Ning Fengzhi's mind was a whirlwind of strategies and long-term plans, visions of a strengthened sect and a broken restriction dancing behind his calm eyes. He was so engrossed that the subtle, gravelly clearing of a throat from beside him made him start slightly.
He turned to meet Sword Douluo Chen Xin's steady gaze. The old man said nothing, but his eyes, sharp as the blade he was named for, conveyed a clear message: I see the wheels turning in your head. Recruiting ambitions are well and good, but now is not the time. The child needs to return to her rest.
Ning Fengzhi offered a slight, almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgment. He smoothed the front of his robes and turned to his daughter, who was still chattering excitedly with Mei about the intricacies of her soul skill.
"Rongrong," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "The night has grown deep. It is time for us to return to our lodgings."
Ning Rongrong's animated expression immediately soured. "But Father! The night is still young! I want to stay with Brother San and the others a while longer!" She clutched Tang San's sleeve instinctively, a gesture that did not go unnoticed by either her father or the watching Sword Douluo.
"Rongrong," Chen Xin gently tried to persuade the young child. "Your safety is paramount. The city is less secure after dark."
"I'll be safe with them!" she protested, stamping her foot lightly. "Brother San is very strong!"
Both her father and her guardian stood their ground, their combined presence a wall of unyielding authority. Just as the situation threatened to become a true standoff, Tang San spoke up.
"Ning Rongrong," he said, his voice calm and reasonable. "Your father and Lord Sword Douluo are right. It is late. Besides, our academy dormitory has a strict curfew. If we don't return soon, we will be in trouble with our teachers." He gave her a small, reassuring smile.
"There will be time tomorrow. The city isn't going anywhere."
The logic, delivered from him, was far more effective than any parental decree. Ning Rongrong's defiance melted away, replaced by a pout. She reluctantly released his sleeve. "You promise? We'll meet tomorrow?"
"We will," Tang San affirmed.
Slightly mollified, Ning Rongrong finally acquiesced. With a final, longing look at her new friends, she allowed herself to be guided away by her father and Sword Douluo, the sect disciple falling into step behind them.
As the group from the Seven Treasures Glazed Tile Sect moved through the now-quieting streets toward their luxurious hotel, Chen Xin, who had been walking slightly ahead, suddenly stopped.
His entire body went rigid, his head tilting as if listening to a sound only he could hear. His sharp eyes scanned the dark tree line at the edge of the commercial district.
"Fengzhi," he said, his voice low and urgent. "Take Rongrong and continue ahead. Do not stop. I sense… a powerful aura. I must investigate."
Ning Fengzhi's eyes narrowed, but he trusted Chen Xin's judgment implicitly. "Be cautious, Uncle Sword," he said simply, ushering a suddenly nervous Ning Rongrong forward at a quicker pace.
Chen Xin didn't respond. He became a blur, vanishing from the street and reappearing silently within the shadows of the small, moonlit woods. The air here was thick with an oppressive, domineering pressure that made the very spirit energy tremble.
"Show yourself," Chen Xin commanded, his voice echoing faintly in the quiet grove.
From behind a large, ancient tree, a figure emerged. He was tall and broad-shouldered, clad in a worn, dusty cloak that did little to conceal his powerful build. The hood was pulled up, shadowing his face, but an unkempt, coarse black beard was visible on his jaw. In one hand, he held a large, worn wineskin. This was Tang Hao.
Chen Xin's breath hitched. Even after all these years, the presence of the Clear Sky Douluo was unmistakable, a force of nature that demanded acknowledgment. The memory of that hammer blotting out the sky was as vivid as if it were yesterday.
"Haotian Douluo," Chen Xin said, his guard still up, but his tone neutral. "It has been a long time. I never had the chance to properly thank you for your assistance that day."
A low, rumbling laugh came from under the hood. "Sword Douluo. Your senses are as sharp as ever." The cloaked figure made no aggressive moves. "No thanks are needed. I had my reasons."
"I suspect you did," Chen Xin replied, his gaze piercing. "The boy, Tang San… he is your son, isn't he?"
Tang Hao's laughter ceased. He reached up and slowly pushed back his hood, revealing a face etched with hardship and a deep, simmering grief, but still bearing the fierce, unyielding pride of the Clear Sky Clan. His eyes, dark and intense, met Chen Xin's. "You're as clever as they say, old man. Yes. The boy is mine."
"Are you here for him?" Chen Xin asked, the question hanging heavy in the air.
Tang Hao took a long swig from his wineskin. "This old timer was… worried for his child," he grunted, the admission seeming to cost him some effort. "Heard there was some commotion involving people from the spirit hall. Had to make sure he wasn't causing trouble… or being troubled."
Chen Xin allowed a rare, faint smile to touch his lips. The fearsome Haotian Douluo was, at his core, a concerned father. The realization humanized the legend. "He is fine. More than fine. He carries himself with a strength and wisdom beyond his years. You have raised a remarkable son."
Tang Hao grunted noncommittally, but a flicker of something—pride?—shone in his eyes before being masked. "Enough about the boy. That's not why I called you here."
"Oh? Then what is the reason for this… invitation?"
Tang Hao hefted the wineskin. "To talk. And to drink. This is a fine vintage. Too fine to drink alone." He gestured with his head deeper into the woods. "There's a clearing not far from here. We won't be disturbed."
Chen Xin studied him for a long moment. The risk was immense. A meeting between two Titled Douluos of their caliber, one of whom was a wanted man, was fraught with danger. But the opportunity to speak with Tang Hao, to perhaps understand the man behind the legend and the tragedy, was too significant to pass up.
"Very well," Chen Xin agreed, his posture relaxing marginally. "I will share a drink with you, Haotian Douluo. But I cannot stay long. The Sect Master's safety is still my priority."
"A quick drink, then," Tang Hao said, turning and leading the way into the darkness. "Just two old men, sharing a moment of peace under the moon." The statement was simple, but it carried the weight of a thousand unspoken stories, stories that now, for the first time in many years, Tang Hao seemed willing to partially tell.