"He's not done yet."
Thud, thud — two muffled grunts rang out almost simultaneously.
Tang San's body was sent flying by Zhao Wuji's palm, and one of the grunts was naturally his. His body hurtled through the air as he spat out a mouthful of blood.
All of his earlier attacks had been executed with every ounce of his cunning and internal energy, pushing him to the very brink of exhaustion. How could he possibly withstand Zhao Wuji's palm in that state? Not being knocked unconscious was already fortunate enough.
The second grunt belonged to Zhao Wuji. He had assumed this was just another of Tang San's hidden weapons — blocking a hammer swing with his palm would be child's play, wouldn't it? But the moment that hammer struck his palm, he knew something was wrong.
The seemingly tiny hammer carried terrifying weight. Despite Zhao Wuji hurriedly channeling Soul Power, he had been careless at the outset, and under the combined effects of the
The hammer smashed into his palm, and his palm was driven back into his face. Blood immediately streamed from Zhao Wuji's nose, and the impact left a massive smear across his face — like opening a dye shop, he ended up looking like a painted mask. The whole blow left him dazed.
The small black hammer, having completed its work, vanished without a sound.
Tang San, supported by Dai Mubai, coughed up another mouthful of blood. His injuries were far from light, but from the surface alone, no one would think that the person who had won this exchange was Zhao Wuji.
Of course, that wasn't to say Zhao Wuji lacked power. He was, after all, fighting against examinees and had been restrained for fear of truly hurting Tang San. At the same time, he had wanted to see exactly how far Tang San could go. His specialty was raw strength, not tracking or precision. On top of that, Tang San's hidden weapons were staggeringly unpredictable, woven into a tapestry of meticulous calculations — all of which combined to allow the overconfident Zhao Wuji to suffer a humiliating blow. His face was well and truly lost. In a real fight, Zhao Wuji would only need to activate his fifth Soul Ring skill, and Tang San would be killed on the spot. The gap in their true strength was simply too vast.
If this had been merely an examination, Tang San would never have fought so desperately. But
Dai Mubai stared at Zhao Wuji's blood-smeared face, torn between laughter and the need to hold it in, then quickly called out at the top of his lungs, "
Channeling Soul Power into his voice, there was likely no one within the entire academy who couldn't hear him.
Many years later, when the Evil-Eyed
Dai Mubai answered without a moment's hesitation — Soft Bone Douluo Xiao Wu. The reason was simple: she was the sacred scale of Thousand Hand Douluo Tang San. Provoking Tang San directly might not matter much, but provoke Xiao Wu and ignite Tang San's fury, and something horrifying would appear. Tang San would no longer be Thousand Hand Douluo — he would become Thousand Hand
Dai Mubai had been a romantic his entire life, even earning the nickname "Peerless Lecher" among the Shrek Seven Devils in jest, but he had never once provoked Xiao Wu. Because he was a smart man, and he absolutely did not want to face a furious Tang San. And all of this — this iron certainty — had been imprinted on him by the scene unfolding before his eyes right now.
"Business? Where's the business? Where's the business?" Oscar's distinctive, soft voice carried a note of excitement as it drew closer, and soon he appeared before everyone.
Perhaps in his eagerness, he had abandoned his cart entirely, running over on his own two legs.
"Little Ao, over here!" Dai Mubai called to him.
Oscar rushed over. "Boss Dai, you called me?"
Dai Mubai nodded. "Hurry — whip up a few sausages. They're all injured."
Oscar's eyes lit up. "Five Copper Soul Coins each — don't forget to settle up with me afterward. I have a big sausage!" With that strange soul incantation of his, a flash of light appeared in his hands, and a fragrant sausage materialized.
Dai Mubai shot Tang San a meaningful look. "Just eat it. His words are disgusting, I'll give you that, but his sausages really do work. This one was granted by his first Soul Ring — it accelerates the body's natural recovery."
The sausage itself wasn't the issue. It was the moment Tang San recalled what Oscar had said that his stomach churned. He waved his hand hastily. "I'm not badly hurt — just a bit drained. I'll be fine after some rest. Let him give the sausages to someone else."
With that, he immediately sat cross-legged and began circulating his energy to regulate his breathing.
Tang San refusing to eat didn't mean no one else would. Take, for instance, a certain someone whose face had been thoroughly demolished.
"Oscar, get over here. One sausage and one dry sausage — give me one of each."
Zhao Wuji's voice was muffled, which was hardly surprising. Although his refined Soul Power had managed to keep the venom from spreading further, in the instant it had struck him, his tongue had swelled up considerably.
Oscar blinked his peach blossom eyes. "Who are you? How did you get into our Shrek Academy? And how do you even know my name?"
"You little brat — you looking for punishment? I'm Zhao Wuji!" Zhao Wuji roared in fury, nearly choking, on the verge of coughing up blood.
(End of Chapter)