul Grandmaster with no background and no strength, why should he challenge a Limit Douluo?

Thinking of this, the anger and resentment in Tang San's heart were gradually replaced by a heavier emotion.

For the first time, he realized so clearly that in the face of an absolute gap in strength, so-called schemes and strategies were how pale and powerless.

He stood up, walked to the window, and pushed it open. The afternoon sun shone in, stinging his eyes. He squinted and looked toward Shrek Academy, his gaze complex and lost.

Over there, Xiao Wu and Ning Rongrong were receiving guidance from Yi Chen on the back mountain. Across such a distance, it felt as if he could hear their laughter.

They must be very happy now, right?

They had a novel game to play, a powerful master to rely on, and a bright future to look forward to.

And the companion who had once fought side-by-side with them had been left far behind, to the point where even his back could no longer be seen.

And him?

He could only hide in this dark private room, like a clown, self-righteously plotting those ridiculous "counterattacks," only to be slapped hard by reality.

"Heh... hehehe..."

Tang San suddenly let out a low chuckle, his laughter laced with an indescribable bitterness and self-mockery.

He had always believed himself to be a child of destiny, a transmigrator possessing memories of his past life and the peerless arts of the Tang Sect, destined to shine brilliantly in this world.

Yet, the appearance of Yi Chen had shattered all of his superiority and self-confidence.

That man was only a few years older than him, yet he was already a Limit Douluo. That man could casually produce ideas and treasures that would drive the entire continent into a frenzy.

That man had effortlessly won the trust and admiration of Xiao Wu and the others; even behemoths like Spirit Hall and the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect were willing to cooperate with him.

And he, Tang San, was like a clown before Yi Chen, performing what he thought were clever schemes, unaware that the other party had never even taken him seriously.

He even suspected that Yi Chen might have known about his petty maneuvers behind the scenes all along, simply not bothering to address them.

This feeling of being completely ignored was far more agonizing than direct suppression or threats.

"Yi Chen... what kind of person are you, really?"

Tang San murmured to himself, his gaze lost and complex.

He hated Yi Chen, hated him for snatching away everything that should have been his: Xiao Wu's closeness, the admiration of his companions, the opportunities to stand in the spotlight, and perhaps even the destiny to achieve godhood in the future.

Yet, at the same time, he had to admit that Yi Chen's strength far exceeded anything he could comprehend or attain.

He wanted to topple Yi Chen, but he lacked even the qualifications to make the man look at him squarely.

This immense sense of disparity caused Tang San to experience profound self-doubt for the first time.

Could he... truly win?

The private room fell into a long silence.

Sunlight spilled through the window onto the floor, forming a bright beam of dust motes in the air. Tang San stood before the window, motionless, like a statue.

After a long while, he slowly closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then exhaled it slowly.

When he opened his eyes again, the confusion and resentment had largely faded, replaced by a deeper, more restrained light.

He could not give up.

He still had a trump card. The power bestowed upon him by the Asura God had not yet been fully unleashed.

The Asura Divine Power Seed buried within him was still waiting to be awakened. He still had time, and he still had a chance.

He needed to endure, to wait, and to become stronger.

One day, he would possess the strength to confront Yi Chen head-on.

When that time came, he would let everyone know who the real clown was.

He turned and strode out of the private room, disappearing into the shadows at the end of the corridor.