Gu Rong's pupils suddenly contracted.
Soul Rings began appearing beneath Yang Xing's feet, one after another.
The first.
A yellow Hundred-Year Soul Ring.
The second.
A yellow Hundred-Year Soul Ring.
Then came the third and fourth.
Two deep-purple Thousand-Year Soul Rings appeared almost simultaneously.
Then the fifth.
Black.
Gu Rong narrowed his eyes.
But it was not over yet. The sixth, seventh, and eighth.
Soul Rings emerged one after another.
All four of them were uniformly black Soul Rings.
By now, the strength Yang Xing displayed before Gu Rong was that of an eight-ring Soul Douluo with a perfect Soul Ring configuration.
Even Gu Rong was somewhat moved.
But it still was not over.
Immediately afterward, a dark crimson Soul Ring glowing red seemed to let out a heavy hum unlike any of the previous eight Soul Rings, then suddenly bloomed.
The instant that red light appeared, the air throughout the hall seemed to ignite. It was not heat, but an instinctive shudder that rose from the deepest foundations of life itself.
Blood-red.
A Title Douluo?
Gu Rong could no longer suppress the shock on his face.
How was that possible? This person was actually a Title Douluo?
One had to know that there were fewer than ten Title Douluos publicly known across the Douluo Continent.
No matter how highly he, Ning Fengzhi, and Old Swordhead had estimated this man's Soul Power cultivation, no matter how gifted they imagined him to be, they had only thought he might be a Soul King or Soul Emperor-level expert.
They had never considered the possibility of a Title Douluo.
No!
That was not right!
A Title Douluo had indeed shattered Gu Rong's worldview.
But he realized that was not the most critical point.
It was that blood-red Soul Ring!
Th-this... how could that be possible?
Wasn't that the phenomenon unique to a Hundred-Thousand-Year Soul Ring?
A Hundred-Thousand-Year Soul Ring?
A Hundred-Thousand-Year Soul Ring?
Gu Rong was not like the Suotuo City Lord, who could not even comprehend a Hundred-Thousand-Year Soul Ring upon seeing one.
He knew full well what a Hundred-Thousand-Year Soul Ring represented.
In an instant, his mind went blank with a buzz. His head spun, his vision blurred, and he felt faint.
Had he seen it wrong?
As far as he knew, among the Title Douluo experts across the entire Douluo Continent, only a handful possessed Hundred-Thousand-Year Soul Rings.
The only ones who might have them were the masters of great sects and halls, and even then, they were exceedingly rare.
How could one possibly appear on such a young brat before him?
Impossible, impossible!
Absolutely impossible!
Gu Rong, a level ninety-five Super Douluo, actually thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. He even rubbed them deliberately, only to see that beneath Yang Xing's feet still lay that blood-red Hundred-Thousand-Year Soul Ring.
Only then did Gu Rong truly feel it.
He felt something that had almost never appeared during his decades-long career as a soul master.
Heart palpitations.
Nine Soul Rings, their four-colored radiance intertwining around Yang Xing, surrounded the eighteen-year-old youth seated in the grand chair, dressed in a loose sleeping robe with lipstick marks still lingering on his face.
That red Soul Ring in particular made Yang Xing look like a deity who had stepped forth from ancient times.
Yet Yang Xing simply sat there.
His posture had not changed. His expression had not changed. He had not even lowered his crossed leg.
He looked at Gu Rong.
At those cloudy old eyes, now frozen on him and filled with shock.
Then he spoke.
"My name is Yang Xing."
His voice was not loud. He stated it plainly, as though giving the most ordinary introduction.
"Nine rings."
He raised one finger and waved it at Gu Rong.
"A Title Douluo."
After a brief pause, he tilted his head, a trace of amusement appearing at the corner of his lips.
"As for my title, I haven't come up with one yet. I haven't decided what to call myself."
He lowered his finger, lifted his teacup, and raised it toward Gu Rong.
"Pleased to make your acquaintance again, Bone Douluo."
The surface of the tea in the cup was still as a mirror.
The light of nine Soul Rings flowed behind him.
The hall fell deathly silent.
Gu Rong fell completely silent as well, staring fixedly at Yang Xing.
Those cloudy old eyes sunken deep into their sockets now shot out two sharp rays of light, scraping inch by inch over Yang Xing's face as if trying to gouge out every secret hidden beneath that youthful appearance.
Gu Rong scrutinized him for a full ten seconds.
"Just who are you?"
His voice was hoarse, every word deliberate.
Yang Xing held his teacup with a relaxed posture, as though answering the most ordinary question.
"An ordinary person. I just turned eighteen this year."
Gu Rong's cheek twitched.
An ordinary person, eighteen years old.
Yet also a Title Douluo.
And possessing a Hundred-Thousand-Year Soul Ring that he himself had seen only a few times in his entire life.
For Yang Xing to say such words so casually was simply outrageous!
If it was true.
Then the cultivation history of the entire Douluo Continent, spanning thousands of years, was a joke.
But at that moment, Gu Rong no longer had the mind to question him directly.
Although this mysterious young man, Rongrong's master in name, had already made him deeply wary.
What stood before him now was the honor of the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect.
He could not retreat, and the pride he had carried for decades would not allow him to do so.
He slowly narrowed his eyes.
His withered face looked especially grim beneath the lamplight, faint ghostly light flickering in his deeply sunken eye sockets.
"I do not care who you are."
Gu Rong's voice grew heavier with every word.
"Nor do I care what faction you belong to."
He straightened to his full height. His two-and-a-half-meter frame cast a massive shadow beneath the lamplight.
"Much less do I care whether your cultivation and that Soul Ring are real or fake."
Having said that, Gu Rong steadily and slowly rose from the ground.
His two-and-a-half-meter body unfolded, and his astonishingly large frame blocked more than half the light from the oil lamp. The shadow it cast covered the entire square table.
Then, nine rings rose beneath his feet.
Two yellow. Three purple. Four black.
Nine Soul Rings.
The radiance belonging to another Title Douluo bloomed within the main hall, forming a contrast to the nine Soul Rings Yang Xing had displayed moments earlier.
As the Soul Rings appeared, Gu Rong's aura began to climb. Though this pressure was slightly weaker than Yang Xing's nine Soul Rings, it still surged outward at a terrifying speed, flooding the surroundings within seconds like a dam bursting open.
"Bzz!"
An invisible shockwave spread outward from Gu Rong as its center.
This was not mere Soul Power released outward. It was a spiritual domain suppression unique to holders of the Bone Dragon Martial Soul. Mixed with spatial fluctuations unique to his top-tier Bone Dragon Martial Soul, it was stronger than his previous aura alone, like an invisible wall that blasted from Gu Rong's body and rushed straight at Yang Xing.
The remaining half-pot of tea on the table shattered.
Porcelain fragments flew in all directions.
The oil lamp's flame shook violently three times, nearly going out.
The four legs of the square table creaked beneath the blast of air and slid half a foot backward.
"Bzz!"
At almost the exact same moment as Gu Rong, a wave of an entirely different nature surged around Yang Xing's body.
It was a side effect produced when Wind Empress Qimen activated the power of space. Centered on Yang Xing, an invisible ripple spread outward like a drop of water falling into a pond.
The two shockwaves collided in the center of the main hall.
"Boom!"
A soundless roar. It was not an audible explosion, but a spatial tremor caused by two forces colliding. A violent wind suddenly swept through the main hall. Curtains were torn into strips and sent flying, paintings and calligraphy fell from the walls one after another, chairs toppled over, and every bowl and plate shattered.
The two force fields pressed and ground against one another above the square table that had already been pushed into the corner.
Yang Xing's side was calm as still water. He remained seated in the grand chair without moving, not even lowering his crossed leg. That shockwave was like an invisible barrier, steadily blocking Gu Rong's pressure three feet before him.
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