Back at the quiet hotel, the atmosphere was a world away from the lively plaza. Ning Fengzhi sat calmly sipping tea, while Sword Douluo Chen Xin stood by the window, his arms crossed, his gaze perpetually scanning the surroundings with the vigilance of a honed blade.
The peace was broken by the swift, almost silent return of the disciple Ning Rongrong had shooed away.
The young man bowed deeply, his breathing slightly hurried. "Sect Master, Lord Douluo."
Ning Fengzhi set his cup down with a soft clink. "Report."
The disciple straightened up. "The Young Mistress is safe and in the company of the two academy students. The situation is... unexpected." He proceeded to recount the events in detail: the initial meeting, the strange sense of familiarity between the Young Mistress and the boy named Tang San, and the moment of revelation at the candy haw stand.
"The boy is indeed the one who provided shelter and aid to the Young Miss and me a month ago in the mountain village."
Ning Fengzhi's eyebrows rose slightly, a rare sign of open surprise. "Is that so? What are the odds?" He glanced toward Chen Xin, but the Sword Douluo had not moved, though his posture seemed to have grown even more still, if that were possible.
"The Young Mistress," the disciple continued, "wishes to extend her tour. She has asked that you both join them at the commercial district plaza to see what the locals call the 'star attraction' of the city. She was... most insistent."
A faint, knowing smile touched Ning Fengzhi's lips. "When is she not? Very well. You are dismissed. Ensure their safety remains unobtrusive."
Once the disciple had melted back into the shadows, Ning Fengzhi turned fully to the older man. "Uncle Jian, what are your thoughts on this remarkable coincidence?"
Chen Xin was silent for a long moment, the only sound the faint rustle of the evening breeze through the window. His mind was not on the coincidence, but on the boy. The memory of that cold, dark warehouse surfaced with unusual clarity.
The boy's eyes—they had not held the fear or curiosity of a normal village child. They had been preternaturally calm, deeply observant. And his actions… precise, efficient, fearless.
"He was an unusual child," Chen Xin finally rumbled, his voice low. "He brought food, water, and clean rags for my wounds without being asked. When he spoke, it was to relay information about what Ning Rongrong did to help him." He turned from the window, his sharp eyes meeting Ning Fengzhi's. "There was also the Haotian Douluo who helped us."
Ning Fengzhi leaned forward, his interest fully captured. "The Haotian Douluo? There's a name I didn't expect."
Another long pause stretched as Chen Xin sifted through the haze of pain and exhaustion from that night. A larger, more imposing memory began to take shape alongside the boy's calm face. A figure of overwhelming, domineering pressure. A giant hammer that blotted out the moon.
"My escape would not have been possible alone," Chen Xin said, each word measured. "The Spirit Hall pursuers were eliminated by a third party. A man of immense power. He wielded a hammer."
Chen Xin gave a single, slow nod. "I believe we were aided by the one known as Hao Tian Douluo."
The air in the room grew thick with the weight of the name. The most formidable attack-type Douluo of a generation, a man who had vanished from the world.
"Before he left," Chen Xin continued, his gaze turning inward, "Hao Tian Douluo looked toward the village. He said... 'I have my reasons for staying here.' At the time, I was too wounded to ponder the meaning. But now, maybe..." He let the implication hang in the air.
Ning Fengzhi stood up, pacing slowly to the window. He looked out at the modest city, his mind racing. "You are suggesting that the boy, Tang San, could be the son of Hao Tian Douluo? That the greatest attack-type Douluo in the world has been hiding all these years in a simple village?"
He shook his head, a wry smile on his face. "It sounds like the plot of a fantastical play. The very idea is... absurd."
Yet, even as he said it, he couldn't dismiss it entirely. The pieces fit together with an unnerving symmetry. The secrecy, the power, the boy's inexplicable poise.
"Absurd," Ning Fengzhi repeated, quieter this time. "But not impossible. The world has seen stranger turns." He made his decision. "Regardless of the truth, this boy saved my daughter and one of the pillars of our sect. That debt must be acknowledged. Let us go and meet this remarkable young man and his friends."
The walk to the commercial district was a silent one, each man lost in his own thoughts. When they arrived, the disciple monitoring the café discreetly ushered them inside.
The scene that greeted them was not what Ning Fengzhi had expected. He had anticipated a formal, perhaps awkward, meeting. Instead, he saw his daughter, Ning Rongrong, not as the proud young mistress of the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect, but simply as a girl.
She was leaning across the table, her face animated, listening intently as the brown-haired girl, Xiao Wu, recounted some wild story, her hands gesticulating wildly.
The boy, Tang San, sat beside them, a faint, patient smile on his lips as he watched them, occasionally adding a quiet comment. The fourth member of their group, a young woman with striking, silky pink hair, observed the exchange with a gentle, amused smile, sipping her tea.
There were no airs, no pretenses. They were just four young people, sharing stories and laughter in a quiet café. The defensive, haughty shield Rongrong so often wore was gone, replaced by a genuine, unguarded expression of enjoyment.
A warmth spread through Ning Fengzhi's chest, a feeling he rarely experienced. This was what he had always wanted for her—not the isolation of privilege, but the simple, messy joy of genuine connection. He glanced at Chen Xin and saw a similar, albeit grimmer, softening around the Douluo's eyes.
His smile deepened. He stepped forward, his movements calm and deliberate, not wanting to startle them.
"It seems my dear daughter is having fun without me," he said, his voice gentle and kind, cutting through their conversation.
The four looked up. Ning Rongrong's eyes widened, and a blush of embarrassment touched her cheeks before she quickly schooled her features. Tang San, Xiao Wu, and Mei immediately rose to their feet out of respect, their postures becoming more formal.
But the warmth of the moment they had shared still lingered in the air, a tangible thing that even the arrival of a Sect Master and a Titled Douluo could not completely dispel. Ning Fengzhi's gaze lingered for a moment on Tang San, seeing not just a boy, but a puzzle—and perhaps a key to a mystery lost for a generation.