Tang Hao

When Tang San returned home with the bowl, the sky had not yet gone completely dark.

Tang Hao was lying on the bed with an arm across his forehead. It was impossible to tell whether he was asleep or awake.

"What Martial Soul?" The voice came from beneath his arm, hoarse and heavy with alcohol.

"Blue Silver Grass."

Tang Hao stirred and reached a hand out of the shadows. "Go make dinner."

Tang San set the bowl on the table, but did not move. "Dad."

"Go make dinner."

"I have another Martial Soul."

The room fell silent.

Tang Hao's hand stopped in midair. Then he sat up.

Tang San held out his right hand and willed it to appear. A dull light shone from the back of his hand, iron-colored and hammer-shaped. It was small, but just looking at it gave the impression of weight.

Tang Hao stood up. He was tall enough that his head nearly touched the ceiling beams, and his shadow covered Tang San completely. He walked over, crouched down, and stared at the little hammer in Tang San's right hand.

Tang Hao's voice took on a different tone. He sounded agitated, nothing like his usual drunken self. "Little San, remember this: use the hammer in your left hand to protect you, the grass in your right hand, forever."

Tang San withdrew the hammer. Tang Hao withdrew as well, stood up, and turned his back on Tang San.

Tang San looked at his father's back and suddenly asked, "Spirit Hall killed my mother, didn't they?"

Tang Hao's shoulders went rigid. He did not turn around, but Tang San saw his hands clench into fists at his sides, his knuckles cracking.

"Who told you that?" His voice was low, as though forced out from the bottom of his throat.

"Wang Xingyu."

Tang Hao turned around. There was a light in his eyes that Tang San had never seen before. It was neither drunkenness nor sleepiness. It was cold.

As a former member of the Tang Sect, Tang San had naturally seen that look before. It was killing intent, the killing intent his father had unleashed toward Wang Xingyu.

"How did he know?" Tang Hao's voice was level, so level it sent a chill down Tang San's spine.

Tang San did not back down. "He read about it in Spirit Hall's books. The former Pope led people to surround and kill you and Mother. Mother sacrificed herself, and the Pope died in that battle. He pieced it together."

Tang Hao said nothing. His killing intent did not recede, but it did not grow stronger either.

"What else did he say?"

"He said the former Pope was directly responsible, and so were the Titled Douluo who took part in that battle. He said it was my blood feud, and I should avenge it."

Tang Hao's gaze flickered.

"But he said to go after only those people. Not to kill civilians, or people like Su Yuntao." Tang San paused. "He also said Spirit Hall had done many good things, awakening civilians' Martial Souls and maintaining order on the continent."

"So what exactly does he want?" Tang Hao asked coldly.

"He said that if we only destroyed Spirit Hall without building a new one, the nobles would monopolize Martial Soul awakenings for civilians in the future. So revenge is one thing, but what should be kept has to be kept. He also said-" Tang San paused. "He said he wanted to build one himself."

Tang Hao looked at him for a long time. His killing intent gradually faded, replaced by something else. It was neither anger nor surprise, but something Tang San had never seen on his father's face. It was like a man who had walked through darkness for a long time suddenly seeing someone ahead holding up a lamp.

"A six-year-old child says he wants to build an organization better than Spirit Hall." Tang Hao looked at Tang San and found it somewhat amusing. "Do you think he's boasting?"

But Tang San answered seriously. "It didn't seem like it."

Tang Hao walked back to the bed and sat down, picking up the wine gourd beside it. He looked at it, then put it down again.

"How did his parents die?"

"A Soul Beast killed them."

"He lives alone in that run-down house at the east end of the village?"

"Mm."

"Old Jack helps support him?"

"Mm. Later, he and Old Jack went into the soap business together. Now he gets enough to eat."

Tang Hao fell silent again. He watched the moonlight filtering through the doorway and tapped his fingers twice on his knee.

"This person is a friend of yours, then."

Tang San raised his head.

"Starting tomorrow, I'll teach you smithing."

Tang San was taken aback. "Smithing?"

"The first lesson of the Clear Sky Hammer." Tang Hao did not turn around. "That Blue Silver Grass of yours is the person you must protect. That Clear Sky Hammer of yours is the means to protect them. Smithing trains the hand, and the hammer too."

Tang San stood in the room, looking at his father's back. In six years, this was the first time he had felt that it did not look like a mountain on the verge of collapse.

"One more thing." Tang Hao turned around. "What was your friend's name again?"

"Wang Xingyu."

"Tell him to come along tomorrow."

The corner of Tang San's mouth curved up. "Okay."

Tang Hao walked back, picked up the bowl of meat soup on the table, which was no longer steaming, and tilted his head back to take a large gulp. He put it down again. "All right, now go make dinner."

Before dawn the next day, Wang Xingyu was awakened by a knock at the door.

It was not the slow, leisurely knock Old Jack used. It was fast and heavy, as if the person knocking was in a hurry to get something done. He rubbed his eyes, got up, and pulled the door open. Tang San stood outside.

"My dad wants you to come over."

Half of Wang Xingyu's sleepiness vanished. "Your dad? Tang Hao?"

Tang San nodded.

The rest of Wang Xingyu's sleepiness vanished. "What does your dad want me for?"

"I don't know."

Wang Xingyu stood in the doorway, his mind racing. Yesterday, he had told Tang San to go back and ask Tang Hao about Spirit Hall. Now Tang Hao was summoning him first thing in the morning.

There were two possibilities. Either Tang Hao had thought it through, approved of his ideas, and wanted to talk to him, or Tang Hao had not thought it through and wanted him to come over so he could kill him in person.

"What was your dad's expression like?"

"He didn't have one."

"What was his tone like?"

"The same as usual."

Wang Xingyu felt even less certain. Tang Hao had been the same as usual, which meant there might be a problem or there might not. He could not guess at all.

But Tang San stood at the door without a worried look on his face, and there was no hint in his eyes that Wang Xingyu should run. So it was fine. Probably.

"All right, wait for me."

Wang Xingyu went back inside, pulled on his outer clothes, washed his face, and headed to the smithy with Tang San.

On the way, he went over everything he had said to Tang San the day before. The former Pope was the murderer, revenge should be directed at the right people, the people at the bottom should not be killed, Spirit Hall should be destroyed if it had to be, and he would build a new one himself.

There was nothing wrong with any of those statements individually, but he did not know what Tang Hao would think of hearing them all together.

The smithy stood at the west end of the village, not far from Butcher Zhang's house. It was a low stone building, with scrap iron piled by the door and several finished hoes and kitchen knives hanging on the wall. Wang Xingyu had passed it many times over the past year, but he had never gone inside.

It was not that he did not want to. He did not dare.

Tang San pushed open the door. Tang Hao was crouched in front of the furnace, lighting a fire, and did not turn around when he heard their footsteps. Flames leaped up inside the furnace, casting a red glow over half his face.

"Dad, he's here."

Tang Hao stood up and turned around.

This was the first time Wang Xingyu had seen him so close. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with messy hair and a beard that had not been shaved in who knew how many days.

But his eyes were completely different from those of the drunk Wang Xingyu usually saw in the village. They were neither drunken nor sleepy, but heavy. Like a piece of iron that had burned for many years, retaining that weight after it cooled.

Tang Hao looked at him without speaking.

Wang Xingyu looked back at him, also silent. In his mind, he quickly ran through every part of the story about Tang Hao that he had read in his previous life. All he could say was that if this man wanted to kill him, he would not even have a chance to run.

Tang Hao took a step forward.

Just one step, and Wang Xingyu felt the air in the entire smithy grow heavy. It was not Soul Power bearing down on him. A Titled Douluo had done nothing but take a single step forward, and it was enough to make him feel as though he could hardly breathe. Tang San stood beside him, motionless, but his fingers clenched tight.

Tang Hao looked down at Wang Xingyu from above, his shadow covering him completely.

"Those things you told Little San yesterday, did you think of them yourself?"

"Yes."

"How old are you?"

"Six."

"What Martial Soul?"

"Blue Silver Grass, with innate level-three Soul Power."

"Six years old. Blue Silver Grass." Tang Hao repeated the words without inflection. He crouched down, bringing himself eye level with Wang Xingyu. They were so close that Wang Xingyu could see his own reflection in Tang Hao's eyes.

"A six-year-old child with Blue Silver Grass as his Martial Soul says he wants to build an organization better than Spirit Hall." Tang Hao's voice was low, like the muffled sound of a hammer striking an anvil. "Do you think I'd believe that?"

Wang Xingyu did not retreat. "Whether you believe me isn't important. Whether I do it is what matters."

Tang Hao looked at him. Something stirred in those eyes, heavy as iron.

"Do you know what kind of existence Spirit Hall is? Do you know how poor your aptitude is?"

"I know a little. It's the strongest Soul Master faction on the continent, with more than one Titled Douluo. My aptitude is ordinary. I can only cultivate to somewhere between level ten and level thirty."

"You know that, and you still dare say such things?"

"Whether I dare say it is one thing; whether I do it is another. Besides, I already have a plan for myself." Wang Xingyu's voice was steady, but he could feel sweat breaking out on his back.

Tang Hao stared at him for a long time. The fire crackled in the furnace.

Then the pressure coming from him withdrew. Like a receding tide, it vanished all at once. Tang Hao stood up, turned around, and went back to crouch in front of the furnace, adding a piece of charcoal.

"All right, I'll watch what you do. If you don't succeed, I'll kill you."