The Mystery of a Soul Crossing into Another World Exposed-Tang Sect's Supreme Arts Were Stolen from Another Sect?!

The scene continued to shift—young disciples in short gray cloth tunics hurried back and forth along the blue-stone steps, carrying wooden crates. The components inside were intricate and precise, utterly unlike any Soul Tool known on the Douluo Continent. The lanterns hanging beneath the eaves bore not soul script, but an unfamiliar kind of square writing.

The comments exploded first.

[What place is this?! What part of the Douluo Continent has buildings like these?!]

[It's not the Douluo Continent... then where is it? Another world??]

[Wait, look at those disciples. There are no martial soul fluctuations! They aren't Soul Masters at all!]

The perspective suddenly zoomed in, slipping into a sealed stone chamber deep within that pavilion. Three words were carved over the door—Scripture Pavilion.

A gray-clad youth crouched in the shadows.

He looked to be in his early twenties, with refined features, yet his movements were practiced beyond belief. His fingers danced as he removed yellowed booklets from hidden compartments, leafed through them, then returned them. His eyes shone unnaturally in the darkness, his pupils contracting slightly as though he were using some extraordinary memory to pour every page directly into his mind.

The Sky Screen helpfully translated the words on the covers—

"Mysterious Heaven Treasure Record."

"Controlling Crane Capturing Dragon."

"Mysterious Jade Hand."

Finally, the youth drew out a scroll of blueprints from a hidden compartment at the very bottom. The instant he spread it open, a Sky Screen annotation appeared: [Buddha's Fury Tang Lotus—Tang Sect's highest forbidden concealed weapon. Design blueprint. Only copy.]

The gray-clad youth pressed the blueprint to his chest and smiled silently.

Within two seconds, the entire continent's comments filled with the same question:

[Who is he?!]

The Sky Screen gave the answer. Golden words appeared above the gray-clad youth's head: [Tang Sect outer disciple · Tang San. Previous-life identity.]

On the training field, Tang San's knees buckled.

He did not fall to his knees, but everyone saw him stagger half a step.

The scene on the Sky Screen continued.

Alarm bells rang through the valley. Dozens of Tang Sect elders converged from every direction. The white-haired old man in the lead shattered the stone door of the Scripture Pavilion with one palm strike and roared amid the flying rubble, "Tang San! Have you lost your mind?!"

Gray-clad Tang San was forced back to the edge of a cliff. Behind him lay an abyss ten thousand fathoms deep, clouds churning below. Stones at his feet were swept away by the wind, and their echoes could not be heard for a long time.

He turned around to face all his pursuers, his expression remarkably calm.

He held the Buddha's Fury Tang Lotus blueprint high overhead, letting it unfurl in the wind.

"I'm returning it."

The blueprint left his hand and drifted toward the white-bearded elder in front.

[See? He returned it!]

[Returned my ass! Look at that expression—it's exactly like when I got caught cheating on an exam. You hand back the phone, but you've already memorized all the answers!]

[...The more I think about it, the scarier it gets.]

Gray-clad Tang San took another step back, and his heel found nothing but air.

"I came naked and would leave without attachments."

He spread his arms, turned his back to the abyss, and fell.

The scene did not stop the moment he fell from the cliff. The camera followed the gray-clad youth's body as it plummeted through the clouds, through the rock walls, through some invisible barrier of space and time—

Then the entire world changed.

The gray-clad youth's body vanished, leaving only a pale-blue orb of light carrying the unmistakable outline of a human soul, drifting through a chaotic void. The Sky Screen marked it with a line of text: [Soul age: thirty years. Mental state: complete adult personality.]

At the end of the void, a scene appeared: Holy Soul Village, Tang Hao's blacksmith shop, and a newborn baby lying in a coarse cloth swaddle, crying loudly.

The orb plunged straight into the baby's crown.

The baby's cries stopped for half a second before starting again. The Sky Screen deliberately slowed that half-second tenfold—the newborn's eyes had opened during that instant, and a flash of awareness utterly impossible for an infant passed through them.

The comments went completely mad.

[Thirty years old??? He was already thirty when he reincarnated???]

[So when he went down the mountain at six, his actual mental age was thirty-six?!]

[A thirty-six-year-old man mingling with a bunch of children and pretending to be a genius? That's not genius—that's bullying!]

[I'm going to throw up. Then he and Xiao Wu... a grown man in his thirties with a ten-year-old little girl...]

[Don't say it. Please, don't say it.]

From the direction of the Killing Capital, Tang Hao's comment appeared. But this time, he did not curse Heaven's Will or threaten to smash the Sky Screen.

There was only one line in the comment section: [Clear Sky Sect · Tang Hao: ...]

Shrek Academy's training field.

Tang San clenched his fists, his nails digging into his flesh. If he did not speak now, it would truly be over.

[Shrek Academy · Tang San: Tang Sect outer disciples were forbidden from learning inner sect techniques—this was an outdated and rotten rule! Inner disciples monopolized resources, while outer disciples were not even qualified to look at them! I simply refused to let a lifetime of supreme skills be buried by narrow sectarian prejudice. I wanted to carry forward Tang Sect concealed weapons. What did I do wrong?!]

For a brief moment, those words actually swayed the comments.

[That... kind of makes sense? If the rules are unreasonable, is self-study really wrong?]

[Yeah, it wasn't like he meant to hurt anyone—]

The Sky Screen's response was a new scene.

Inside a crude wooden hut, a gray-haired old man sat before the stove, stirring thin porridge in a pot with an iron ladle. Firelight illuminated his deeply wrinkled face, while old scars covered the backs of his hands.

A gray-clad boy of seven or eight pushed open the door, hunching his neck against the cold.

The old man said nothing. He pushed a bowl toward the boy, then took a crude little crossbow from the wooden rack behind him and handed it over.

"Practice this today." The old man's voice was hoarse. "It's an outer sect beginner's concealed weapon. Learn accuracy first."

The boy accepted the crossbow and lowered his head to drink the porridge. The old man sat beside him and watched, his gaze carrying an awkward warmth he did not know how to express.

The Sky Screen added a small annotation in the bottom-right corner: [Tang Sect outer sect elder · Adopted Tang San for sixteen years. Provided him with food, clothing, and foundational outer sect concealed weapon techniques.]

The scene finally froze on the old man's back as he tucked the boy's blanket around him.

The comments fell silent for three seconds.

[Fuck, this was the person who raised him?]

[The things he stole belonged to the sect that raised him, taught him, and fed him?]

[I actually believed that bullshit just now? What unreasonable system? They adopted you, and you turned around and stole all their family treasures?]

[How is that any different from raising an ungrateful wolf?]

Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect.

Ning Fengzhi stared at the image of that crude little crossbow on the Sky Screen. After several breaths of silence, he spoke.

[Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect · Ning Fengzhi: No wonder.]

The comments waited two seconds for the rest.

[Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect · Ning Fengzhi: I had always wondered how a teenager could casually produce something as exquisitely intricate and lethal as the Godly Zhuge Crossbow. Now I understand—it wasn't genius. He was a porter. He brought thirty years' worth of stolen achievements into a new world and used them directly. What did that have to do with creating anything himself?]

Soul Masters across the entire continent mulled over that comment again and again. The more they considered it, the colder their spines became.