2: C2 The Golden Finger,
It was only when Tang San revealed his twin martial souls, particularly the Clear Sky Hammer representing the direct lineage of the Haotian Sect, that Tang Hao truly saw a glimmer of hope—hope for revenge against the Spirit Hall.
From that point on, he began to attempt playing the role of a “father.”
Yet even as Tang Hao started playing that role, looking across the subsequent story, the actual time this father and son spent together remained pitifully little.
It was more about Tang Hao’s unilateral arrangements and Tang San’s compliance.
Tang Hao’s seemingly harsh training, rather than paternal love, more closely resembled the polishing of a long-awaited weapon of vengeance.
To call their relationship normal father-son affection would be quite a stretch.
“Each of these people has hidden depths.”
“Then again, on this Douluo Continent, there are few who are pure of heart and live simply and clearly.”
“Whether it’s ‘Grandmaster Yu Xiaogang,’ or ‘Cousin Liu Erlong,’ or ‘Secret Chamber Douluo Qian Xunji,’ the utterly mad Bibi Dong, the foolishly love-stricken Qian Renxue and Hu Liena, or Dai Mubai and Ma Hongjun who were already chasing women in their early teens.”
“One by one, hardly any of them are normal.”
At this moment, countless complaints flooded Wang Teng’s mind.
It took a long while before Wang Teng suppressed all these turbulent thoughts.
Then, he turned around, carrying the heavy bamboo basket on his back, and walked toward another path leading down the mountain.
The path he took now led to Tiger King Village.
Tiger King Village was a slightly smaller settlement adjacent to Holy Soul Village.
At this moment, Wang Teng’s footsteps were steady and firm, his bronzed face particularly distinct under the noon sun.
The mountain forest was silent, with only the sound of gentle wind.
Wang Teng made his way down the mountain path, the slope gradually flattening.
About half an hour later, the outline of Tiger King Village’s rear came into view.
His family were hunters in the village.
For the convenience of hunting and to keep watch over the forest behind the mountain for the village, their house was built at the very front of the village’s rear.
Though the forest mostly contained small game like hares and pheasants, occasionally larger creatures like foxes would appear.
Thus, the Wang family’s house stood at the foremost position in the village’s rear.
It was the closest to the back mountain.
The Wang family’s courtyard was considered quite decent in the village, built at considerable expense by his father Wang Wu back then.
On the north side stood three main rooms for living, housing the three Wang family members.
On the east and west sides were two low rooms, one a latrine and the other a kitchen.
On the south side was a small storage shed.
The courtyard was quite spacious, with a pomegranate tree planted in the middle, currently lush with foliage.
Seeing his home drawing nearer, Wang Teng unconsciously quickened his pace.
Before long, he reached the wooden door of his house.
Wang Teng crouched down deftly, reached under the stone at the doorframe’s base, retrieved the key, inserted it into the lock, twisted, and pushed the door open.
Everything in the yard was as he had left it, and Wang Teng felt a slight sense of relief.
“Woof—woof woof!”
A yellow blur burst out from the doghouse in the southeast corner—it was Dahuang.
It barked while wagging its tail furiously, its entire body wriggling with joy.
Unfortunately, a rope around its neck prevented it from rushing over directly.
“Stop barking.
I’ll you later.”
Wang Teng scolded it with a laugh, set down his bamboo basket against the wall, and then leisurely walked to the stone table under the pomegranate tree to rest.
On the stone table sat a teapot filled with boiled water that had long since cooled.
Wang Teng used the coarse porcelain bowl beside it to drink three large bowls in succession, then let out a satisfied breath and plopped onto the bamboo chair next to it.
The chair leaned back with his weight, then slowly rocked forward, emitting a soft creaking sound.
That sound was reassuring.
Wang Teng lifted his feet and rested them on the crossbar beneath the chair, gently rocking back and forth.
He closed his eyes, allowing the soreness from a morning of walking to slowly release from the soles of his feet, his calves, his back.
Though Wang Teng’s body rested, his mind quietly sank into his consciousness.
Indeed, like other reincarnators, Wang Teng had his own “golden finger.”
His golden finger, however, was rather crude—merely a panel resembling a game status screen.
At this moment, the panel displayed only a few sparse lines:
Name: Wang Teng
Age: 6
Martial Soul: Unawakened
Soul Power: None
Soul Skill: None
Talent: None
Talent Points: 0
“Alas…”
Looking at the panel in his mind, Wang Teng sighed inwardly.
This thing had appeared ever since he recovered his past life’s memories at age three and realized he was on the Douluo Continent.
Yet aside from his age automatically increasing by one each year, none of the other entries on this panel had ever changed.
“Talent points?
Just how am I supposed to obtain these…”
Wang Teng opened his eyes and gazed at the blue sky fragmented by the pomegranate branches overhead, somewhat lost in thought.
After resting for about another quarter hour, Wang Teng rose from the bamboo chair.
The chair swayed a few more times from his movement before gradually stilling.
Wang Teng walked to the wall and pulled out today’s catch from the bamboo basket.
Two pheasants, one hare, and a fox with glossy fur.
These prey were all bound securely with grass rope, still twitching slightly.
Wang Teng carried them to the sink outside the kitchen, where a knife, basin, and kettle of hot water were already prepared.
Killing chickens, dressing hares, and processing foxes—he did it all with practiced ease.
Grabbing the neck, a slash of the blade, bleeding, waiting for death.
The small lives in his hands moved from struggle to stillness, and Wang Teng’s expression remained unchanged.
Over the years of setting traps and dressing prey with his father, he had long grown accustomed.
Then came gutting and disemboweling, tossing the innards directly to the yellow dog nearby.
Then, while the carcasses were still warm, he scalded them with hot water, plucked feathers, and skinned them.
The entire process took over an hour.
The wild game had been cleaned thoroughly.
Meat, hide, and bones were separated and set aside.
Looking up at the sun, it was about noon—his father should be returning from Notting City soon.
Wang Teng picked up the dressed game and walked into the kitchen, lighting the fire, washing the rice, and stewing the chicken.
Firewood crackled in the stove, and soon a mist carrying the aroma of oil and meat rose from the iron pot, slowly drifting throughout the yard.
Just as the chicken stew became tender and the rice was nearly cooked, the courtyard gate creaked open.
Wang Teng poked his head out to look.
The person entering wore coarse short clothes, with short hair, a slightly thinning hairline at the temples, dark skin, and a tall, lean frame.
His arms were corded with muscle, and the lines of his calves were taut.
This person was none other than Wang Teng’s father—Wang Wu.
“Dad, you’re back?”
Wang Teng wiped his hands and walked out of the kitchen.
“Mm.”
Wang Wu responded, his face carrying the dust of travel, but his eyes were bright.
“I sold the goods smoothly in Notting City this time, and I brought something back for you.”
“Come, help me carry it.”
Wang Teng followed his father outside.
By the roadside sat the family’s old ox-cart, the yellow ox standing quietly, pulling a covered compartment behind it.
Wang Wu climbed into the cart and pulled out a slightly worn bamboo basket, handing it to Wang Teng: “Here, take this inside first.”
Wang Teng took it and peeked inside—seemingly some cloth and paper packages.
He untied the cord on the basket and looked in.
Besides some everyday herbs, there were several neatly folded new clothes made from fine material from Notting City, in a dark blue color that wouldn’t show dirt easily.
This was probably the gift his father had specially bought for him.
Wang Teng’s lips curled upward involuntarily.
He took out the clothes, gently patted them, and held them up against himself.
Before long, lunch was laid out on the stone table under the old pomegranate tree in the yard.
A large basin of steaming white rice, accompanied by a generously filled pot of wild chicken stewed with mushrooms.
The chicken was braised until tender, the mushrooms soaked full of broth, their fragrance mingling with the steam and wafting toward one’s nose.
Father and son sat facing each other, eating quietly.
They were silent, never having been talkative.
Wang Teng’s mother had passed away from childbirth complications when he was born.
Over the years, it had been just the three of them—father and two sons—relying on each other, living simply, and thus developing this habit of eating in silence.
A large basin of food was quickly emptied.
Wang Wu set down his bowl, wiped his mouth, and looked at his son: “Tomorrow is your martial soul awakening day.”
He paused, his voice gentler than usual, and continued, “I hope you can awaken soul power…
like your older brother.”
Wang Teng, who had been lowering his head to scrape up the last of his rice, looked up: “I know, Dad.”
“But this isn’t something I can make happen just by wanting it.
We can only leave it to fate.”
With that, Wang Teng sighed softly and continued eating.
Before his reincarnation, he had been an ordinary university student.
He had never practiced any Mysterious Heaven Technique or internal cultivation methods, and he truly had no confidence regarding soul power awakening.
His father Wang Wu was an ordinary person without soul power, so he had no genetic advantage there either.
Still, Wang Teng wasn’t entirely without hope.
After all, his older brother Wang Sheng did possess innate soul power—only level one, but still a soul master of sorts.
Currently, his older brother was studying in Notting City.
That’s right, he was the Wang Sheng from the original story who had been the head of the work-study students at Notting Academy.
With such a brother ahead of him, Wang Teng still held some hope.
“That Soul Power Meditation Method your brother sent back—how is your practice of it going?”
Wang Wu’s words pulled him back from his thoughts.
“He specially instructed me to have you start cultivating early.”
“Your brother said if you could learn to enter meditative stillness before awakening, then once you actually had soul power, you’d save considerable time and effort in cultivation.”
“I’ve already learned the meditation method Big Brother gave me.
Sitting in stillness and entering concentration isn’t a problem now.
I’m just waiting to formally cultivate after awakening.”
Wang Teng replied.
“Also, I’ve finished reading all those notes on soul beasts he copied.”
“So quickly?
You really remember everything?”
Wang Wu was somewhat surprised.
“When it comes to memorizing things, I feel I’m still quite a bit better than Big Brother.”
Wang Teng smiled, a hint of confidence in his eyes.
“That’s good then.”
Wang Wu looked at his son and nodded, the wrinkles on his face relaxing somewhat.
“Oh, by the way, Dad.”
Wang Teng suddenly remembered something and turned to ask, “Has Big Brother reached level ten in his cultivation yet?”
“Did you pass on what I said before: that he absolutely shouldn’t settle for a ten-year soul ring, and that he should try to get a hundred-year one?”
Wang Wu nodded upon hearing this: “Don’t worry, I delivered your message.”
“But don’t fuss too much over your brother.
His disposition…
ah.”
Wang Wu shook his head, a note of helplessness in his voice.
“Your brother isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed.
He cultivates slowly, his foundation is only average, and he can never seem to settle his mind.”
“When I went to see him this time, he said his soul power was still a bit short of level nine.”
Mentioning his eldest son’s cultivation progress, the father could only sigh repeatedly.
“Can’t blame Big Brother entirely,” Wang Teng said softly.
“From what he’s said, there are always some city students at the academy looking for trouble with him.
It’s hard for him not to be distracted.”
“Enough about him.” Wang Wu waved his hand.
“As for that hundred-year soul ring you mentioned—that’s not something we can make happen just because we want to.”
“This time when I saw your brother, I asked in detail.”
“He said that during the soul hunting expeditions organized by the academy, they just absorb whatever they encounter.
No teacher would specifically hunt a hundred-year soul beast for a student—that’s far too dangerous.”
“So most students who graduate from Notting Academy have white as their first soul ring.”
Wang Wu said, his brow unconsciously furrowing.
Though he wasn’t a soul master himself, he could well imagine the difficulties of acquiring soul rings.
Thus, he felt somewhat helpless about his younger son’s talk of hunting a hundred-year ring for the first soul ring.
“I see…”
Wang Teng pursed his lips, momentarily at a loss for words.
“Alright, lunch is done.
You can go train as usual this afternoon, but you need to sleep early tonight—don’t delay tomorrow’s important event.”
Wang Wu said, standing up to clear the dishes.
Wang Teng acknowledged and turned back to his room.
The room was simply furnished—a wooden bed, an old cabinet, and a square table by the window.
Wang Teng moved aside the books spread out on the bed, climbed up, sat cross-legged, and closed his eyes.
Though he hadn’t yet awakened his martial soul, Wang Teng had actually been practicing meditation for some time.
His brother was right—the hardest part of meditation was calming the mind.
Children of this age were mostly lively and restless.
To sit still for long periods, one had to learn to suppress that instinctive restlessness.
Of course, Wang Teng was different from ordinary children.
As a reincarnator, he had been able to learn the Soul Power Meditation Method relatively quickly.
Inside the room, Wang Teng’s breathing gradually steadied.
Distracting thoughts dissipated one by one, and his mind sank into tranquility.
The window was half open, and a breeze slipped in, gently turning the corner of a page by his pillow.
On the cover were neatly handwritten characters: Soul Power Meditation Method.
In the lower right corner were two smaller characters: Wang Sheng.
This was Wang Sheng’s word-for-word transcription for Wang Teng.
Over an hour later, Wang Teng slowly opened his eyes.
He got off the bed and moved his somewhat numb limbs.
For beginners in meditation, sitting for long periods caused poor circulation and numb limbs—a common occurrence.
He heard that once soul power cultivation reached a certain level, or when the body fully adapted, this sensation would gradually disappear.
After walking around the room until the numbness passed, Wang Teng changed clothes and stepped out.
Next came Wang Teng’s daily physical training.
He began jogging along the village’s dirt road.
Past patches of fields, all the way to the small river south of the village.
By now, it was past four in the afternoon.
The sun was slanting westward, its light becoming softer.
Wang Teng stopped by the river, removed his outer clothes, and scooped up some river water to splash on his arms.
The water was cool and pleasant.
He found a slightly deeper spot and plunged in with a splash.
Water sprayed everywhere, and coolness instantly enveloped his entire body.
Wang Teng stretched his limbs and began the final exercise of the day: swimming.
“Splash—splash—”
The sound of his strokes echoed across the quiet river surface.