Douluo: When the piano sounds, the hidden weapon returns to the factory

Chapter 76 Waiting
A deathly silence fell over the private room, broken only by the occasional crisp sound of silver chopsticks touching porcelain plates. Feng Yao, however, seemed oblivious, continuing to enjoy the exquisite dishes before him with elegant composure. His slender fingers picked up a celadon spoon, scooping up a ladle of clear soup with fluid, graceful movements, as if he were not at a tense banquet, but rather enjoying a solitary drink in his own courtyard.

He savored every bite of food, even the sound of his chewing was kept at a perfectly measured volume. The light from the gilded candlesticks danced on his sharply defined profile, reflecting his composed expression. In this subdued silence, his dining posture became, ironically, the most striking aspect of his serenity.

Ning Fengzhi lightly tapped the table with his fingertips, his voice as gentle as a breeze caressing glass: "Little Feng, what you said today—" He raised his eyes, his gaze unusually serious, "could it stop here?"

Feng Yao elegantly picked up a snow-white napkin and lightly wiped his lips. "Of course." A slight smile played on his lips, but his eyes were clear. "I had no intention of getting involved in this conflict, and I don't care who the final winner is." He tapped the table lightly with his fingertips. "Whatever choice the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile School makes, I won't care."

Sunlight fell upon his handsome face. "Besides," he raised his cup with a slight smile, "wouldn't it be unwise to offend Sect Leader Ning and the two seniors over such a trivial matter?"

Ning Fengzhi sipped his tea, a glint of light flashing in his eyes. "Little Feng," he tapped the table lightly with his fingertip, "would you be more optimistic about the Spirit Hall unifying the continent, or about the Upper Three Sects joining forces with the two great empires to resist them?"

Feng Yao smiled faintly, holding his teacup. Amidst the rising aroma, he slowly said, "Even if sects unite," a hint of mockery flashed in his eyes, "they ultimately harbor their own agendas. How can such a fraternal alliance withstand the overwhelming power of the Spirit Hall?"

He raised his eyes to look directly at Ning Fengzhi: "The quality of Soul Masters is certainly important, but with the continuous increase in the number of Soul Masters..." He paused, then continued, "In the future, geniuses will only emerge in endless streams. Can we truly maintain our advantage solely through Martial Soul inheritance?" His voice trailed off, "Does Sect Master Ning truly believe we can maintain this advantage indefinitely?"

Ning Fengzhi's eyes flickered slightly, his fingertips unconsciously tracing the rim of the glass cup: "It seems... Xiao Feng has a very high opinion of the Spirit Hall."

Feng Yao gently shook his head, his gaze as clear as a spring: "This junior is merely stating what I have seen." He looked out the window, as if piercing through the afternoon sunlight to see a distant mountain village, "From a small border village to where it is today, I have witnessed it all with my own eyes—"

"Year after year, the deacons of the Spirit Hall trek through mountains and rivers to awaken the spirits of ordinary people." His voice was soft, yet every word carried immense weight. "Perhaps a village might not produce a single spirit master for several years, but the light of hope in the eyes of those villagers..." He turned to look directly at Ning Fengzhi, "has long since revealed the will of the people."

Upon hearing this, Ning Fengzhi's face showed a deep sense of emotion. He sighed softly, his fingertips unconsciously tracing the delicate patterns on the teacup: "Indeed. The Spirit Hall has now gathered the power of seventy percent of the continent's Soul Masters." His voice deepened, carrying a hint of solemnity, "On that day's competition alone, seven Title Douluo appeared. And this is probably just the tip of the iceberg."

Feng Yao chuckled lightly, a hint of mockery flashing in his eyes: "It's ironic that a citizen of an empire has to rely on external forces to discover his talent." He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice, a meaningful smile playing on his lips, "Even His Highness is powerless to change all the nobles."

Ning Fengzhi shook his head and smiled wryly, his helpless face reflected in the glass cup: "Little Feng has keen insight. Even the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile School..." He tapped the table lightly with his fingertip, "can hardly eliminate the innate arrogance of a sect's Soul Master."

Feng Yao's gaze turned slightly cold as he lightly tapped his fingertips on the table. He knew all too well the rules of this empire—how could those high-ranking nobles allow a "peasant" to shake their privileges passed down through generations?

Upon hearing this, Ning Rongrong's pretty face suddenly flushed red. Her former arrogant and willful self flashed through her mind, causing her to unconsciously clutch the hem of her skirt. It was as if she too felt ashamed of her past ignorance.

Ning Rongrong's slender fingers unconsciously twisted the hem of her dress, her glassy eyes filled with worry: "Father," she whispered, "do we really have to cooperate with the Spirit Hall?"

Ning Fengzhi did not answer immediately, but instead subtly cast a probing glance at Feng Yao. However, the young man remained calm, his slender fingers lightly tracing the rim of the teacup, as if he truly meant what he said—that he did not care about this decision concerning the survival of the sect.

Ning Fengzhi sighed softly, raising his hand to pour half a cup of tea for his daughter. "The situation is still unclear, and this matter requires careful consideration." His gentle voice carried an unusual gravity. "Rongrong, this is not only your father's choice, but also a test for you." He tapped his fingertips lightly on the table. "No matter what the future holds, I hope you can face it with equanimity."

Ning Rongrong lowered her head, her long eyelashes casting a shadow under her eyes, and softly hummed in agreement.

"What a hassle!" Gu Rong couldn't help but slam his hand on the table. "Rongrong is still so young, why rush these things?"

A complex emotion flashed in Ning Fengzhi's eyes as he looked at his daughter's thin shoulders, his heart aching like a tidal wave. But he knew better than anyone that only by letting Rongrong understand the cruelty of reality sooner could she stand tall when the storm truly came.

Feng Yao gracefully set down his silver chopsticks and lightly wiped his lips with a napkin. He rose and bowed slightly to Ning Fengzhi: "Thank you for your hospitality, Sect Master Ning." His voice was like a clear spring striking stone. "Although I have no chance to serve the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile School, I hope to forge a good relationship with your esteemed sect. I wonder if this junior is qualified to become friends with the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile School."

Ning Fengzhi smiled faintly, holding his cup: "Of course, you're too kind, Xiao Feng. Rongrong will need your continued care these days." His gaze was gentle yet meaningful. "Today's conversation has been very beneficial for me, as the sect leader."

Feng Yao bowed again, his robes fluttering like flowing clouds: "In that case, this junior will take his leave."

Ning Fengzhi nodded, his eyes filled with affection as he turned to his daughter: "Rongrong, go see Xiaofeng off."

Ning Rongrong stood up in a daze, her crystal eyes filled with countless thoughts, and even her steps were unsteady. She silently followed behind Feng Yao, her slender figure appearing particularly thin in the candlelight.

After the two figures disappeared at the end of the corridor, Gu Rong and Chen Xin exchanged a glance and both sighed softly, their rough hands unconsciously stroking the backs of their chairs. Both of these once-powerful Title Douluos were filled with mixed emotions at that moment.

Gu Rong slammed his fist on the table, making the teacups clink: "That kid, he always picks on where it hurts!"

Chen Xin's brows furrowed slightly, his voice as cold as a deep pool: "Though the words are harsh, they are the truth. Oscar's disappearance is likely a warning from the Spirit Hall."

Ning Fengzhi didn't reply, but instead looked at Gu Rong: "Uncle Gu, when you investigated that day—he lightly tapped his temple—did you discover any connection between Feng Yao and this matter?"

Gu Rong's pupils contracted slightly, and his rugged face suddenly tightened: "Feng Zhi, you doubt...?" The second half of the sentence was stuck in his throat.

Ning Fengzhi lightly tapped the scepter in his hand, his eyes darting with thought: "Title Douluo aren't exclusive to the Spirit Hall." His voice deepened, "But the coincidence between Oscar's disappearance and today's events is far too much of a coincidence."

Gu Rong stroked his chin and shook his head, saying, "The scene was cleaned up spotlessly, clearly meticulously arranged." A glint flashed in his eyes. "Besides, Rongrong was with Feng Yao that day. If it was the old poisoner's doing..." He snorted coldly, "If it was the old poisoner, there couldn't have been no trace left at the scene. That old bastard's attacks are very distinctive; I'm afraid no one's attacks are easier to recognize than his."

"Perhaps... it really is a coincidence." Ning Fengzhi held the scepter, but his tone carried a hint of uncertainty.

Chen Xin looked at Ning Fengzhi and said softly, "Fengzhi, it's best to make a decision soon."

Ning Fengzhi sighed softly, a hint of self-mockery flashing in his eyes: "Uncle Gu, Uncle Jian, it seems I really am getting old." He gently traced the delicate patterns on the glass cup with his fingertips. "Spending all my time focusing on the future of the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile School, I'm not as insightful as a young man." Gu Rong frowned: "Fengzhi, what's wrong with you...?"

“Since that child can wait patiently for the situation to become clearer,” Ning Fengzhi’s eyes brightened, as if the clouds had parted to reveal the sun, “why can’t my Seven Treasure Glazed Tile School use stillness to control movement?”

He poured tea, his voice steady amidst the rising aroma: "Wealth is our greatest advantage, but also the Spirit Hall's greatest disadvantage." The glass cup shimmered with iridescent light in his hand. "As long as we can continuously provide financial support to the Spirit Hall..."

“When the war begins,” Ning Fengzhi’s lips curled slightly, “their spearhead will naturally be pointed at others first. Once the war starts, the difference in strength between the two sides will become clear, and the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile School will be able to make a more correct choice.”

Although the Spirit Hall possesses countless powerful individuals and controls 70% of the soul masters on the continent, it has always been financially strapped. This can be seen from their relentless efforts to establish branch halls in every city—those magnificent palaces are not only strongholds for the Spirit Hall to recruit talent, but also tentacles for extracting wealth from various regions.

Inside the carriage, Ning Rongrong sat by the window, her glassy eyes reflecting the passing scenery outside, appearing somewhat absent-minded.

"What?" Feng Yao lightly tapped the window frame with his fingertips. "Afraid of running into classmates on the battlefield in the future?"

Ning Rongrong suddenly turned her head and glared at him, her red lips slightly parted but she remained silent.

"Don't look at me like that." Feng Yao leaned back lazily on the cushions. "I've done the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile School a huge favor." A slight smile played on his lips. "If you don't keep your distance from the Upper Three Sects, the Spirit Hall's executioner's blade—" his voice grew colder, "will be at your throats sooner or later."

Ning Rongrong gripped the hem of her skirt tightly with her slender fingers, her voice as soft as a sigh: "I understand, but I just don't know how to face them."

"Them?" Feng Yao chuckled. "You should know which is more important, the bond of classmates or the survival of the sect."

"You make it sound so easy!" Ning Rongrong turned her face away.

Feng Yao shook his head dismissively: "Your father's methods..." A hint of admiration flashed in his eyes, "are far more comprehensive than you think. Even if he chooses the Spirit Hall, he will definitely use the safest methods to maximize his benefits. Support-type Soul Masters should just do their duty. Your unnecessary worries are nothing but needless anxieties."

Ning Rongrong stared at him blankly, her tense shoulders gradually relaxing. Sunlight streamed through the gauze curtains, casting dappled shadows on her delicate face.

On the other side, before the nameless waterfall, the rushing water roared down like a silver dragon. Tang Hao leaned against the rock, his eyes occasionally opening to reflect the image of Tang San being swept down by the torrents and then stubbornly climbing back up.

A mixture of relief and disappointment lingered in his weathered eyes. He was gratified by his son's unwavering spirit, yet secretly lamented that Tang San's comprehension of weapon spirits never quite matched Feng Yao's.

"The third brother's dexterity with the hammer is just like his elder brother's," Tang Hao thought to himself, stroking the wine flask in his hand. "But his twin martial souls destined him to follow my path."

Looking at Tang San, who was frequently using tricks in the waterfall, Tang Hao felt a pang of regret. Although the Nine Absolute Techniques of Haotian were exquisite and each move embodied the hard work of several generations of Haotian Douluo, to truly master them, one had to undergo years of arduous training like Tang Xiao.

Tang Hao's approach—pure power burst combined with the Ring Explosion Technique—was merely an embellishment of his power-generating skills, making the Haotian Nine Absolutes a perfect match for Tang San, who possessed twin martial soul talents.

"Stop." Tang Hao's deep voice pierced through the roar of the waterfall.

Tang San, who was immersed in cultivation, suddenly froze and was instantly swept into the deep pool by the rushing water.

A moment later, Tang San, dripping wet, stood before Tang Hao, water droplets sliding down his hair: "Dad, what's wrong?"

Tang Hao's deep gaze was piercing: "From this day forward, forget your footwork." His rough fingers tapped Tang San's wrist joint. "Forget about force-dissipating techniques, and you are absolutely forbidden from using the Nine Absolute Techniques of Haotian."

"Then I want..." A hint of confusion flashed in Tang San's eyes.

“Feel it.” Tang Hao suddenly gripped his son’s wrist, the force so strong it made Tang San frown. “Treat the Clear Sky Hammer as an extension of your arm.” He released his grip, his voice as firm as iron. “Make every swing instinctive, as natural as breathing.”

Tang San stared blankly at Tang Hao's rough palms, covered with calluses from years of wielding a hammer. He suddenly understood his father's deeper meaning—too many techniques had masked his mistakes.

"Yes, Father." Tang San took a deep breath and slowly withdrew the internal energy of the Xuan Tian Gong. He turned to face the waterfall. This time, he no longer thought about how to deflect the force or calculate the best landing point. He simply raised the Haotian Hammer and let the heavy water flow impact every inch of his muscles.

With the first swing of the hammer, his arm was almost numb from the recoil. With the second blow, blood seeped from his tiger's mouth. But Tang San's eyes grew brighter and brighter—he felt it, the primal power surging through his blood, the feeling of merging with the weapon's spirit.

Tang Hao tilted his head back and gulped down a mouthful of ale, the murky liquid reflecting his son's stubborn back. Amidst the roar of the waterfall, the faint cracking of bones bearing the weight of the storm could be heard, but Tang Hao knew that this was true cultivation.

On a distant treetop, a leaf twirled and plunged into the pool. The instant it touched the water's surface, it was shattered by an invisible force of vibration.

“Continue.” Tang Hao’s hoarse voice held a rare hint of approval. “Remember how you feel right now.”

Each swing of Tang San's hammer became more pure. The water flowed around him, creating a strange vacuum, as if even the waterfall feared this primal power. His skin began to redden, and his capillaries ruptured under the pressure, but his hammer swings became increasingly fluid and natural.

As night fell, Tang San finally collapsed from exhaustion. Tang Hao slowly stepped forward, his rough hands pressing against his son's bloodied back, and his powerful soul energy gently flowed into it.

(End of this chapter)