Passione, Part One

What was the first thing that came to mind when someone mentioned Douluo Continent?

For most people, it was probably martial souls and soul beasts, the absurdity that was Brother Tang, and the countless beautiful girls and women in the story. Jodio's answer was much the same. If nothing else, Douluo had no shortage of pretty women. Their hair came in red, blue, green, yellow, gold, silver, gray, brown—you name it. There were every figure and every manner about them, from elegant and aloof to warm and uninhibited, from foxlike allure to the charm of rabbits and cats.

But Jodio was getting sidetracked. His point was that, however nice the place might seem, it was still a feudal society at heart. It only looked somewhat more culturally advanced. The poor were still poor, and the rich could still be heartless. You couldn't decide the Douluo world was wonderful just by looking at its good side. You had to look at the bad side too.

Jodio had collected the bodies of many, many soldiers during the continent's conflicts, and he had pulled many ordinary soldiers alive from among the dead. Their experiences, along with his own, proved that this continent was no good at all. For ordinary people, living conditions were probably only a little better than in the magnetic-field world. At any moment, a powerful soul master or an evil soul master might wipe them out as if they were spectators who had just spawned in. Then they would be dead for good.

And that was without even getting into Little Huo's circumstances. He was a direct victim of the feudal system and the continent's conflicts. Compared with the world in the second era, the first had actually been somewhat gentler. At least Spirit Hall existed as a counterweight: a collective born of self-interest, but one that was a little more progressive. Soul masters, at any rate, generally didn't have to suffer too much. But in the second era? Jodio could hardly say the same.

For ten thousand years, relentless pressure had kept anyone from becoming a god, while advances in theory had driven an exponential increase in the number of soul masters. Yet their prospects and opportunities had shrunk drastically, and the pressures they faced had multiplied. Some gifted children couldn't even afford to awaken their martial souls. Their talent went to waste. Jodio couldn't stand that era, but he had endured it for the sake of becoming a god. Then his conflict with Tang San had finally erupted.

Sometimes Jodio thought calling Tang San an emperor at heart gave him too much credit. From beginning to end, he had thought like the head of a sect—a gang. Even old sects had at least tried to save face; Tang San had stopped bothering to pretend. Jodio had put up with even that, never interfering with Tang San's plans. Only when his own ascension was obstructed did he finally break with the old bastard and begin thwarting him at every turn.

"A proper emperor ought to have the confidence to tolerate others," Jodio grumbled from the rooftop.

The weather was lousy that night. Clouds hid the moon, casting all of Suotuo City in gloom. Dogs barked incessantly, and even the night-market stalls had closed early. Everyone expected a downpour. Given the look of the sky, they figured they had better go home.

"Extra chili. Go easy on the cilantro," a soul master told a street vendor, pointing at the ingredients. A noble soul master—or simply one shaped by the attitudes of the age—saw little reason to be polite to an ordinary person. The power of a martial soul, much like magnetic-field power, could leave a person with a streak of me above everyone else. It gave them a touch of that magnetic-field lunacy.

"My lord, it's late, and getting around won't be easy. You'd best head home soon," the vendor advised as he made the jianbing.

"What? Afraid you'll get tangled up?" the Soul Grandmaster asked with a sneer. Suotuo City was sizeable, but its strongest figures were only Soul Kings and Soul Emperors. As a Soul Grandmaster, he still stood above hundreds or thousands of people here. He fancied that no one would dare trouble him, and that he had no one to fear.

"A gang's appeared in the city lately. They call themselves, uh... Passion? I heard they've been hunting down all sorts of ancient books. Supposedly they're looking for some kind of... bones?" the vendor explained.

"Soul bones?!" The Soul Grandmaster's head shot up.

"I don't think so. From what I heard, they're looking for human bones," the vendor replied, puzzled.

"Human bones?" Now the Soul Grandmaster was baffled. Looking for soul bones made sense, but what did they want with human bones?

"Your jianbing's ready, my lord. No need to pay. It's dangerous at night, so please get home and rest." The vendor started pushing his cart away.

"Wait. If there's a gang in the city, why haven't Spirit Hall or the city lord done anything?" the Soul Grandmaster asked.

"Oh, they don't seem to bully us common folk. They've got principles, apparently. I heard they've even opened two restaurants. They're not that big, really—they only control one street," the vendor explained.

"One street, huh? Interesting. I wonder who's behind them," the Soul Grandmaster mused.

"My lord, my dear lord, please, you have to help me! I'd give you my heart, I swear!"

Inside a barbecue restaurant, a middle-aged man sat across from Jodio in a private room. Tears streamed down his face as he pressed his hands to his knees and pleaded. Jodio sipped his tea at leisure, listening to the bustle outside. Beyond the curtain lay the familiar Devilishly Hot Barbecue Shop. Behind it sat Jodio, looking every inch an emperor.

In two months, Jodio had swept through the neighborhood. Without much effort, he had dealt with its ordinary gangs and a few shady soul masters. To the lord of Suotuo City and the local Spirit Hall branch, one street was too insignificant to notice.

Even if they did notice, Jodio wasn't particularly worried. For one thing, he could crush anyone at his own level. An opponent had to be a full major rank above him to put up a fight, and two ranks above him—a Soul Ancestor—to beat him decisively. For another, he had two Soul Saints and three Soul Emperors behind him, all fiercely protective of their own. By Shrek's usual creed, what Jodio was doing probably met its "standards" perfectly.

Hongjun and Oscar stood to either side like guardian statues, each striking a JoJo pose in the style of Wamuu or Esidisi. With the lights off, the two boys almost had the bearing of young men, enough to command a little respect. More than anything, though, it was the dramatic lines on their faces that made them look like miniature adults.

Two other soul masters sat nearby with their legs crossed, one man and one woman. Their guarded expressions made them look more like the gang's leaders. But the middle-aged man knew that on this street, only one person could set things right for him. In all of Suotuo City, few others would even be willing to stand up for an ordinary man like him. Though Jodio looked only seven or eight, he was someone the man absolutely could not afford to offend—and had to treat with respect.

"Lord Jodio, you're the only one I trust! Please avenge me. I'm begging you! I can't bear to let that hateful maggot, that filthy sewer rat, that unwanted old dog, that blind bear, that arrogant beast, that rotten fool, that witless thug, that colossal idiot, that despicable villain keep lording it over me and mocking me!" The middle-aged man went on sobbing.

"Why are there so many of them? Didn't he say it was one person?" Hongjun asked Oscar with a discreet glance.

Oscar was speechless. Barely moving his lips, he mouthed two words.

"Dumb ass!"