Sword Douluo Chen Xin had finally departed, returning to the Seven Treasures Glazed Tile Sect under the excuse of "urgent instructions from Sect Master Ning Fengzhi." His sudden absence eased visible tension across Shrek's students.
None of them knew how suffocating it had been these past days.
Tang San, Dai Mubai, even Flender himself—none had dared breathe loudly before that Titled Douluo's stern yet unfathomable aura. Sword Douluo's mere presence was like a blade resting across their spines. Every word, every look from him pressed heavier than battle.
Now, with him gone, resentment quietly reared its head once more.
Xiao Tian noticed. He always noticed.
That afternoon, while the crowd dispersed, Ning Rongrong pouted as she overheard her father's pretext for calling Jian Douluo back. She huffed bitterly.
"Father is such a fool, always worrying over things. He had to drag Grandpa Jian back first to 'report.' What's to report? After this training ends, we'll have holiday time anyway. By then, Xiao Tian, will you come back to the Sect with me?"
Her words, though said lightly, were deliberately seeded, shaped to the plan Xiao Tian had whispered to her earlier: say it aloud, let Tang San and the others hear, so suspicion dies before it grows.
Rongrong had wanted to leave for a long time. That much was true. Oscar's constant buzzing had driven her near mad, hovering around her like a fly that refused swatting. Every smile of his reeked of petty attempts to stake his claim.
With Jian Douluo's shadow gone, Tang San and his allies exhaled in relief.
At last.
No more invisible blades, no more oppressive pressure reminding them how far away "Titled Douluo" truly was. None of them could face someone like Chen Xin equally. Only Xiao Tian… only that smiling, infuriating boy had sat calm as if they were equals.
And that only deepened the burn in Tang San's chest.
Dai Mubai even half-believed Chen Xin had marked him—knew his true identity as Star Luo royalty-in-exile—and might have killed him on the spot, were it not for Ning Fengzhi's presence. With Sword Douluo gone, his relief felt doubly bitter.
As the sun dipped, Xiao Wu, Ning Rongrong, and Zhu Zhuqing returned to practicing the sword-controlling technique that Xiao Tian had been drilling into them.
Of the three, Xiao Wu advanced fastest.
Though her sword didn't soar yet, when she placed it gingerly on the ground and focused, the wooden blade trembled faintly without her touch.
That, already, was progress.
Xiao Tian's instructions had pushed her this way. Her second soul skill—Charm—drew partly from her spiritual power. That affinity to spirit made her sharper, more sensitive to subtle flows. He urged her repeatedly:
"Try not to force it through raw soul power. Use your mind. Focus with thought."
Ning Rongrong sat to the side, biting her lip as she stared at her own unmoving sword. Compared to Xiao Wu's faint success, she had nothing.
Her mood sank low.
She'd never felt quite so useless.
"Ohhhh," she groaned, arms dropping limp. "This is too hard. Xiao Tian, when can I ride flying swords like you? Do you have… any other suggestion? Anything I haven't tried?"
Xiao Tian had already been mulling ideas. His "Xuanyuan Sword Sutra," ingrained in him through the system, contained the Soul-Refining Chapter, principles distinct from Douluo cultivation norms. He'd been crafting, in half-finished theory, an original method to develop spiritual power from scratch based on sword-controlling mechanics.
But it wasn't yet ripe. Rushing it would mislead her.
Still, her question sparked a thought. Something unusual.
"In that case, why not attempt… the Imperial Tower?"
"Imperial… Tower?" Ning Rongrong blinked, wide-eyed. "What tower? You mean—my Seven Treasures Glazed Tower?"
Xiao Tian smiled slyly.
"Exactly. Rongrong, your martial soul is a tower, a weapon spirit already linked to you by origin. Why force yourself only on the sword at first? Try with what is already a part of you. Make your tower fly. Once you sense how, carry that feeling over to controlling external swords. It should be easier to succeed."
The idea was bold, perhaps absurd. Yet brilliant.
Ning Rongrong's eyes almost glowed.
Fly… the tower?
Even she had never dared imagine her martial soul functioning so unorthodoxly.
Xiao Tian, however, was grinning inwardly at his own madness. Why not? Who claimed only the sword need fly? Even the legendary drunken swordsman of myths guided his gourd bottle as weapon.
A tower smashing into enemies—with its aura enhanced by auxiliary ring fusions—could be a devastating trump card.
And speaking of rings…
Xiao Tian remembered Ning Rongrong's legacy talent: Fusion Ring. Most wasted it merely lengthening buff durations. What folly. Injected into her tower directly at full burst, it could convert to pure destructive capacity. If her pagoda became blunt weapon, it would hit like a meteorite.
His thoughts blazed.
"Rongrong," Xiao Tian said seriously, gripping her slim shoulders, looking directly into her pearl eyes, "believe me. If you master Tower Control first, your steps toward Sword Control will double. And more than that—it will open paths no auxiliary has ever walked."
For several breaths, Ning Rongrong's heart hammered so loud she thought Xiao Wu and Zhu Zhuqing could hear it too.
She faltered, eyes darting, face flushing crimson at his nearness. At last, she tore her glance aside, retreating half a step, her voice stammering.
"F-fine… fine! I'll… I'll try!"
Her body felt too hot, her cheeks burning fiercely. Memories resurfaced—Grandpa Jian's quiet words late at night in confidence:
"Rongrong, Xiao Tian's sword genius even exceeds mine. His future will eclipse me. What a pity he's already tied to Xiao Wu… otherwise, he and you would be perfect. He suits you, far more than others do. What a pity indeed…"
Now, staring at Xiao Tian's earnest fiery gaze, the old words mixed with her fevered heart, and she felt as if her veins ignited. Why was she reacting so?
Zhu Zhuqing approached curiously, her sharp eyes catching Rongrong's flushed skin. "Rongrong? Your face… Why are you suddenly so red?"
"Eh? Ah—uhm—this sun… it's too hot! Way, way too hot! Aren't you sweaty too? Haha, I think… I'll just… go back to practice!!"
Ning Rongrong spun like fleeing rabbit, bolting toward the practice ground.
Zhu Zhuqing frowned as she watched her figure run off, then tilted her cool gaze toward the sky.
The bright noon sun shone warm, yes, but… what "heat" could possibly trouble a soul master? With soul power regulating body fluids, no practitioner should ever feel oppressive warmth.
Strange… truly strange.
Xiao Tian only smiled faintly, eyes following Ning Rongrong's retreating back. His pathsharp mind twisted forward with plans:
If Rongrong could master Tower Control, her development would shatter auxiliary shackles.
With Ring Fusion applied properly, she alone could stand ground.
Shrek's web of "relationships" to tie her down would snap useless.
All according to his quiet choices.
At the same time, Xiao Wu's wooden sword trembled faintly again at her side. Zhu Zhuqing lowered hers with cold determination, her aloofness masking admission—Ning Rongrong and Xiao Wu's bond with him only grew stronger.
And Tang San, lurking nearby with jealousy seething inside, clenched his hand. Sword controlling, tower flying… what monstrous heresies is Xiao Tian spreading now?
His jaw tightened, fury and obsession whispering vows. He'd take Xiao Wu back. He'd crush this boy's tricks. He'd create Tang Sect regardless.
For Xiao Tian though, the truth was clear as sunlight:
Chen Xin gone.
Suspicion softened by craft.
Plots aligning toward the Royal Fighting Team's arrival.
The board was set. And every move—from towers to swords—belonged to him.
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