What If I Really Am a Title Douluo?

Yang Xing pushed open the gap-riddled wooden door as casually as if he were returning to his own home.

Well, in fact, this was his home.

"Come in. Sit wherever you like."

He walked inside without looking back.

"I'll pour you some tea."

Ning Rongrong stood at the doorway without moving.

Her gaze swept from the cracks in the door panels to the crooked frame, then to the wooden plank on the roof that looked ready to fall at any moment. Her expression was like someone was forcing her face-first into a cesspit.

"You... live here?"

She pinched her nose, her voice muffled.

There was no response. Yang Xing had already gone inside.

Ning Rongrong stood at the door for another three seconds before finally taking a deep breath.

She immediately regretted it, because the air she inhaled carried the smell of old, rotten wood.

Then she stood on tiptoe and stepped into the house one careful step at a time, as though she were walking through a minefield.

The first thing she did upon entering was cautiously let go of her nose.

She sniffed.

Unexpectedly—there was no strange smell.

There was none of the foul stench she imagined from a man living alone, no moldy or rotting odor, and even the scent of dust was faint. Though the house was pitifully dilapidated, its interior was clean.

Ning Rongrong's expression eased slightly.

"This part is acceptable."

She assessed it in that lofty tone, like a little princess inspecting her territory and grading her servants.

"At least it's not like those disgusting boys I saw in Heaven Dou City, whose homes were like pigsties."

Yang Xing rummaged around for teacups inside and did not respond.

Ning Rongrong looked around.

The house was small, and its furnishings were extremely simple.

There was a wooden plank bed, a table missing one leg and propped up with a stone, and two stools.

A cloth bundle was piled in the corner, with that "Uncannily Accurate" sign lying beside it.

That was all.

It was thoroughly poor.

Ning Rongrong chose the stool that looked a little cleaner. She wiped it back and forth with her sleeve, rubbing it around seven or eight times before reluctantly sitting down. Only a third of her bottom touched the stool, her back was ramrod straight, and her legs were pressed together, as dignified as if she were seated in a rosewood carved chair at the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect.

Yang Xing walked over carrying a chipped, coarse pottery cup. Steam rose from it—plain boiled water.

Seeing Ning Rongrong wipe the stool repeatedly before barely agreeing to sit, he rolled his eyes.

"For Miss Ning Rongrong to condescend to enter my shabby little house and even sit on my stool, I'm truly blessed beyond three lifetimes."

Ning Rongrong caught the mockery in his words.

But she did not think he was mocking her at all.

"Of course."

She raised her chin, taking it entirely for granted.

"For this young lady to be willing to enter your broken house and sit on your broken stool is already an enormous blessing and fortune for you."

After saying that, she folded her arms.

Yang Xing held the pottery cup out to her.

Ning Rongrong glanced at the chipped rim and reached out to push the cup away.

"I'm not drinking."

Her tone was crisp and direct as she got straight to the point. "Fraud, stop wasting time. Cancel the Master-Disciple Contract."

Yang Xing set the cup she had pushed back on the table, then picked it up and took a sip himself.

He smiled at Ning Rongrong.

"What's the hurry?"

"Who's in a hurry?!"

"The contract has already been signed." Yang Xing spoke unhurriedly, with the calmness that made Ning Rongrong want to hit him. "Canceling it now is canceling it, and canceling it later is still canceling it. Does Miss Ning really not want to hear... the method I deduced for turning the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Pagoda into the Nine Treasure Glazed Tile Pagoda?"

He tilted his head.

"Or... see what benefits there are to taking me as your master?"

He raised one finger.

"Just listen. You won't lose anything. You can decide whether to cancel it after hearing me out. It won't be too late then."

Ning Rongrong let out a scornful laugh.

That laugh was filled with utter disdain.

"Even if you told me, I wouldn't believe you."

She stared into Yang Xing's eyes, her tone certain.

"Our Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect has searched for a method for a thousand years. A thousand years! Countless generations of soul masters devoted their entire lives to it and failed."

She pointed at Yang Xing.

"And you, some nameless fortune-teller by the roadside, figured it out?"

She tilted her head, looking down at him with scrutinizing superiority.

"What cultivation do you have?"

Yang Xing did not answer.

Ning Rongrong answered her own question. "Don't tell me you're a Title Douluo?"

Her gaze swept over the shabby house, and she snorted.

"Seeing you live in a place like this, I doubt you're even a soul master. No matter how down-and-out a soul master might be, they wouldn't live in such a leaky, ramshackle shack."

She shook her head, and the disgust in her voice gradually turned into something almost like pity.

"Forget it. You don't seem like such a bad person. Even though you deceived me, still..."

She waved a hand, as magnanimous as an aristocrat handing out charity.

"Take out that Master-Disciple Contract and tear it up in front of me. I won't pursue this matter. We'll pretend it never happened."

After saying that, she waved impatiently.

"Hurry up. This young lady still has to rush to Shrek Academy to register. If I'm late, I'll have to wait until tomorrow. What a hassle."

Yang Xing looked at the arrogantly self-righteous little face before him.

At that moment, the twelve-year-old girl looked remarkably like those noble ladies he had seen at the market.

They were clearly giving you charity, yet still expected you to be deeply grateful.

He was not angry.

He even found it a little amusing.

"What if I really am a Title Douluo?"

Yang Xing asked lightly.

Ning Rongrong froze for a moment.

Then she laughed.

It was not a polite laugh. She genuinely found it hilarious, so hilarious that she could not hold it in.

"You?"

She bent over laughing, one hand clutching her stomach.

"You just said you're only eighteen! An eighteen-year-old Title Douluo?"

After finally stopping, she looked at Yang Xing as though he were an idiot.

"Do you think this young lady is stupid? You're trying to fool me with something not even a three-year-old would believe?"

She raised one finger and wagged it from side to side.

"I once read a copy of the History of Douluo Continent in the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect's library. It clearly recorded that the youngest Soul Saint in the entire continent's history was not even eighteen."

She stared at Yang Xing.

"A Soul Saint couldn't achieve it, yet you're telling me you're a Title Douluo?"

Yang Xing's expression changed after hearing that.

He raised a hand and wiped at the corners of his eyes. The act was flawless, making him look vividly like someone wrongly accused and desperately holding back his grievance.

"It hurts me so much when you say that..."

Ning Rongrong's expression turned cold.

She had already witnessed how quickly this man could change faces. She was not falling for it.

"Stop acting."

Yang Xing wiped twice more, then noticed Ning Rongrong staring at him expressionlessly, her eyes clearly saying, "If you keep pretending, I'm leaving right now."

His hand paused.

Then his expression turned serious again.

It became serious with extreme speed.

Like someone had flipped a switch.

One moment he had looked pitiful and wronged; the next, his brows relaxed, a faint smile rested on his lips, and his entire bearing shifted from a bullied little victim to a confidence Ning Rongrong could not quite describe.

That confidence was not an act.

Or rather, even if it was an act, he made it seem more real than anyone she had ever seen.

"Fine."

Yang Xing spoke in a carefree tone.

"Miss Ning Rongrong, don't rush to leave yet."

He looked at her with a strange certainty in his eyes.

"Would you like to see what I, as your master, can teach you?"

He leaned slightly forward.

"Maybe after you see it, you won't want to cancel this contract anymore."

Ning Rongrong frowned.

"Have you forgotten who this young lady is?"

She spoke each word distinctly.

"The Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect. One of the continent's three great sects. The wealthiest sect."

She raised two fingers.

"Sword Douluo and Bone Douluo. Two Title Douluo. This young lady's dearest grandfathers."

She lowered her hand, undisguised contempt in her eyes.

"You think your abilities of unknown origin can compare to my Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect? Compare to the methods of my two Title Douluo grandfathers?"

She tilted her head.

"Don't you think you're overestimating yourself?"

Yang Xing smiled after hearing her out.

He did not argue.

He merely raised his right hand.

He extended his index finger and gently tapped Ning Rongrong on the forehead.

Ning Rongrong froze.

This fraud actually dared to touch her?!

Just as she was about to explode—

"Bang."

Yang Xing vanished before her eyes.

It was not invisibility, nor was it evasive movement. His entire body had simply vanished out of thin air.

Ning Rongrong's pupils suddenly constricted.

Before she could react, an incredibly faint weight landed atop her head.

It was so light she could barely feel it.

Like a feather falling onto her hair.

Ning Rongrong went rigid.

She slowly raised her hand toward the top of her head. Her fingertips touched something warm, soft, and small, with the texture of feathers.

"Chirp."

A crisp birdcall came from above her head.

Ning Rongrong's hand froze in midair.

She slowly lowered her head and looked at the empty shabby house before her.

Then she slowly raised her head, struggling to shift her gaze upward.

A little bird was perched atop her head, tilting its head and looking down at her with round, black-bead eyes.