Tang Hao's lips trembled slightly, and under his cloak, his hands were faintly shaking.
"Y-You... why? Who are you, really?"
Old Jack grinned, scratching his head casually.
"I'm Old Jack, Tang Hao."
His voice was hoarse and unpleasant—sharp, grating, as though it were trying to burrow directly into Tang Hao's ears.
Tang Hao didn't want to believe it. No—he refused to believe it. The strange, unfamiliar man before him... how could he possibly be the village chief Old Jack—the one who had looked after him and Little San all these years?
But the man's appearance, his familiar mannerisms, they didn't lie.
No. That couldn't be.
Tang Hao clearly remembered—Old Jack was dead.
He instinctively looked toward Jack's neck.
Where his head and body had once been severed, the skin was now smooth—pristine.
As if the news of his death had been a lie.
And now, Old Jack stood in front of him, lively and full of energy—showing no trace of having died at all.
The surreal fusion of truth and falsehood stirred something fierce and chaotic in Tang Hao's heart.
Confusion. Betrayal. Deception.
A flood of negative emotions surged within him.
Tang Hao lowered his head, his eyes now bloodshot.
This feeling—this agonizing feeling—he hadn't felt it in so many years...
A-Yin...
He suddenly raised his head again, staring at Old Jack. He opened his mouth, but all that came out was a bitter silence.
He had countless questions—accusations—he wanted to hurl at Old Jack.
But facing that familiar face, the words caught in his throat and vanished.
Old Jack coughed twice, a fist to his lips, then spoke slowly:
"Tang Hao, don't blame me. I just wanted to see—do you truly have the will to go on?"
"Hehehe... I didn't expect it. You actually feel pity—sympathy—for lowly people like us."
His laughter was like a crow's screech—jarring, ugly, unsettling to the soul.
Each word he spoke was like a blade, stabbing deep into Tang Hao's heart—tearing apart wounds that had only just begun to heal.
"Why?"
"Why? WHY?!"
Tang Hao's voice rose from a whisper to a furious roar.
He shouted at Old Jack, as if trying to purge all the turmoil from his soul.
"Why?!"
But Old Jack remained calm, tilting his head slightly in mock thought.
A faint glow flickered within his dark crimson eyes.
Then he spoke:
"Tang Hao, I've known for a long time—you're no ordinary man."
"Our little Holy Spirit Village only ever produced a minor Soul Saint. How could we possibly be worthy of someone like you?"
"Hehehe... Haotian Douluo—a perfect fit for every dream I ever had of Title Douluo!"
"You're cold, withdrawn, as though the whole world has wronged only you. You pushed away the kindness and warmth of our villagers."
"Tang Hao, did you know? Even nobodies like us want to become powerful soul masters too."
His words echoed like thunder. Tang Hao wanted to shout him down, to deny everything—but it was like something was stuck in his throat.
He couldn't say a word.
Old Jack slowly raised his left hand.
It was dry and lifeless, with no trace of flesh—only a thin layer of skin stretched tightly over bone.
Gurgle—!
Suddenly, a deep crimson glow surged to life around his skeletal hand.
The blood-red light painted Old Jack's face in eerie hues, his eyes gleaming with desire—bottomless and mad.
He stared in obsession at the swirling scarlet glow surrounding his hand.
Then he continued:
"Tang Hao, do you know how important talent is to a person?"
"To become a strong soul master—your fate is sealed the moment you're born, isn't it?"
"Haotian Douluo... your son was born with innate full soul power. Hehehe! Makes one envious, doesn't it?"
"If I had such power... would I still need to bow and scrape before powerful soul masters? Would I still be a sniveling coward in the face of danger?"
Old Jack's tone was calm, almost like he was having a friendly conversation, venting his frustrations to a longtime companion.
But to Tang Hao, his words hit like hammers.
A coward...
Tang Hao stared blankly at him.
A-Yin...
If I had been stronger back then... could I have led you safely out?
Thump! Thump!!
His heart began to pound violently.
A crushing sense of suffocation and agony surged in his chest.
Clutching at his heart, Tang Hao dropped to his knees, his head lowered, staring silently at the ground.
And deep in his pupils... a strange, faint crimson light slowly crept upward.
Old Jack watched him indifferently, continuing:
"So when a power I couldn't refuse was placed before me..."
"Tang Hao, can you understand that feeling?"
Madness swirled in Old Jack's eyes as he stared at the surging energy in his palm.
Then he screamed, maniacal:
"When a man holds a power capable of slaying gods—why shouldn't he raise it high?!"
"Tang Hao! I will be that god-slayer! Don't you get it?!"
"Haotian Douluo, Title Douluo—I am no longer an ant!!! Hahahahahaha!!"
Old Jack howled with laughter—wild, unhinged, deranged.
Tang Hao clenched his fists tightly, his whole body trembling.
The red in his eyes deepened.
Buzz—!
A wave of soft azure light suddenly shimmered from his chest.
At the same time, a gentle glow wrapped around the hand he held over his heart.
A soft voice seemed to call out to him—whispering, pleading.
It carried boundless tenderness... and endless longing.
"Ah Hao... don't leave me..."
"A-Yin!!!"
The crimson in Tang Hao's eyes vanished instantly.
He stared at his hands in disbelief.
The shimmering blue ripple faded.
Everything returned to normal.
As if it had all been a hallucination.
But that soft call—that familiar voice—lingered in his ears, leaving him dazed.
"...A-Yin."
"I understand now."
Tang Hao stood up again.
He slowly raised his head, locking eyes with Old Jack.
His gaze was clear now.
Steady. Resolute.
"No... you're wrong. Power is a double-edged sword. For you, it will only bring harm—to others and to yourself!"
Old Jack wasn't angered. He looked at Tang Hao with a mockingly warm smile.
But his eyes were ice-cold—filled with bloodlust and crimson madness.
"Oh? Then let's find out... who's right, and who's wrong?"
****
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