On the Douluo Continent, in the Fasino Province, behind the Holy Soul Village.
A dense forest stretched out like a green sea, swaying gently in the summer breeze.
Only a narrow path, worn down by human feet and animal hooves, wound its way deep into the woods.
At this moment, a boy was struggling to push aside the branches hanging before him, slowly making his way along the trail.
The midday sunlight, filtered through the layered canopy, fell in columns of golden light, slanting across the damp soil and onto the boy’s figure.
Within those columns of light, specks of dust drifted lazily, while a suffocating heat rose from the mingled scent of vegetation and earth.
The boy paused, raising his arm to wipe the thick beads of sweat from his forehead.
He appeared to be about five or six years old.
However, his frame was a full head taller and considerably sturdier than the other children in the village of the same age.
His skin, bronzed from years of outdoor labor, glowed with a healthy luster.
He wore coarse, short-sleeved clothes, leaving his arms and calves bare, where the outlines of muscles were already beginning to take firm shape.
Beyond that, the most striking feature about the boy was his black hair.
Each strand stood stiff and straight, growing stubbornly upward, carrying an unyielding spirit—truly bearing some resemblance to the legendary Saiyans.
His name was Wang Teng.
And he was a reincarnator.
Unfortunately, Wang Teng did not possess the world-destroying bloodline of the Saiyans.
He had merely reincarnated into the Douluo Continent, born into an ordinary hunter’s household.
Fortunately, his life in this world, though not wealthy, was not particularly harsh either.
On the Douluo Continent, the mountains and forests were bountiful, the soil fertile.
As long as one was diligent and avoided calamities—nobles, soul beasts, battles between soul masters—going hungry was rarely a concern.
Thus, in Wang Teng’s memory, his family enjoyed meat every few days, whether hare or pheasant.
These rare sources of fat, combined with his conscious physical training from a young age, had built a body far more robust than his peers.
At this moment, the bamboo basket on Wang Teng’s back felt somewhat heavy, making his shoulders ache.
He walked over to an old tree as thick as three men linked arm in arm, found a flat stone, carefully set down his basket, and leaned against the rough bark to sit.
“Whew—”
He let out a long breath of relief, resting while instinctively patting his exposed arms and calves.
The outline of his muscles was clearly visible beneath his taut skin.
Wang Teng felt quite satisfied with this body.
Ever since he was three, when the fragmented yet vivid memories from his past life had awakened, he had understood exactly what kind of world he had entered.
In the years since, Wang Teng had never ceased his training.
Running, swimming, push-ups, squats…
His family could not afford even the cheapest ten-year whale glue; all he could rely on was this body and relentless sweat.
The fields, the mountains, the forests, the village river—all were Wang Teng’s training grounds.
Drop by drop, day by day, he had built himself into what he was now.
Today, Wang Teng had ventured alone into the mountains and was more tired than usual.
From dawn around five or six in the morning until now, with the sun hanging high overhead, he had been walking through these woods for most of the day.
Though Wang Teng had a strong foundation, he was, after all, only a six-year-old child whose martial soul had not yet awakened.
Carrying a heavy load on his back, exhaustion washed over him in waves.
He unscrewed the water pouch at his waist and poured the last of the cool liquid down his throat.
The cold water slid past his dry throat, temporarily dispelling the heat.
The only sounds were the rustling of wind through the treetops, punctuated by distant birdsong, making the surrounding silence all the more profound.
In this rare moment of quiet, Wang Teng’s somewhat restless heart gradually settled.
After resting for about twenty minutes, Wang Teng exhaled deeply, feeling his strength return somewhat.
Then, he hoisted the bamboo basket onto his back again, adjusted its weight, and continued along the path.
Inside the basket were this morning’s haul.
Several hares and pheasants caught in traps set by his father.
Checking the traps daily, collecting the prey, and carefully resetting them was a routine Wang Teng and his father never missed.
But tomorrow was a special day.
Children in the village who had turned six would undergo their martial soul awakening ceremony.
His father had been mentioning it for days, saying he wanted to prepare a proper gift for him.
So this morning, his father had set off alone, pushing a cart full of accumulated wild goods and furs to the nearby Notting City to sell for money.
Thus, the task of patrolling the mountains fell solely on Wang Teng’s shoulders today.
Still, Wang Teng was not afraid.
This forest behind the village was not the Soul Hunting Forest where soul beasts gathered; it was merely ordinary woodland that the people of Holy Soul Village had relied on for generations.
As long as one did not recklessly venture into the darkest, deepest parts, encountering large predators was extremely rare.
Moreover, he had accompanied his father in and out of these woods over a hundred times since childhood.
He knew which paths were safe and which areas might hold risks as well as the back of his hand.
Treading on thick layers of fallen leaves, listening to the crunch of his own footsteps, Wang Teng looked up and judged the sun’s position through the gaps in the foliage.
From the shift of light and shadow, it must be close to noon by now.
“About an hour later than when I come with Dad…”
Wang Teng calculated silently.
“I wonder if that kid Tang San is still in his usual spot.”
Wang Teng’s family were hunters, dealing with this mountain forest every day, so he had long since become acquainted with Tang San, who similarly came to the back mountain for “training” without fail.
Since about the age of four, that skinny figure had begun appearing on that prominent large rock in the back mountain.
Over the years, the two had become somewhat familiar.
Yet Tang San had a certain indescribable aloofness.
All the village children thought Tang San was unsociable.
Though the village children were young and childish, even a mature boy like Wang Teng, who was prematurely grown-up, found it difficult to truly get close to Tang San.
However, when Wang Teng thought of Tang San’s background, he understood.
Tang San’s previous life had been in a “feudal” era.
In such an age, people were clearly divided into ranks.
Decades of ingrained cognition in Tang San could not be easily changed.
Therefore, after reincarnation, it was inevitable that Tang San looked down on the ordinary people around him.
And in the original story, those who would eventually surround Tang San were either geniuses or noble benefactors.
As a hunter’s son, it seemed only natural that Wang Teng would not be held in Tang San’s regard.
“Tomorrow…
the martial soul awakening…”
“I hope it yields a good result.”
“No matter what the martial soul is, I just hope I have some soul power…”
As he walked, this thought surfaced in Wang Teng’s mind once again.
He shook his head, as if trying to temporarily cast aside this heavy and burning expectation.
Then, he lifted his foot and continued forward.
Ahead, the trees gradually thinned, and bright daylight poured down unobstructed.
Wang Teng quickened his pace and stepped out of the stifling forest in a few strides.
Before him, the view opened up.
He stopped, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the glaring midday sun.
“You’re late today.”
“And you’re alone?”
“Where’s Uncle Wang?”
A somewhat clear, cool voice came from the left, the tone still childish but carrying a composure beyond its years.
Wang Teng turned his head left at the sound.
Not far away, on that smooth boulder, a boy sat cross-legged in a peculiar posture.
His palms and the soles of his feet faced upward—the so-called “five hearts facing the sky.”
The boy was a head shorter than Wang Teng, dressed in patched grey cloth, with short, shiny black hair and tanned skin from frequent sun exposure.
He was on the slender side, but his eyes were exceptionally bright and sharp.
The whole person radiated a quiet composure that did not match his apparent age.
This boy was none other than Tang San.
“Xiao San, you haven’t gone back yet.”
Wang Teng smiled and walked over.
“My father went to Notting City today, so I had to check all the traps alone.
That’s why I’m late.”
“I thought you’d have gone home to cook by this hour.”
Tang San’s gaze swept past Wang Teng and landed on the bamboo basket behind him.
Without pleasantries, he asked directly, “Did you find what I asked for today?”
“Yes, those herbs you wanted, and those two types of mildly toxic plants.
I kept an eye out and gathered them.
Take a look at the quality.”
As he spoke, Wang Teng set down his basket.
Then, from the very top, he carefully retrieved a small bundle wrapped in linen.
Untying the grass cord around the bundle revealed a dozen or so plants of various shapes.
They were quite fresh, clearly just picked, some still bearing damp soil.
Tang San hopped down nimbly from the boulder and walked over, frowning slightly out of habit.
He took the bundle, picking up each herb one by one.
With practiced ease, Tang San shook off the soil clinging to the roots and carefully examined the leaves and stems for completeness.
“I’ve told you many times, you can’t be so careless when picking herbs.”
Tang San’s voice carried a hint of reproach.
“Damaged roots or broken leaves will diminish the medicinal properties.”
“If you keep doing this next time, and the potency is compromised, don’t blame me for shortchanging you in return.”
After his inspection, Tang San rewrapped the herbs and tucked them into his bosom.
“Here, this is the anesthetic I promised to prepare for you.”
“I’ve adjusted the formula slightly.
It uses less material but is thirty percent stronger than the last batch I gave you.”
“It should be more than enough for ordinary large beasts.”
With that, Tang San unclipped a small grey cloth pouch from his waist and casually tossed it to Wang Teng.
Wang Teng caught it quickly.
It felt somewhat heavy in his hand.
He carefully placed the pouch in the inner compartment of his basket.
This item was a crucial tool for a hunter’s household, greatly reducing the risks of hunting and increasing success rates.
“Ah, we’d like to be more careful too.”
Wang Teng spread his hands, his tone carrying a hint of helplessness, and explained, “But my family are hunters, not professional herb gatherers.
We only recognize the most common medicinal plants.
There’s no way we can be that meticulous with our techniques.”
“As long as it’s usable, that’s already good enough.”
Saying this, Wang Teng paused, as if suddenly remembering something, his tone becoming more casual.
He continued, “By the way, Tang San, about that blood and qi replenishing formula you gave me last time—my father tried brewing and drinking it, and he said it actually helped.
He seemed more energetic when working.”
“He asked me to check if you have any other formulas at home—something for conditioning the body or helping with muscle and bone strengthening?”
“We can trade things for them—wild game, furs, or…”
“If you need any other rare herbs or toxic plants, we can keep an eye out for you when we go into the mountains.”
Tang San looked up at Wang Teng upon hearing this.
“I’m glad the last formula was useful.”
“But I don’t have any other formulas.”
“That blood and qi replenishing formula was something passed down in my family.
I haven’t even dared to mention it to my father.”
“Now that you’re using it, remember not to spread it around, and especially don’t tell my father about it.
Understood?”
Though Tang San’s tone was light, it carried an unyielding demand.
“Don’t worry, I know the rules.”
“Our dealings won’t reach Uncle Tang’s ears.”
Wang Teng nodded firmly, accepting the condition.
“Good.”
Tang San seemed satisfied, tucking the bundled herbs under his arm.
“Our transaction is complete for today.
I’ll be going now.”
Without waiting for Wang Teng’s reply, Tang San turned and broke into a jog toward Holy Soul Village.
His steps were light and swift, clearly faster than an ordinary person’s.
Soon, Tang San’s figure disappeared around the bend at the edge of the forest.
Wang Teng stood still, watching the direction in which Tang San had vanished.
He felt a slight regret at not being able to trade for more formulas from Tang San, but having one was already enough.
As for whether Tang San truly had other formulas, Wang Teng believed he did.
After all, Tang San came from the Tang Sect.
Though the Tang Sect revered poisons and hidden weapons, they would certainly not lack ordinary body-strengthening prescriptions.
After a long while, Wang Teng finally withdrew his gaze, the corner of his mouth curling into an unreadable smile.
“Ghost Shadow Perplexing Track?”
“Practicing it so openly—aren’t you afraid Tang Hao will notice?”
“And you call yourself a disciple of the Tang Sect with that kind of performance?”
“Tang San…
Tang Hao…”
Wang Teng pondered, as if chewing on those two names.
“This father and son are truly interesting.”
In Wang Teng’s view, Tang Hao must have long since detected Tang San’s abnormalities.
A Titled Douluo, even if he spent his days drowning in alcohol and despair, possessed perception far beyond ordinary people.
Tang San’s early maturity, self-discipline, those strange movements and words from childhood—how could they possibly escape Tang Hao’s notice?
What was more, Tang San’s mother, Ah Yin, was not human but a hundred-thousand-year soul beast in human form.
On this Douluo Continent, there were precedents of soul beasts and humans interbreeding.
For example, creatures like the wolf bandits were the offspring of such unions.
As a core disciple of the Haotian Sect, Tang Hao should have been aware of these matters.
Therefore, Wang Teng did not believe that Tang Hao felt no apprehension when Ah Yin gave birth to Tang San.
The fear that his son might be something akin to a wolf bandit.
Facing a son who exuded strangeness at every turn, it would be far more unnatural if Tang Hao felt no doubt or chill in his heart.
Wang Teng even speculated that for a long time, Tang Hao likely did not harbor much deep fatherly affection for Tang San.
Instead, what dominated was likely a complex observation, and a hidden, agonizing pain rooted in Ah Yin.