"If only Teacher were here—with him, maybe we'd actually find a way to beat them." Tang San let out a quiet sigh, gaze drifting out the window. Then he froze, his eyes catching a streak of gold light closing in fast across the horizon. "That's…"
At his words, the others turned to look as well. Far off in the distance, a golden light was hurtling toward them at a speed that defied belief. As it drew closer, a familiar young figure came into focus—black wings spread wide, wrapped in that same golden glow.
"That's Xiao Se!" Ning Rongrong's eyes lit up.
"What are those wings on his back? Is that his martial soul?" Ma Hongjun blurted out. "Even the Dean can't move that fast!"
Xiao Se hadn't bothered concealing his presence, so it didn't take long for the others to spot him too.
On the carriage belonging to the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect, Sword Douluo's eyes snapped open. "Fengzhi," he said, turning to Ning Fengzhi, "that Xiao Se is worth a lot more than a Soul Emperor rank suggests. His aura's on par with mine, and his speed leaves me in the dust."
"On par with Uncle Sword?" Ning Fengzhi's face went slack with disbelief. He let out a long breath. "Seems we badly underestimated him. Thank god he and Qinghe get along—the last thing we need is Spirit Hall getting their hands on someone like that."
"Agreed," Sword Douluo said gravely, nodding.
Xiao Se soared past the Shrek Academy carriage, glanced down, and caught Tang San's eye for just a moment. He flashed a playful grin before angling toward the grandest carriage at the front of the procession.
"Brother Xiao Se, you've made it." Qian Renxue stepped down to greet him as he landed, smiling warmly.
"Yeah, I got held up a bit. Good thing I'm not too late." Xiao Se nodded.
"Come, let's talk inside." Qian Renxue gestured toward the carriage. To anyone watching, the two looked every bit like close friends.
The procession rolled onward into Wuhun City. But in a forgotten corner of that same city, inside a squat, cylindrical cell, an entirely different scene was playing out.
Cell number eleven measured barely ten square meters, crammed with bunk beds and thick with grime. Over a dozen hard-faced men were packed inside, their skin stained a sickly yellow-brown from the filth. A crust of unidentifiable yellow grime coated the toilet, inside and out, thick enough to turn anyone's stomach.
"Ooh, fresh meat." A muscular man, shirtless and crisscrossed with old scars, sneered at the new arrival. "Looks pretty banged up, though. Chrysanthemum, patch him up—shame if he croaked on us."
"Right away, brother." A middle-aged man with an oily, lecherous face shuffled over to Yu Xiaogang and opened his palm, summoning a chrysanthemum blossom.
Three spirit rings flared to life—yellow, yellow, purple. The petals dissolved into threads of golden-brown light that sank into Yu Xiaogang's body, knitting his injuries shut.
This particular healer had once practiced in Wuhun City—until he'd tried to force himself on a female patient during treatment. Her screams had brought the patrol running, and he'd been caught in the act and thrown in here. His healing abilities had earned him a spot as second-in-command of cell eleven. As his wounds closed, Yu Xiaogang's eyes fluttered open.
"Did you save me?" he asked.
"Say thank you, old man. Otherwise I wouldn't have bothered." Chrysanthemum pouted and stepped back behind the scarred man.
"Thank you, brother. And—may I ask your name?" Yu Xiaogang understood well enough that he had no leverage here. If he wanted to survive this place, he'd have to learn to bend.
"Your surname's 'Da' now." The scarred man's eyes glittered with something unpleasant.
"'Da'?" Yu Xiaogang blinked, confused—he couldn't recall that being a surname anywhere on the Douluo Continent.
"My name's Brother. I run this place." Three spirit rings rose slowly from beneath the man's feet—one white, two yellow. He said it with obvious pride.
A Soul Master. Yu Xiaogang's stomach dropped. Out in the real world, a mere Soul Master wouldn't so much as register on his radar. But in this godforsaken pit, even an ordinary Battle Soul Master could crush him without effort. Here, he was nothing.
"Thank you for the help, brother. I hope you'll look out for me going forward."
At the mention of him wanting to eventually "leave," the whole cell erupted into laughter.
"Heheheh." "Zeh-hah-hah." "Hehehehe…" "Fu-fu-fu." "Guh-lah-lah-lah-lah."
The laughter was strange—warped, hollow, almost inhuman. Even Yu Xiaogang's usual composure cracked under the weight of it.
Damn it. Where in the world did Hu Liena send me?
"So how exactly do you want your big brother to 'look out for you'?"
"Relax, big brother's gonna take real good care of you. Every newbie gets the special treatment."
"Aww, look at this old guy, so cute. Big brother's definitely gonna spoil him."
"Ha, I like this one—knows how things work around here. Once big brother's done with him, I call second."
The crude remarks kept coming, and Yu Xiaogang's face drained of what little color it had left. Unbidden, his mind flashed back to that drunken night with Tang San, Dai Mubai, and Ma Hongjun.
"Alright, pipe down, all of you! Don't go scaring our new little—" the scarred man caught himself, "—our new old man." He turned back to Yu Xiaogang with a smile. "So, old man. What's your name?"
"Yu Xiaogang." He swallowed hard. Something about that look on the man's face set his nerves on edge.
"Yu Xiaogang, huh? Not a great name. Tell you what—I'll give you a new one. Skinny as you are, I'll call you Rose." The scarred man's fleshy face twitched into a grin, clearly quite pleased with his own creativity.
Rose? A fresh wave of bitterness rose in Yu Xiaogang's chest.
"Brother, a name's something your parents give you—it's not really something that can just be swapped out. If I've offended you somehow, you can call me Xiaogang, or Xiaoyu, whatever suits you." True to form, Yu Xiaogang—soft toward strangers, ruthless toward his own—begged shamelessly.
The scarred man's expression darkened at once. "The hell's wrong with me renaming you? Everyone else in here got a new name, so why not you? I named every single one of them. That guy who patched you up—Chrysanthemum. That bald one—Narcissus. That other bald one—Jasmine. And that one over there, picking his nose—Peony. I named them all, so you're getting a flower name too. Rose it is." He turned. "Narcissus, who said you could sit? Go carve up a nameplate for the new guy. And from now on, Rose takes turns on watch with the rest of you. Whoever I pick, you serve."
Then came something far worse. The scarred man reached down, pulled open the pocket of his filthy, yellow-stained pants, and jerked his chin at Yu Xiaogang. "Rose. Come here. Reach in and grab it."
Grab the pocket?
Yu Xiaogang's mind went blank, but with the memory of that crushing weight still fresh in his bones, and the thought of never having to face that again, he found himself moving anyway.
"Big brother… why is this happening to me?"
"Quit whining and open your mouth. Or do you want me to really take care of you?"
"Oh—uh—uh—"
(End of Chapter)
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