Meanwhile
Suotuo City, Wantong Hotel.
It was the same private room, the same round table, but the atmosphere was completely different from a few days ago.
Tang San sat alone at the table, staring at the stack of intelligence reports spread out before him.
His expression was terrifyingly grim. His eyes were bloodshot, his breathing ragged, and he was furious.
The reports contained exactly the sort of things he least wanted to see.
The Golden Spatula Pavilion in Heaven Dou City was packed every day. The lines were growing longer instead of shorter, and some people even showed up at dawn to claim a spot, all so they could try out the newest team compositions as soon as possible.
Within the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect's territory, the number of newly registered players had risen by nearly forty percent since the previous week. Ning Fengzhi had even publicly declared that Golden Spatula was highly beneficial for training Spirit Masters' tactical thinking, encouraging the sect's disciples to take part.
In the Star Luo Empire, the Zhu Family had proudly announced that they'd secured the exclusive rights to distribute Golden Spatula. Preparations were underway to build a branch in Star Luo, and it was said that even the Star Luo Emperor had tacitly approved the partnership, showing no sign of opposition.
Even the Heaven Dou Imperial Family had publicly voiced its support for Golden Spatula. Crown Prince Xue Qinghe had attended a related event in person and played an exhibition match against Dugu Bo. Though he'd lost badly, he'd still smiled and declared, "This game is a lot of fun. It deserves to be promoted."
The reports about the rumors he'd carefully spread were even more suffocating.
He'd originally thought that if he spread the "conspiracy theory," he'd at least make some people wary and afraid.
After all, the traditional beliefs that had taken root across the Douluo Continent over thousands of years ran deep. Surely a sudden, radical new phenomenon would provoke resistance and suspicion from conservative forces.
But reality had slapped him hard in the face.
Some people said, "Anyone who's played knows the score. We know whether this game is useful or not. We don't need anyone else to tell us."
Others said, "Even if there really is a conspiracy, with Yi Chen's power, does he need to resort to something like this? If he wanted to do something bad, he could just do it. Why go to all this trouble?"
And still others said, "Whoever made up these rumors probably hasn't even tried the game and is just worrying over nothing. Spirit Hall and the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect aren't worried, so why are you?"
Most ironically, some people had grown intensely curious about Golden Spatula precisely because they'd heard those rumors. They'd registered accounts thinking, "I'll see what kind of trick this game is hiding," only to get hooked after trying it and become more loyal players than anyone.
His supposedly brilliant "exposés" hadn't had the desired effect at all. Instead, they'd inadvertently given Golden Spatula a free round of publicity.
At the thought, Tang San felt a surge of blood rush to his head, and his temples throbbed.
Bang!
He slammed his fist into the table. A fine crack split the solid redwood surface, and the teacup jumped. Tea sloshed across the table and dripped from the edge onto the floor.
"Why... why won't anyone believe me?"
His voice was hoarse and low, filled with fury and resentment held back until they could barely be contained.
His chest heaved. His breathing grew rough and hurried, like a trapped beast hurling itself again and again against iron bars, all in vain.
He'd made all the preparations.
He'd carefully chosen three people with influence in Suotuo City: Xiong Lie, head of the Fierce Tiger Mercenary Group, a fifty-sixth-level Soul King with great influence in the south of the city.
Li Fuyuan, owner of Wantong Trading Firm, with connections everywhere and a finger on the pulse of the latest news.
Zheng Mingyuan, deputy commissioner at the Tax Bureau, an official whose words carried some weight.
He'd thought that spreading the information through these three would create at least some public outcry.
He'd used what he believed was the most persuasive reasoning to lay out the dangers Golden Spatula might bring: the collapse of the traditional cultivation system, upheaval in the Spirit Master class, and Yi Chen's possible plot to control all the Spirit Masters on the continent.
He'd even risked revealing some of his own secrets, such as his deep understanding of Martial Souls and the cultivation system, to earn their trust and support.
But what had come of it?
The rumors had been pebbles tossed into the sea. They hadn't even made a proper splash before vanishing beneath the players' enthusiasm and adulation.
No one believed him.
No—no one wanted to believe him.
For ordinary Spirit Masters and commoners, Golden Spatula had brought unprecedented fun and real, tangible benefits.
They'd finally found a way to grow stronger without having to fight for their lives. How could a few baseless "warnings" make them give it up?
As for the nobles and officials, the forces behind Golden Spatula were deeply rooted and intertwined. Spirit Hall, the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect, Poison Douluo—not one of them was someone to trifle with. Who'd offend them over some far-fetched "conspiracy theory"?
And Tang San was just a Soul Elder in the thirtieth-plus ranks, without influence or strength. What right did he have to challenge a Limit Douluo?
At that thought, the fury and resentment in Tang San's heart gradually gave way to a heavier emotion.
For the first time, he saw with startling clarity how pale and powerless all his schemes and strategies were before an overwhelming difference in strength.
He stood and walked to the window, then pushed it open. The afternoon sun poured in, making his eyes sting. He narrowed them and gazed toward Shrek Academy, his expression complicated and lost.
Xiao Wu and Ning Rongrong were over in the back hills, receiving guidance from Yi Chen. Even from this far away, he could almost hear them laughing.
They had to be happy now, didn't they?
They had a novel game to play, a powerful master to rely on, and a bright future to look forward to.
And their former companion, who had once fought alongside them, had been left far behind. He couldn't even see their backs anymore.
And what about him?
He could only hide in this dark private room, like a clown, smugly plotting those laughable "counterattacks"—only to have reality slap him hard across the face.
"Heh... hehehe..."
Tang San suddenly let out a quiet laugh, the sound steeped in a bitterness and self-mockery he couldn't quite describe.
He'd always thought he was the chosen one, a transmigrator with memories of his past life and the Tang Sect's secret arts, destined to shine brilliantly in this world.
But Yi Chen's arrival had smashed his pride and confidence to pieces.
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 capable of driving the whole continent wild.
That man had easily won Xiao Wu and the others' trust and admiration. Even mighty forces like Spirit Hall and the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect were willing to work with him.
And Tang San, standing before Yi Chen, was nothing but a buffoon putting on a smug performance, unaware that the other man didn't even consider him worth noticing.
He even suspected that Yi Chen had known about all the little schemes he'd been plotting behind his back for a long time and simply couldn't be bothered to deal with him.
Being completely ignored like this was more painful than being openly suppressed or threatened.
"Yi Chen... what kind of person are you, really?"
Tang San murmured under his breath, his gaze lost and conflicted.
He hated Yi Chen. He hated him for taking everything that should have belonged to him: Xiao Wu's affection, his companions' admiration, his chances to stand out, and perhaps even the fortune that would one day lead him to godhood.
But at the same time, he had to admit that Yi Chen's strength was far beyond anything he could understand or aspire to.
He wanted to bring Yi Chen down, but he didn't even have the right to make the man look his way.
That enormous gulf made Tang San doubt himself for the first time.
Could he really... win?
Silence settled over the private room and lingered.
Sunlight streamed through the window, forming a bright shaft filled with dust motes. Tang San stood before it without moving, like a statue.
After a long while, he slowly closed his eyes, drew a deep breath, then let it out just as slowly.
When he opened his eyes again, most of the confusion and resentment had faded, replaced by a deeper, more restrained light.
He couldn't give up.
He still had a trump card. The power bestowed on him by the Asura God had yet to be fully awakened.
The Asura Divine Power Seed buried within him was still waiting for him to rouse it. He still had time. He still had a chance.
He needed to endure, to wait, and to grow stronger.
One day, he would have the power to face Yi Chen head-on.
And then, he'd show everyone who the real clown was.
He turned and strode out of the private room, disappearing into the shadows at the end of the corridor.