The morning sun cast long, golden fingers across Dragon City, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air and glinting off the scale-like tiles of the rooftops. The city was already awake, a beast stirring from its slumber, its streets beginning to fill with the low rumble of cartwheels and the rising cacophony of vendors hawking their wares.
Inside the luxurious suite of the Dragon's Rest Inn, a similar, albeit much smaller and more chaotic, stirring was taking place.
"Are you sure you want more gems on it, Xi'er?" Huo Yuhao asked, his voice laced with a weary patience. He sat at a small, ornate table, a jeweler's fine toolkit laid out before him. In his hands was the radiant golden dress Jin Xi had purchased, and he was in the delicate process of setting a line of brilliant, fiery rubies along the sleeve.
"Of course, I'm sure," Jin Xi replied, peering over his shoulder, her chin resting on the top of his head. Her magnificent blonde hair cascaded around them both like a silken curtain. "More is always better. It needs to sparkle. It needs to announce my presence. How will anyone know I am magnificent if I do not glitter magnificently?"
Huo Yuhao just sighed. Her logic, as always, was both flawless and utterly absurd.
Xue Nu sat by the open balcony, a cup of fragrant tea held delicately in her hands. She watched them with a quiet, serene amusement. The materialistic exuberance of her new golden-haired friend was a constant source of quiet fascination. In her seven hundred thousand years of existence, she had valued purity, power, and silence. Jin Xi seemed to value things that were shiny, tasty, and loud. It was a fascinating, and surprisingly endearing, contrast.
"If you add any more gems, the dress will weigh more than he does," Xue Nu commented, her voice as soft as a falling snowflake.
"Nonsense!" Jin Xi retorted, waving a dismissive hand. "He is much stronger than he looks. Besides, I can use my Soul Power to offset the weight. It's a matter of principle, not practicality."
They spent the morning in this comfortable domesticity, Huo Yuhao meticulously working as a craftsman for his two beautiful companions, a task he found surprisingly calming. The focused, delicate work was a form of meditation.
By late morning, their work was complete. They decided to venture out, to once again immerse themselves in the vibrant, chaotic tapestry of the city. Dressed in their new, exquisitely made clothes, they were a sight to behold.
Huo Yuhao, in his charcoal-grey robes embroidered with subtle silver thread, looked less like a boy and more like the young, mysterious scion of some ancient, powerful clan. His handsome face, now free of the gauntness of his past, and his deep blue eyes, which held a wisdom far beyond his years, gave him an air of quiet, compelling authority.
He was flanked by his two companions. Jin Xi wore a flowing, pale yellow dress, simpler than her golden one but no less elegant.
Xue Nu was clad in a simple but exquisitely cut gown of silver-white silk that seemed to shimmer like moonlight.
Both wore fine, silk veils that obscured the lower half of their faces, a concession to Huo Yuhao's plea for a less troublesome journey.
But the veils did little to dim their radiance.
Jin Xi's brilliant ruby eyes, sparkling with life and mischief above her veil, were like twin flames that drew the eye.
Xue Nu's pale, sky-blue eyes held a serene, ethereal grace that was just as captivating.
Their perfect figures, their regal bearing, and the sheer, palpable aura of their otherworldly beauty made every man they passed turn and stare, their conversations faltering, their steps slowing.
But it wasn't just the men who were staring.
A group of young women, likely disciples from one of the city's smaller sects, paused as the trio walked by. Their gazes slid right past the two veiled goddesses and locked firmly onto Huo Yuhao. They blushed, whispering to each other behind their hands, their eyes filled with a mixture of shyness and open admiration for the handsome, mysterious young master who walked with such quiet confidence.
Jin Xi noticed immediately. Her ruby eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. She let out a soft, territorial "Hmph," and her hand, which had been resting lightly on Huo Yuhao's arm, tightened its grip possessively.
"Look at them," she muttered, her voice a low, annoyed growl meant only for him. "Shameless. Staring at you like you're a piece of sweet cake. You should be the one wearing a veil, Yuhao. Your face is causing a public disturbance."
Huo Yuhao felt a hot flush creep up his neck. "Me? Wear a veil? Xi'er, men don't do that!" he whispered back, utterly mortified by the suggestion.
"They should if they have faces like yours," she pouted, her grip tightening further. "Don't you dare look at them. Don't even make eye contact. You are my craftsman. You are not allowed to be admired by other, lesser human females."
Huo Yuhao was speechless. He could only nod meekly, focusing his gaze firmly on the cobblestones in front of him, feeling the heat of her glare and the admiring gazes of the girls like a physical weight.
Xue Nu simply shook her head, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching the hidden corners of her lips. Human emotions, she was learning, were a strange and endlessly entertaining spectacle.
It was this spectacle, the raw, unfiltered energy of human congregation, that drew them towards the city's central plaza.
A massive crowd had gathered, their faces turned towards a large, hastily erected wooden stage.
A brightly colored banner hung above it, proclaiming in bold, dramatic characters: "The Epic of the Gods! The True and Heroic Tale of the Shrek Seven Monsters!"
A man in a loud, colorful robe, a barker with a booming voice, was pacing the front of the stage, his arms gesturing wildly.
"Gather 'round, gather 'round, good people of Dragon City!" he bellowed. "Witness a tale for the ages! A story of heroes, of gods, of a love that transcended the heavens! Learn the truth of the legendary Sea God, Tang San, and his righteous quest to bring light to the world! A performance so moving, it will stir your very souls and open your hearts to the boundless grace of the Sea God! Free to watch, with donations for the new Sea God Temple gratefully accepted!"
Huo Yuhao's heart gave a slight, unpleasant lurch. He recognized the pattern immediately. The followers from the Sea God Temple, having saturated the Dou Ling Empire, were now spreading their influence here, using storytelling as a tool for conversion.
"A play?" Jin Xi's interest was instantly piqued. "What is a play? You have them in your memories, Yuhao, but I've never seen one. Humans dressing up in costumes and pretending to be other people for entertainment? How utterly bizarre! We must watch it!"
"Indeed," Xue Nu added, her own curiosity stirred. "To understand a species, one must understand its stories. This could be… illuminating."
Huo Yuhao sighed internally. The last thing he wanted to do was sit through a two-hour propaganda piece glorifying his greatest enemy. But he looked at the eager, curious faces of his two companions, and he couldn't deny them. This was part of their journey, part of their experience of his world.
"Alright," he agreed, forcing a smile. "We can watch."
They found a good vantage point on the second-floor balcony of another teahouse, one that gave them a clear, unobstructed view of the stage while keeping them slightly removed from the jostling crowd below. They ordered tea and snacks, settling in as the play began.
The stage was simple, but the actors were surprisingly skilled. They used exaggerated gestures, booming voices, and a few simple soul-power-driven light effects to create a sense of drama and wonder.
The play opened with a narrator setting the scene, describing the continent ten thousand years ago, a time of turmoil and rising darkness, lorded over by the "evil and corrupt Spirit Hall." Then, one by one, the heroes were introduced.
The actors playing the Shrek Seven Monsters were young, handsome, and beautiful, their costumes vibrant and heroic. The crowd cheered as each one was introduced.
The play quickly focused on their leader, the main protagonist: Tang San. He was portrayed as a figure of impossible virtue. A handsome, righteous youth with a tragic past, possessing unparalleled twin spirits, and a heart as pure as gold. He was a loving son, a loyal friend, a brilliant inventor who re-established the "glorious and honorable Tang Sect," and a protector of the weak.
In their Spiritual Sea, Huo Yuhao's two companions offered their own running commentary.
'So that blue-haired one is the Sea God?' the Ice Empress's mental voice noted, her tone one of cool, academic analysis. 'His physical form, as depicted by this human, is aesthetically pleasing, I suppose. But the actor's portrayal is overly sentimental. True power does not posture so.'
'Bah! Sentimental is right!' Skydream's voice buzzed with disdain. 'Look at him, prancing around the stage! A true hero should be like me! Bold! Dashing! And irresistibly charming! This Tang San fellow seems… boring.'
The play moved on, depicting Tang San's great, heroic deeds. One scene in particular made Huo Yuhao's blood run cold. It showed the actor playing Tang San standing before a dark, ominous-looking set piece meant to represent the infamous Slaughter City.
"This place is a cancer on the world!" the actor proclaimed, his voice ringing with righteous fury. "A den of depravity and evil that taints the very soul of the continent! I shall cleanse this filth! For the good of all!"
He then produced a small, glowing prop and threw it into the "city." A puff of purple smoke erupted, and the narrator's voice boomed, "And so, with his unparalleled knowledge of poisons, the great Tang San used one of his Tang Sect's most secret creations to utterly destroy the evil Slaughter City, purging its darkness and saving countless souls from its corrupting influence!"
The crowd below roared with approval, cheering for the hero who had wiped out such a bastion of evil.
But Huo Yuhao felt a profound, chilling nausea. He stared at the stage, his face a mask of cold fury that his companions did not see.
'A hero?' he thought, his mind a storm of cold, hard logic. 'He's a fool. Or worse, a hypocrite.'
His future self's knowledge of history, stripped of the glorious embellishments, painted a very different picture.
'Slaughter City was a cesspool, yes. But it was a contained cesspool. It was a prison for the continent's most violent, depraved, and uncontrollable soul masters. It had its own rules, its own brutal balance. It was a place where the evil was quarantined, locked away from the rest of the world.'
A cold smile, devoid of any humor, touched his lips. 'And he destroyed it. He killed all those people but also also shattered their cage. He unleashed hundreds, perhaps thousands, of the world's most powerful and ruthless fallen, degenerates, and Evil Soul Masters into the general populace and allowed them to rise. They were no longer contained, no longer bound by any power. They were free to spread their corruption, to prey on the innocent, to form new, more dangerous organizations.'
His eyes narrowed, his conclusion as sharp and cold as a shard of ice. 'The rise of the Holy Spirit Cult, the very organization that plagued this era… its roots can be traced back to this single, "heroic" act. Tang San didn't purge the darkness. He just scattered its seeds to the wind and let them grow in the shadows. In a way… he is the true founding father, the Holy Ancestor, of all the Evil Soul Masters that came after.'
The thought was so staggering, so heretical, that it almost made him laugh. The hero of the world was the unwitting creator of its greatest plague.
On stage, the play had moved on, shifting its focus to the epic love stories of the heroes, a classic way to engage the emotions of the crowd. They depicted the life sacrificing love between Xiao Wu and Tang San, as Xiao Wu had even sacrificed herself to become his Soul Ring, Soul Bone. She however was later revived by the profound methods and wisdom of Tang San.
Then the play moved towards the tender romance between the food-system Soul Master, Oscar, and the beautiful heiress of the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect, Ning Rongrong.
Then the spotlight fell on the tragic, noble romance between Dai Mubai, the powerful prince with the Evil-Eyed White Tiger soul, and Zhu Zhuqing, the deadly agility-type master with the Netherworld Black Cat Martial Soul.
"And so," the narrator's voice swelled with emotion, "the two lovers, bound by their profound love, defied the cruel traditions of their Star Luo Empire! They abolished the barbaric custom of siblings fighting to the death for the throne, proving that love and kindness could conquer even the most deep-seated traditions of royalty!"
Huo Yuhao's hands clenched into fists under the table. His knuckles were white. A bitter, acidic taste filled his mouth.
'Abolished it?' he thought, the words a silent, furious scream in his soul.
The story was a lie. A beautiful, convenient lie.
'The direct, public duels may have stopped,' his mind raged, replaying the cold, hungry nights in the woodshed of the Duke's mansion. 'But the principle, the cruel, cold-blooded competition, it never ended. It just moved into the shadows. It became a game of poison, of assassination, of political maneuvering, of backstabbing and betrayal. Dai Mubai and Zhu Zhuqing didn't abolish the cruelty; they just made it more subtle, more insidious. Generations later, my father, Dai Hao who shares this despicable blood with me, is still a product of that same rotten system. And because of his willfulness, he made my mother pregnant and even abandoned my mother. He let her die in poverty and sickness.'
He looked at the heroic actors on the stage, portraying his so-called ancestors as paragons of love and reform. And he felt nothing. No connection. No pride. Only a cold, deep, and profound contempt.
'They are not my ancestors,' he decided with a final, chilling certainty. 'My name is Huo Yuhao. I have no connection to the house of Dai, or to the self-righteous heroes who built its gilded cage.'
The play continued, touching on the tragic fate of Ma Hongjun, the Phoenix Soul Master, whose lover, Bai Chenxiang, was unable to ascend to godhood with him, and who, according to the play, died of old age on the continent.
Jin Xi and Xue Nu found this part particularly interesting.
"So, even if one becomes a god, their mate cannot always follow?" Xue Nu mused quietly. "The laws of ascension are indeed cruel."
"It seems a poor reward for a lifetime of devotion," Jin Xi agreed, a flicker of something unreadable in her ruby eyes.
The play reached its grand, bombastic climax. The actor playing Tang San stood center stage, now wearing two sets of armor—one of brilliant sea-blue, the other a terrifying, blood-red and black.
"And so, wielding the dual god-powers of the Sea God and the Asura God!" the narrator roared, his voice shaking the rafters. "The great Tang San faced the ultimate evil! He battled the ambitious Angel God and the wicked Rakshasa God, the two divine leaders of the corrupt Spirit Hall, and in a battle that shook the heavens, he defeated them, shattering their evil organization and ushering in a new era of peace and prosperity for the entire Douluo Continent!"
The play ended with a grand tableau, the seven heroes standing victorious as confetti rained down upon the stage. The crowd erupted into a thunderous, emotional applause. People were weeping, cheering, their hearts filled with awe and reverence. The Sea God Temple followers moved through the crowd, their donation boxes quickly filling with coins.
Huo Yuhao just sat there, a silent observer in a sea of manipulated emotion.
'Spirit Hall,' he thought, his mind now a calm, clear lake of cynical truth. 'They were the most powerful organization on the continent, with a public support base that dwarfed the two great empires combined. Were they truly pure evil? Or were they just… a rival power? A different vision for the future of the continent? One that Tang San, for his own reasons, for the sake of his own power and the future of his own sect, simply could not allow to exist.'
He took a slow sip of his now-cold tea.
'History,' he concluded with a quiet, internal sigh, 'is indeed written by the victors. And Tang San… he has written himself a beautiful, perfect, and utterly fraudulent story.'
He knew the truth. He had seen the cold, calculating mind behind the benevolent mask. And this play, this grand, emotional piece of propaganda, did not fill him with anger. It filled him with a quiet, unshakeable resolve.
He was definitely not going to get controlled by this Tang San and will definitely beat him to take vengeance for all that his future-self had suffered at that selfish man's hands.