Sparring Partner

Li Hanche raised an eyebrow, about to say something when golden light exploded in his mind.

That familiar system prompt sounded right on cue.

"Ding! Detected that the host has received a request to play together. Ning Rongrong, the little princess of the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect and future wielder of the Nine Treasure Glazed Tile Pagoda. An option quest has now been triggered. Please make your choice."

Three options appeared in his mind.

Li Hanche glanced over them.

[Option One: Play with Her]

"Accept Ning Rongrong's request and play with her for one hour. Reward: Storage Soul Tool. Note: Did you come to the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect to flirt?"

[Option Two: Refuse and Continue Cultivating]

"Refuse Ning Rongrong and return to the rooftop to continue meditating. Reward: Soul power cultivation efficiency increased by ten percent for three days. Note: The path of the strong is lonely. Let her cry, let her fuss, let her grit her teeth and chant your name. When you stand at the peak of the continent, she will understand... though there was a high chance she would not."

[Option Three: Beat Her Up]

"Under the guise of training, beat Ning Rongrong up. Let her know why flowers are so red. Reward: Gravity Wristband ×1. Once worn, it can adjust the gravity multiplier up to ten times. It has miraculous effects on physical tempering and movement technique cultivation. Note: She asked you to play with her, so play with her! Play something hardcore. She has to cultivate sooner or later anyway, so consider this an early lesson. Mind your strength—don't actually hurt her. Sword Douluo's Seven Kill Sword is no decoration."

His gaze locked onto the reward, the Gravity Wristband, and he could not look away.

That set of weights was becoming less and less impressive to him. It was nowhere near enough to count as "tempering."

Tenfold gravity was different. Gravity acted upon every muscle, every bone, every meridian in his body—an even, omnipresent pressure.

He gritted his teeth. So what if I beat her up? Easy. I'm doing it!

The instant he made his choice, the expression on his face changed. His eyes gained the profound look of someone thinking, I'm doing this for your own good.

"Play? Play what? On Douluo Continent, strength reigns supreme. Your teacher—your Grandpa Sword—is a rank ninety-six Titled Douluo, nearly a hundred years old, and he has never once slackened. How can I afford to be lazy?"

Ning Rongrong was startled by his suddenly stern face. Her hands were still planted on her hips, but her confidence had already drained away.

"So... the two of us are going to train."

Before Ning Rongrong could grasp what those words meant, a palm had already smacked the back of her head.

The force was not heavy, just enough to make her head bob forward.

"Your reaction is too slow. If that palm had been a soul beast's claw, your head would already be gone."

Ning Rongrong clutched the back of her head, her eyes wide, her face full of the incredulous disbelief of You actually dared to hit me?

Then she took a kick to the backside, staggering two steps forward before falling face-first onto the bed.

"Your back is wide open. Are you afraid the enemy won't be able to find somewhere to strike?"

At last, her fury burst out of her throat. She scrambled up from the bed, turned around, and lunged at Li Hanche.

Her two little fists flailed wildly at his chest and shoulders—the utterly unstructured turtle punches of a six-year-old girl driven frantic from being bullied.

"Too slow. Too light. You're making a fist wrong. Keep your thumb outside, or the fingers you break will be your own."

She clenched her fists and hit him harder.

Tears were already welling in her eyes—not because it hurt. Li Hanche controlled his strength precisely; every blow only made her feel that she had been "hit," without truly injuring her.

She cried because she felt wronged, because she was angry, because the little princess of the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect, showered with endless affection since birth, had never had anyone lay so much as a finger on her.

"Your center of gravity is too high. Your stance is unstable. Someone gives you one push and you fall over—how are you supposed to fight?"

His palm gave her forehead a gentle push.

Ning Rongrong fell backward onto the bed, limbs spread wide like an overturned turtle.

The tears in her eyes finally burst through the dam. She did not cry aloud, only bit her lip fiercely and glared at Li Hanche standing beside the bed with eyes full of anger, grievance, and unwillingness.

Looking into her eyes, Li Hanche bent down, stretched out his hand, and lightly patted each of her cheeks—a perfunctory, utterly symbolic "slap in the face."

"Training is over."

Ning Rongrong lay on the bed, tears still flowing as her chest heaved violently.

Li Hanche turned and walked toward the door.

"From now on, you train for one hour every day. With skills like yours, forget being the big sister—you'd struggle even to be the little brother."

The door closed behind him.

He stood beneath the corridor eaves and looked down at his hand. He had beaten up a six-year-old girl. In the name of training. For the sake of a Gravity Wristband.

He rubbed his nose and suddenly felt that it was a little itchy.

Inside the bedroom, Ning Rongrong lay facedown on the bed, her shoulders trembling as broken sobs slipped out.

She cried for a long time—until a large patch of the pillow was soaked, until her throat became hoarse, until she had no tears left to shed.

Then she turned over and lay staring up at the ceiling with swollen, reddened eyes.

Li Hanche pushed open the door and entered, carrying a tray. He walked to the bedside and sat down on its edge. Ning Rongrong immediately turned over again, presenting him with her back and burying her face in the pillow.

Li Hanche sat at the bedside, looking at that puffed-up, sulking back.

"Big Sis."

Ning Rongrong's back stiffened.

"Miss."

Her back was still stiff, but not as rigid as before.

"Let's not cry anymore. You won't look pretty if you cry your makeup off."

Ning Rongrong suddenly rolled over, glaring at him with swollen red eyes, the tip of her nose crimson and tears streaking her cheeks.

Her lips parted, and her voice came out hoarse.

"From now on, you have to call me Sister."

Li Hanche looked at her.

Her eye sockets were swollen and red, her nose bright red, tears streaking her face line after line, and her hair was a mess like a chicken's nest. Yet her chin was raised, her gaze stubborn, carrying the unyielding obstinacy of: "If you don't agree, I'll keep crying."

"Fine."

Ning Rongrong froze.

She clearly hadn't expected Li Hanche to agree so readily.

In her imagination, this hateful jerk who had been at odds with her from the moment they first met would at least trade a few more rounds of verbal sparring with her.

"Miss. Miss Ning. Sister Ning. Sister Rongrong."

The corner of Ning Rongrong's mouth twitched, as if she wanted to smile, but she forcibly held it back.

She sat up in bed and wiped the tears off her face haphazardly with the back of her hand, smearing an already gaudy face into an even greater mess.

Then, just as she was about to say something—

Li Hanche's mouth twitched. He truly couldn't hold back at the sight of Ning Rongrong, and laughed.

Ning Rongrong's expression changed from stunned to puzzled, then from puzzled to understanding.

She grabbed the pillow from the bed and hurled it at him.

"Get out! Li Hanche, get out!"

Li Hanche stood from the edge of the bed, backing toward the door with a smile. When he reached it, he still remembered to point at the tray on the dressing table.

"Eat it while it's hot. It won't taste good once it's cold."

A shoe flew past his ear, and Li Hanche hurriedly dodged out the door.