The dust, a fine, grey powder of pulverized rock and incinerated earth, began to settle. The apocalyptic, world-shattering boom of their final, cataclysmic clash slowly faded into a low, echoing hum that seemed to vibrate in the very bones of the ruined forest.
Qian Renxue and her two guardians soon descended from the sky, their movements swift and silent. They landed in the center of the vast, smoking crater, a landscape of pure, unadulterated devastation.
And then, she saw them.
Her grandpas. The two most powerful, most respected, and most feared elders of the Spirit Hall. Two living legends who had stood at the pinnacle of the world for over a century.
They were lying on the ground, amidst the rubble, their magnificent, avatar forms gone, their own, human bodies looking small, fragile, and impossibly, terrifyingly wounded.
Their elegant, formal robes were in tatters, their skin covered in a network of angry, red cuts and deep, oozing lacerations. A thin trickle of blood ran from the corner of both of their mouths, a stark, crimson stain against their pale, shocked faces.
They were alive. But they were injured.
And they were… embarrassed.
The Mighty Lion Douluo, a man whose boisterous, arrogant pride was as legendary as his power, could not even meet her gaze. He just lay there, his massive, powerful frame trembling with a mixture of pain and a deep, profound, and utterly, completely, and soul-shatteringly humiliating shame.
To think that he, the Fourth Worship of the Elder Hall, had been brought to this state. By a single man. A man who was two full ranks below him. It was a disgrace. A humiliation he would carry with him for the rest of his long, long life.
The Azure Luan Douluo, who was always so calm, so composed, so serenely confident in his own, absolute superiority, was in a similar state. His handsome face was a mask of stone, but his blue eyes, usually so clear and so sharp, were now clouded with a deep, profound, and utterly, completely, and devastatingly professional shame. He had been arrogant. He had underestimated his opponent. And he had paid the price.
Qian Renxue, however, did not see their shame. She did not see their wounded pride.
She saw only her family. She saw the two old men who had doted on her, who had protected her, who had been the only true, unwavering source of grandfatherly affection in her lonely, difficult life.
And they were hurt.
A wave of pure, cold, and utterly, completely, and terrifyingly murderous fury, a feeling she had not felt since the day she had learned of her father's death, washed over her. She thought of Tang Hao, of the wounded, exhausted, but ultimately, completely, and terrifyingly unbroken legend who had just escaped their grasp.
But the fury was quickly, ruthlessly suppressed, replaced by a cold, hard, and incredibly focused pragmatism. Vengeance could wait. Her grandpas' well-being could not.
She spun around to face her two guardians, her beautiful face a mask of cold, regal authority.
"Forget him," she commanded, her voice a blade of ice. "He is a wounded animal. He will not get far. Our priority has changed."
She looked at the two wounded, magnificent old men, and her voice, for the first time, held a flicker of genuine, heartfelt concern. "Uncle She. Uncle Ci. Take them. We are returning to Heaven Dou City. Now."
She then turned her attention to She Long. "Uncle She, you will use the authority of the Crown Prince. You will go to the Ye Family. You will bring their matriarch, Ye Ruxue, to the palace. You will tell her that if she does not heal my grandpas, if she does not use every ounce of her power to restore them to their full health, her entire clan will cease to exist by sunrise. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Young Miss," the two Titled Douluos said in unison, their voices a low, submissive rumble. They knew the gravity of the situation. They immediately got to work.
She Long, with a surprising, serpentine grace, gently lifted the massive, unconscious form of the Mighty Lion Douluo into his arms. Ci Xue did the same for the Azure Luan Douluo.
And then, with Qian Renxue leading the way, a beautiful, furious, and utterly, completely, and terrifyingly determined avenging angel, they shot back into the sky, their destination the heart of the Heaven Dou Empire.
As she flew, her mind was a cold, calculating storm. 'Tang Hao… he is even more powerful than Zhang Tian had predicted. To be able to fight two Level 97 Super Douluos to a standstill, to be able to wound them both… his combat power is monstrous. Unnatural.'
She thought of Zhang Tian's calm, analytical assessment of the threat. He had been right. He had warned her. And she, in her arrogance, had not truly listened.
'I will ask them,' she vowed to herself, her violet eyes hardening with a new, profound resolve. 'When they are healed. I will ask them for every detail of the fight. I will understand his techniques, his power. And the next time we meet… he will not escape.'
Far away, in a deep, dark, and blessedly silent cave miles from the battlefield, a broken legend was trying to hold himself together.
Tang Hao was in a state of profound, absolute, and almost comically catastrophic ruin.
He was no longer a Super Douluo. He was no longer even a Spirit Elder. The explosive, suicidal detonation of all nine of his spirit rings had not just consumed all of his spirit power; it had shattered his very foundation. His physical strength, which had once been a thing of monstrous, legendary power, was now so weak that he doubted he could even lift his own, non-avatar hammer.
It was a miracle he was even alive.
'It must have been due to me possessing a complete set of Spirit Bones,' he thought, a flicker of grim, grateful understanding in his pain-clouded mind. 'They most likely absorbed the backlash. They saved me.'
He had not thought he would survive. He had been prepared to die. To take those two old monsters with him in a final, glorious blaze of defiant, suicidal fury. But he had lived.
And he had no intention of dying anytime soon.
He knew he was in a desperate situation. His injuries were not just physical. The old wounds in his soul, the ones that Qian Xunji had inflicted upon him all those years ago, had been torn open by the immense strain of the battle. They were a festering, poisonous fire in his body, a fire that was slowly, but surely, consuming him from the inside out.
He needed a healer. A powerful one.
And he knew of only one person in the world who he could trust. The one person who would help him, no questions asked.
His sister. Tang Yuehua.
The thought was a bitter, shameful taste in his mouth. To go crawling back to his family, to the very clan he had abandoned, it was a humiliation of the highest order. But his pride was a luxury he could no longer afford.
He knew where she was. The Moon Pavilion. In the heart of Heaven Dou City.
It was a suicidal, desperate gambit. The Spirit Hall's branch in the capital would be a hornet's nest of activity. They would be on high alert, their nets cast wide, searching for any sign of him.
But he had no other choice.
He slowly, painfully, pulled himself to his feet. He wrapped himself in a tattered, hooded cloak, his face a grim, stony mask of pure, unadulterated resolve. He would be a ghost. A shadow. A broken legend, crawling back to the one, last sanctuary he had in this cruel, unforgiving world.
The journey to the capital was a slow, agonizing, and deeply humiliating ordeal. He, who had once been able to cross the continent in a single day, was now forced to travel on foot, to hide in the shadows, to move like a common, hunted criminal.
He finally reached the towering, fortified walls of Heaven Dou City in the dead of night. He managed to slip past the guards at the gate, his own, innate mastery of concealment, combined with the sheer, overwhelming exhaustion that was now his constant companion, making him an almost invisible presence.
He found the Moon Pavilion easily. It was an elegant, beautiful, and almost ethereal structure, a place of high culture and refined art, a world away from the brutal, bloody reality he had just escaped.
He stood before the grand, main entrance, a pathetic, hooded figure, his clothes tattered, his body a canvas of pain.
The two guards at the door, two powerful, Spirit Emperor-level experts, immediately moved to block his path.
"Halt," one of them said, his voice a cold, dismissive sound. "This is the Moon Pavilion. Beggars are not welcome here."
Tang Hao just looked at them, his eyes, hidden in the shadows of his hood, holding a deep, profound weariness. He was too tired to be angry. Too broken to be proud.
"I am here to see your leader," he said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble.
The guards just laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. "Our leader? You mean Miss Tang Yuehua? She does not meet with gutter trash like you. Be gone, before we are forced to remove you."
Tang Hao knew he could not fight them. He had to swallow his pride.
"Please," he said, the word a bitter, shameful taste in his mouth. "Just… just tell her. Tell her that her Second Brother is here to see her."
He then did the one thing that was more humiliating than begging. He offered them a bribe. He reached into his storage spirit tool, the simple, blue bracelet on his wrist, and produced a heavy pouch of gold coins.
"For your trouble," he said, his voice a dead, hollow sound.
One of the guards, his eyes widening at the sight of the gold, took the pouch. He weighed it in his hand, a greedy, calculating light in his eyes.
"Wait here," he grunted, and disappeared into the elegant, brightly lit building.
Tang Hao waited.
A few minutes later, the grand, main doors of the pavilion were thrown open.
A woman, a vision of pure, elegant, and almost otherworldly beauty, came running out. She was no longer a young girl, but her face held the same, familiar warmth, the same gentle, loving light that he remembered from his childhood.
"Second Brother?" Tang Yuehua whispered, her voice a choked, disbelieving sound as she looked at the broken, hooded figure before her.
She rushed to him, her arms wrapping around him in a tight, desperate hug.
"It really is you," she sobbed, her voice a muffled, happy sound against his tattered robes.
She pulled back and looked at him, at the blood, at the dirt, at the deep, profound exhaustion in his eyes. "You're hurt," she said, her voice a low, firm sound that held a new, powerful authority. "Come. Come inside."
She led him into the beautiful, elegant building, past the stunned, gaping faces of her own students and guards. She took him to the very top floor, to a luxurious, private chamber that was adjacent to her own.
She helped him to the large, comfortable bed.
"Rest now, Second Brother," she said, her voice a gentle, soothing sound. "You are safe here. I will get help. I will hire the best support-type healing spirit masters in the city. They will help you recover."
Tang Hao did not say anything. He did not have the strength. He just lay back on the soft, silk pillows, the weight of the world, of his grief, of his failure, a crushing, suffocating thing.
He closed his eyes.
And for the first time in a long, long time, the Clear Sky Douluo, the most feared, most hated, and most legendary man of his generation, allowed himself to be weak.
The two hours that followed Tang Hao's collapse were a whirlwind of quiet, controlled chaos within the elegant, serene walls of the Moon Pavilion. Tang Yuehua, the gentle, cultured master of this artistic sanctuary, transformed in an instant. The soft, sorrowful sister was gone, replaced by a leader of absolute, unwavering authority.
"Inform the kitchen to prepare a steady supply of high-energy, restorative broths," she commanded her most trusted attendant, a stern-faced woman in her late forties whose loyalty was absolute. Her voice, usually a soft, melodic sound, was now as sharp and as cold as tempered steel. "Use the thousand-year-old ginseng from my private stores. Spare no expense. He will need all the nourishment he can get."
"And you," she said, turning to a young, nimble-looking man who was one of her chief aides, "go to the Ye Family estate. Personally deliver my invitation to the Matriarch, Ye Ruxue. Tell her that Tang Yuehua of the Moon Pavilion requests her immediate assistance in a matter of the utmost urgency. Tell her the price is no object."
The two subordinates bowed and disappeared, their movements swift and silent, a testament to the quiet, disciplined efficiency of her household. Tang Yuehua then turned her attention to the most delicate, and most crucial, part of her plan.
She returned to the chamber where her brother lay, a broken giant on the soft, silk sheets. She looked at his face, at the familiar, handsome features now etched with a profound, soul-deep weariness, and her heart ached with a fierce, protective love. His breathing was shallow, his powerful body unnaturally still.
'I will not let them find you, Second Brother,' she vowed to herself, her gentle eyes hardening with a rare, steely resolve that few had ever seen. 'Not here. Not in my house. Not ever.'
She worked quickly, her hands sure and steady. From a hidden compartment in her wardrobe, she retrieved a simple, unadorned silver mask. It was a blank, featureless thing, designed to conceal, not to intimidate. She gently, almost reverently, placed it over her brother's face, hiding the iconic, recognizable features that had once shaken the world. She then covered his entire body with a heavy, dark cloak, hiding his powerful, battle-scarred frame and the tattered, blood-stained remnants of his clothing. To any observer now, he was no longer the legendary Clear Sky Douluo. He was simply… a patient. A nameless, faceless man in need of healing.
Her messenger returned less than an hour later, his face pale, his expression one of polite, apologetic regret.
"Pavilion Master," he began, his head bowed low. "I delivered your message to the Ye Family estate, just as you commanded. But… the Matriarch, Ye Ruxue, she is not available."
Tang Yuehua's brow furrowed, a faint, almost imperceptible line of annoyance appearing between her perfect eyebrows. "Not available?" she repeated, her voice a low, dangerous sound. "What do you mean, not available? Did you not tell her the matter was one of life and death?"
"I did, Pavilion Master," the messenger replied, his voice a low, nervous sound. He did not dare to meet her gaze. "But she has already been summoned. By the Crown Prince himself. An imperial carriage, bearing the royal crest, arrived at her estate just moments before I did. The steward informed me that she has been taken to the palace. To treat one of the Prince's personal guards, a man who was gravely injured during a recent spirit ring hunt."
Tang Yuehua was silent for a long, thoughtful moment. A flicker of disappointment, sharp and bitter, passed through her. Ye Ruxue, with her legendary Nine Heart Flowering Apple spirit, was the one person in the entire city, perhaps the entire empire, who could have truly, completely healed her brother's ancient, festering wounds.
But she felt no suspicion. The news, while unfortunate, was not unusual. The Crown Prince was a powerful, influential figure. It was only natural that he would command the services of the city's most powerful healer for one of his own men. It was a simple, unfortunate coincidence of timing.
'It is a setback,' she thought, her mind already shifting, adapting, her disappointment ruthlessly suppressed and replaced by a cold, hard pragmatism. 'But not an insurmountable one. There are other ways.'
She turned to her attendant, who had been waiting silently in the corner of the room. "Very well," she said, her voice a calm, even sound that betrayed none of her inner turmoil. "Plan B. Cast a wide net. Use all of our resources, all of our influence. I want every reputable Support Type Healing Spirit Master in Heaven Dou City. Anyone above the fiftieth rank. Bring them here. Now."
She looked at her attendant, and her eyes were shining with a cold, hard light. "And tell them," she added, her voice dropping to a low, non-negotiable command, "that the Moon Pavilion will pay them ten times their usual fee. For their silence, and for their skill."
The next hour was a testament to the quiet, subtle power that the Moon Pavilion wielded in the capital. A steady stream of the city's most powerful healers began to arrive, their expressions a mixture of curiosity, greed, and a deep, underlying respect for the woman who had summoned them. They were mostly Spirit Kings and Spirit Emperors, the elite of the healing world, men and women who were usually a law unto themselves, but who all answered the call of Tang Yuehua.
She led the three most powerful among them—a stern-faced old man with a Healing Scepter spirit, a gentle-looking woman with a Holy Light spirit, and a young, prodigiously talented man with a unique, plant-type healing spirit—to her brother's chamber.
They entered the room and saw the masked, cloaked figure on the bed. They exchanged a quick, curious look, but they were professionals. They did not ask questions.
They began their examination. They worked in a quiet, efficient silence, their hands glowing with the soft, warm light of their respective healing spirits. They checked his pulse, his breathing, the state of his meridians. And as they worked, their initial, professional calm slowly, inevitably, began to be replaced by a look of profound, dawning awe, and a deep, underlying terror.
They could not sense a trace of his spirit power. It was as if he were a commoner. But his body… his body was a thing of monstrous, legendary power. His bones were as dense as steel, his muscles were like woven cables of iron, and his meridians, though shattered and torn, were wider and more resilient than any they had ever seen.
'This man…' the old man with the Healing Scepter thought, his hands trembling slightly as he felt the sheer, raw, physical power that radiated from the unconscious form. 'He is a Titled Douluo. At the very least. What in the heavens could have brought a being of this level to such a state?'
They finished their examination and turned to Tang Yuehua, their faces grim.
"Pavilion Master," the old man began, his voice a low, somber sound. "The man's injuries are… extensive. Catastrophic."
He looked at his two companions, who both nodded in silent, grim agreement. "The surface wounds, the lacerations, the broken bones… those we can treat. With a full week of continuous, intensive healing, we can stabilize his condition. We can ensure he does not die."
"But," the gentle-looking woman with the Holy Light spirit added, her voice a soft, sorrowful whisper, "the internal damage… it is profound. His meridians are shattered. His spirit power… it is completely gone for now. It is as if he has… overexerted himself to a degree that I cannot even begin to comprehend. The backlash from his own techniques must have been… apocalyptic."
"And there is more," the young man with the plant-type spirit said, his own face pale. "There are… older injuries. Deeper ones. It is like a poison that has seeped into his very foundation. Those wounds… they have been festering for at least a decade. And they… they are completely, utterly beyond our ability to heal. Even with our combined power, I doubt they could be fully expunged."
They looked at her, their expressions a mixture of professional regret and a deep, profound pity.
"However, please be relieved as we shall do what we can, Pavilion Master," the old man concluded, his voice a firm, respectful sound. "We will keep him alive. We will patch up his new wounds. And we will provide you with a recipe for the most potent healing elixir we know. With that, and with his own, monstrous natural healing prowess that his powerful physical body must possess as a Titled Douluo, he would, in time, slowly recover."
Tang Yuehua just listened, her face a mask of stone. She had expected this. She had known the price her brother had paid for his pride, for his love, for his vengeance.
She looked at the three powerful healers, and her voice was a calm, quiet sound that held an unshakeable, absolute authority.
"You will stay here," she said. "In the Moon Pavilion. For the entire week. You will not leave. You will not speak to anyone of what you have seen here. You will dedicate your every waking moment to his recovery."
She looked at them, and her eyes were shining with a cold, hard light. "And for your service, and for your silence," she added, her voice a low, promising murmur, "you will be rewarded with a fortune that will ensure the prosperity of your families for the next three generations."
~~
A/N: Check out my other novels like "Harem Master: Seduction System" and the "Villain: Manipulating the Heroines into hating the Protagonist" and I hope you like this story and those stories as well.
Check out more chapters on my P.atreon. The P.atreon will have 20+ Chapters ahead for this story. I hope you like it.
The link of p.atreon is: bit.ly/evildragon