“Well, Little Rong, how is your master’s Soul Skill?”
The voice came from above.
Clear, with a hint of smugness, spoken from the beak of a bird the size of a thumb.
Ning Rongrong froze for about two seconds.
In those two seconds, her mind raced through a complete chain of logic.
The man disappeared, a bird appeared, the bird was speaking human words, the bird’s voice was that of the swindler, so the swindler had turned into a bird.
Turned into a bird.
A person, turned into a bird.
Ning Rongrong’s pupils gradually focused.
But the emotion rising in her eyes was not shock.
Not fear.
It was a pure, almost irrepressible delight.
And a surging curiosity that made her whole being light up—the kind belonging to a twelve-year-old girl.
“This is your Soul Skill?!”
Her voice rose, but this time not in anger, but in excitement.
Like a child discovering a new toy in a treasure trove.
The little bird above her proudly lifted its head, puffing out its round chest, its black beady eyes filled with a condescending sense of superiority.
“That’s right.”
The bird’s voice carried an air of unapologetic confidence.
Just those two words.
Admitted cleanly and crisply, without the slightest hint of humility.
Ning Rongrong’s gaze changed.
Her almond-shaped eyes shimmered with a nearly radiant light, like moonlight reflecting off a lake.
The next moment, her hand moved.
Fast, precise, and ruthless.
She snatched the little bird from her head and clenched it in her palm.
Yang Xing hadn’t anticipated this move at all.
He had already prepared his lines, planning to deliver a profound and mysterious speech when Ning Rongrong was too shocked to speak, pushing the atmosphere to its peak.
But before his lines could leave his beak, the entire bird was plucked down by a pair of fair, delicate hands.
Ning Rongrong held him in her palms, brought him close to her face, and examined him left and right, her gaze as focused as if she were appraising a rare treasure.
Her fingers gently lifted a wing, pinched the bird’s claws, and poked the downy feathers on its belly.
“It really is a bird…” she murmured, her brows slightly furrowed.
“The feathers are real, the claws are real, the body temperature is real…”
She then flipped the bird over and stared at its belly for two seconds.
“Even the belly is soft.”
Yang Xing’s current state of mind could probably be summed up in four words.
Amused and exasperated.
He, a Titled Douluo whose level was restricted to ninety-nine, even when transformed into a thumb-sized bird, still possessed Soul Power at the Titled Douluo level.
Ning Rongrong, a Soul Master in her twenties, would be easier to break free from than flipping a page in a book.
But he didn’t struggle.
First, Ning Rongrong was his disciple.
Although she was still in the stage of stubborn denial, the contract had already been signed and sealed in black and white.
Since his dear disciple had shown such intense interest in his transformation into a little bird, as her master, he naturally had to be magnanimous and cooperate.
Second, he needed Ning Rongrong to fully verify the authenticity of this transformation.
So Yang Xing quietly curled up in Ning Rongrong’s palm, letting her observe, knead, and study him over and over.
Occasionally, he cooperated with a soft “squeak.”
His acting was on point.
After fiddling with him for about half a minute, Ning Rongrong finally reached a conclusion.
She lifted the little bird to eye level, meeting its gaze with her own.
“It’s real,” she said with certainty.
“Not an illusion, not a trick.
He really turned into a bird.”
Yang Xing felt Ning Rongrong had seen enough.
The next moment—whoosh!
The docile little bird in Ning Rongrong’s hand instantly expanded, elongated, and transformed.
Feathers receded, replaced by a layer of cold, finely scaled skin.
A large triangular head slowly rose from between her palms.
A snake.
A thick, triangular-headed, tongue-flicking serpent.
Right in her hands.
Its scales brushed against her fingertips.
Cold.
Slippery.
Sss—the forked tongue flicked right in front of her nose.
“Ah—!”
Ning Rongrong’s scream nearly tore the roof off.
Instinctively, she flung the cold thing in her hand away with all her strength.
Yang Xing’s serpentine body traced an arc through the air before slapping against the opposite earthen wall with a thud, sending a cloud of dust flying.
Ning Rongrong retreated to the corner, goosebumps erupting all over her body, her face pale.
“You—you—you—!”
Her trembling finger pointed at the wall.
But the snake on the wall gave her no chance to finish her curse.
In his serpent form, Yang Xing was unnervingly agile.
With a twist, he righted himself and slithered smoothly down the wall along its base.
Then he began to slither toward Ning Rongrong.
Not quickly.
But the silent, sinuous, creeping visual pressure was more unnerving than a full-on charge.
“Don’t come any closer!!” Ning Rongrong hopped back a step.
The snake continued to glide forward.
“I said don’t come closer!!
Are you deaf?!” Another hop backward.
The snake’s head lifted slightly, its tongue flicking out again.
Ning Rongrong turned and ran.
Yang Xing chased after her.
A human and a snake enacted a chaotic chase scene in the dilapidated room.
A stool was kicked over, a table was knocked askew, and the chipped, coarse pottery cup rolled off the edge of the table, shattering into three pieces on the floor. Visit novelping(.)com for the full chapter.
“You lying bastard, turn back—!!” “You pervert—!!” “I’ll kill you—!!”
Ning Rongrong screamed and cursed as she ran, her sharp voice echoing back and forth in the broken-down room.
Then she spotted the kitchen knife on the cutting board.
Her steps faltered.
She rushed over and grabbed the handle.
Turned around.
A twelve-year-old girl, holding a rust-stained kitchen knife, faced the large serpent slowly approaching her.
There was not a trace of retreat in her eyes.
“One more step.”
Her voice steadied, cold and resolute.
“And I’ll chop you.”
Her gaze was deadly serious.
Yang Xing’s serpentine eyes met those fearless almond-shaped ones, and a thought flashed through his mind.
This girl… alright, if I push her any further, she really won’t be appeased.
Fine.
Whoosh.
The serpent’s body shrank, swelled, and rounded out.
Cold scales transformed into soft fur.
The triangular head became a fluffy, round one.
A grayish-white rabbit hopped backward with a swish, landing steadily on the tabletop.
The rabbit rolled over, crossing its hind legs and propping them up in a leisurely posture.
Its front paws were tucked behind its head, and a pair of red rabbit eyes squinted slightly as it looked at Ning Rongrong, the corner of its mouth—if rabbits had corners to their mouths—curving upward slightly.
“Good disciple.”
The rabbit spoke, Yang Xing’s voice lazily emerging from its three-parted mouth.
“What do you think of your master’s Soul Skill?”
Ning Rongrong stared at the rabbit lounging with its legs crossed.
The hand holding the kitchen knife trembled.
Not from fear.
From anger.
“Thud—!”
The cutting board flew through the air.
It landed precisely on the table beside Yang Xing-rabbit, causing him to bounce slightly from the impact.
“You—are—truly—despicable!” Ning Rongrong forced the words out through gritted teeth, her cheeks flushed bright red.
“Your character is despicable!
With your—your—perverted sense of humor—”
She slammed the kitchen knife down onto the cutting board.
“I would rather die than become your disciple!”
Ning Rongrong took several deep breaths, the rising and falling of her chest gradually calming.
She regained her composure.
Returning to the shrewd, rational little demon of the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect, Ning Rongrong.
She tilted her head slightly, her gaze sweeping over the rabbit dusting itself off behind the overturned table.
“Besides, your Soul Skill is merely a bit peculiar.”