Tang San Steals a Cultivation Technique
In the blink of an eye, a week has passed.
During this period, after Jiang Lan and Doro planned the factory, they would go to the Heaven Dou City every day to inspect the factory's situation or go to play with Xiao Wu, and then go home to sleep at night.
Cultivate diligently?
He's already at level 41, and he was only 6 years old when he reached level 41.
"Call..."
The sound of Jiang Lan and Doro snoring could be heard coming from Jiang Lan's room.
A figure quietly entered Jiang Lan's courtyard; it was Tang San.
The moment Tang San landed, he suppressed his breathing to a minimum, blending into the shadows of the corner of the wall. He remained silent for a moment before slowly straightening up.
His gaze swept across the courtyard and landed on the half-open wooden window.
Jiang Lan's even breathing could be heard from inside, occasionally interspersed with Doro's indistinct murmurs in his sleep. The two little ones were fast asleep.
Tang San leaned against the wall, not in a hurry to go inside, but just staring at the window, his mind a jumble of thoughts.
He disliked this feeling. Having cultivated himself since childhood, he considered himself to be upright and honest in his actions, and had never been so hesitant before.
But the Lightness Skill skill Jiang Lan used that day kept him awake at night as he thought about it more and more.
Logically speaking, after being reborn into this world, he should have already abandoned the martial arts rules of his previous life.
Stealing the secret techniques of another school is a major taboo; those who betray their master will be punished with three cuts and six holes. These are things ingrained in one's bones.
It felt like two little people were fighting in Tang San's head.
One person said, "Tang San, you are a disciple of the Tang Sect. The Tang Sect Secret Arts are rightfully yours. You're just going to reclaim what rightfully belongs to you. What kind of stealing is that?"
Another said, "Tang San, in your past life you died by jumping off a cliff because you stole inner sect techniques. Are you going to repeat the same mistake now?"
The first voice immediately retorted, "How can these be the same?"
In your past life, you were merely an outer disciple, and your learning was illegitimate and improper.
The Tang Sect no longer exists in this life. You are Tang Sect sole heir in this world. Are we going to pass on our secret techniques to a six-year-old child to sell milk tea instead?
The second voice fell silent.
The first voice added, "Besides, you're not going to steal it, you're just going to take a look."
It's not illegal to check, is it?
So Tang San convinced himself.
Jiang Lan's room was at the very end of the three-courtyard house. It was quiet at the moment, with only the sound of even breathing coming from the window.
Tang San tiptoed to the window, not daring to push it open, and only peered through a tiny hole in the window paper.
"Huff... Little Guga... Huff... Little Guga..."
Jiang Lan was fast asleep, lying in a starfish position with her Penguin Suit half-undone, her belly rising and falling with her breath, and a small string of saliva hanging from the corner of her mouth.
On the pillow next to him, Doro was curled up in a white ball, hugging the Ju Zi peels in the small tin box, occasionally smacking his lips in his sleep.
The two, one human and one soul, slept soundly, oblivious to the world, completely unaware that someone had appeared outside the window.
Tang San had already placed his hand on the windowsill, but upon seeing this scene, he withdrew it.
He suddenly felt a mix of urges to laugh and urges to sigh.
While I'm torn between my inner turmoil and sleepless nights, the other person is sleeping like a log, not even turning over.
Tang San stood outside the window, the two little figures in his mind starting to fight again.
One person said, "Look, they don't care about the Tang Sect Secret Arts at all. You treat them like your life, but they treat them like toys."
If you take it away, the person might wake up and think they've lost an Ju Zi peel.
Another said, "You can't steal that either."
The first voice snapped, "Why are you so stubborn?"
I already said it wasn't stealing, it was retrieving.
This thing should have belonged to the Tang Sect, and it should have belonged to you!
Without you, the Tang Sect would truly have perished in this world.
Have you forgotten the oaths you swore before the ancestral tablets of the Tang Sect?
Tang San's fingers clenched tightly.
He remembered the words he silently recited in his heart while pounding medicine in the Tang Sect in his previous life.
The greatest humiliation of his life was being kept out of the inner circle.
He practiced his skills and performed with all his might, trying to prove that he was worthy of the true inheritance of the Tang Sect.
But he died without ever becoming an inner disciple.
Now the opportunity is right in front of him, behind this thin window, in the hands of a six-year-old child, holding what he has always dreamed of.
How could he just go back like that?
Tang San took a deep breath and finally made up his mind.
Tang San held his breath, gently pressed his right palm against the windowsill, and silently floated into the room like a falling leaf.
The instant his toes touched the ground, he instinctively crouched down, gathered his breath, and scanned his surroundings.
This is an old habit of the Tang Sect disciples: upon entering a room, they first observe the entire area.
Jiang Lan's room was small, with a bed, desk, and storage shelves, all laid out clearly at a glance.
On the table were several sheets of paper covered with strange lines and circles, next to which sat a half-finished cup of bubble tea, with a few rehydrated black tapioca pearls still at the bottom.
On the windowsill sat a small tin box, neatly stacked with Ju Zi peels, emitting a sweet aroma.
Tang San's gaze quickly settled on the wooden cabinet in the corner.
The cabinet door was ajar, revealing a corner of yellowed paper, clearly indicating that it contained books or similar items.
He walked over quietly and reached out to open the cabinet door.
There was indeed a stack of things in the cabinet, with a thin booklet on top, on which were four characters written in neat small regular script on the cover.
The Sunflower Manual
Tang San reached out to take it.
Just as my fingertips touched the edge of the book, I heard a very faint sound coming from under my feet.
Tang San lowered his head.
One of the floor tiles beneath his feet had sunk slightly by less than half a millimeter, barely noticeable to the naked eye, but his ears, honed through years of practicing Hidden Weapon, caught the crisp sound of a mechanism snapping shut.
"Not good."
The thought had barely formed in my mind when a gust of wind suddenly arose overhead, and a large, dark mass descended upon me.
Tang San subconsciously leaned back, turned to the side, and slid forward. The movement techniques he had practiced for more than ten years in his previous life burst forth with all their potential at this moment. He slid two steps along the ground like an eel.
But the room was too small. Just as he dodged the fishing net that was falling over his head, his left ankle tripped over a taut, thin wire.
A thin thread connected to an inconspicuous iron cylinder in the corner of the wall. With a flick of his wrist, the cylinder's lid snapped open.
With a whoosh.
A shower of multicolored powder rained down from the sky, drenching Tang San from head to toe.
Red, yellow, blue, and green—it was as if a paint shop had been overturned, turning his unassuming night clothes into a colorful rag.
Tang San's face turned green.
What's even more terrifying is that the powder also has a smell—a strange odor that's a mixture of Ju Zi essence, rust, and some indescribable sour smell. It choked him so much that he almost sneezed, but he managed to hold it back, his eyes turning red from holding it in.
"That brat..."
Tang San gritted his teeth and used one hand to push himself out of the pile of colored powder. The powder fell off his body and accumulated into a thin layer of colored snow on the ground.