Duolou: Reborn with reality Pen

Nuoding Academy Training Ground

Tang San stood on one side of the training ground, while opposite him, Xīrán stood lazily, her posture relaxed and indifferent.

She didn't even bother looking at the so-called hypocrite granddaughter of that hypocrite grandfather. In her eyes, he was just trash she had stumbled across on the road, someone who didn't even deserve the right to clean Master Eren's shoes.

Seeing her indifference and disdain, Tang San's suppressed anger flared again.

He clenched his fists tightly and made his decision: You have chosen the path of death.

On one side stood Eren and the other dormmates. Opposite them was Yu Xiaogang, acting as the referee.

Eren muttered coldly, "As I thought, he's the one who told Tang San that yin-yang nonsense. Always pretending to be noble."

Yu Xiaogang spoke sternly, "You have one minute to release your Martial Soul."

The moment he finished, Tang San released his Martial Soul. A Blue Silver Pig emerged from his palm and dropped onto the ground. A hundred-year-old yellow ring rose beneath him, hovering around his body.

"Oink."

The ridiculous sound caused laughter to erupt among the watching students.

Xīrán said calmly, "No need. I don't need any Martial Soul to defeat this hypocrite granddaughter of yours."

Her sarcasm made both master and disciple grit their teeth in fury.

Yu Xiaogang looked at Tang San and declared, "The match will begin. Start!"

At the signal, Tang San burst forward with a sharp exhale, feet skimming the ground in a low sprint. His right hand shot out in a hook aimed for Xīrán's ribs, but she simply tilted her upper body back, letting his strike cut air.

Her heel pivoted smoothly, and her left palm slammed into his wrist before his foot could even settle. The blow redirected his balance, forcing him to step back to avoid falling.

"You're slower than I thought," she said, her voice cold, eyes still half-lidded.

Tang San's eyes narrowed. His foot stomped down to stabilize his posture and immediately spun low with a sweeping leg. Xīrán jumped, not backward, but forward, twisting her body above his sweep and landing inside his guard.

A precise elbow strike shot toward his collarbone.

He barely raised his forearm in time to block, but the impact numbed his entire arm. She didn't give him time to breathe. A low jab followed, targeting his solar plexus. He caught it with his opposite hand and tried to counter with a knee.

She turned her hips, slipping around him in a tight rotation, and slammed her palm into his back.

He stumbled forward, barely managing to avoid falling flat.

"Your form's too stiff," Xīrán muttered. "Does your grandfather teach you to swing like a club?"

Tang San growled and turned, this time adopting a low, grounded stance. His movements tightened. A straight punch launched toward her centerline, fast and disciplined. She blocked. Another came, he followed with a series of chain punches, testing her guard with fast, relentless strikes.

Xīrán shifted to the side mid-barrage, deflecting with short palm motions, her weight light on her feet. She moved like a shadow, never retreating, never yielding.

A sharp side kick from Tang San suddenly caught her in the hip.

But instead of faltering, Xīrán absorbed the blow, rolled with it, and caught his leg under her arm.

She looked him in the eye and spoke coldly.

"You got lucky. Once."

Then she twisted.

Tang San flew sideways and crashed into the dirt. The watching students went silent. Dust rose around him, but he rolled to his feet without hesitation.

He wiped blood from the side of his mouth, rage burning behind his eyes.

"Don't you dare look down on me."

Xīrán cracked her neck lazily. "I already am."

He shot toward her again, this time faking high and aiming low, a sudden feint into a sweeping grapple. His arm wrapped around her waist, he had her.

Until her elbow slammed into the side of his head, breaking the hold. She spun her body with precision and drove her knee into his sternum. The force cracked through his core.

Tang San staggered. His breath caught.

Xīrán didn't press the advantage immediately. She stood still, watching him with distant contempt.

"I thought you were taught something more by your grandfather," she said flatly. "Did you even learn anything from him?"

Tang San exploded again, fury driving every punch. Left hook. Elbow. Rising knee. He fought like a wild beast now, less disciplined, more instinct.

But Xīrán didn't yield.

She blocked. Slipped. Redirected. Her arms moved like coiled whips, striking when needed, vanishing when not.

Then she struck, three hits in one breath.

Palm to the neck. Elbow to the gut. Backfist to the jaw.

Tang San collapsed to one knee, panting, eyes wide.

She stepped closer, looking down at him.

"You're not worth using a Martial Soul on," she whispered.