"Luo‑luo."
The small piglet‑shaped spirit trembled and pressed itself against Yu Xiaogang's legs, squealing softly as if seeking comfort. The courtyard, frozen a heartbeat before, resumed its noisy life—only now the noise carried a sharper edge.
"What is that?" someone muttered. The Seven Treasure Glazed Tile School's former Sect Master was the first to speak, trying to frame the anomaly as something novel and scholarly. His words, however, did little to stop the tide of ridicule that had already begun to swell.
Experts exchanged glances. The spirit's mutation was obvious; born outside the body, beast form—an unprecedented classification, perhaps. But novelty did not equal favor. The assembled masters and guests, schooled in the cruelties of Martial Soul Awakening, read the scene with practiced eyes: this was not a blessing.
Laughter bubbled up from the Spirit Hall's Titled Douluo, sharp and unkind. Rivalry tasted sweet in his mouth. Around the courtyard, whispers hardened into mockery.
"Test his Innate Spirit Power," the official in charge urged, holding the crystal ball aloft. His voice cut through the murmurs and reached Yu Xiaogang like a blow.
Yu Xiaogang's limbs moved as if through fog. He stared at the piglet spirit, at the faces turned toward him, and felt the world tilt. A thousand humiliations crowded his mind—every slight, every sneer he had endured—condensed into a single, unbearable moment. He forced his hand onto the crystal ball, clinging to the last thread of hope.
The light on the crystal ball was a whisper, barely there. The announcement that followed landed like a verdict.
"Innate Spirit Power: Rank 0.5."
The words echoed. Yu Xiaogang's knees buckled; color drained from his face. He collapsed to the ground, not from faintness but from a willful surrender—he would pretend to faint rather than meet the eyes of those who now gossiped and pointed.
On the heavenly curtain, the replay of the scene cut deep. Bibi Dong watched with a pained expression, wishing she could step into the screen and shield him. In Suotuo City, Tang San's roar tore through the air—an animal sound of grief and anger. The past, thought buried, rose again with fresh sting.
Yu Yuanzhen stood in his hall, watching his son's humiliation unfold. The plans he had made, the prestige he had expected for his family—everything had been undone by a single, impartial test. He sighed, the weight of a father's helplessness heavy in his chest.
Around the courtyard, the children who had once sought Yu Xiaogang's favor now found their chance to gloat. "We were told to befriend him—what a joke," one sneered. "He slapped my offering on the ground," another spat. Cruelty, once stored, was now spent.
Yu Xiaogang heard it all but could not bear to look. Shame and rage warred inside him. He wanted to scream at the heavens, to tear down the world that had made him a spectacle. Instead, he closed his eyes and let his body go limp, staging a faint so he would not have to witness the faces turned away.
The broadcast did not spare anyone. It showed the arrogance born of privilege, the brittle pride of a boy raised on deference, and the merciless judgment of a world that measures worth by spirit ranks. For the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Sect, the memory was a wound reopened; for Yu Xiaogang, it was the moment that defined him in the eyes of others.
As the heavenly curtain continued its impartial narration, the Douluo Continent watched and judged. The comparison had done more than replay a past humiliation—it had exposed the raw nerve of a life shaped by expectation and failure. Yu Xiaogang's collapse was not an end but a beginning: the fracture in his pride had been revealed, and whatever came next would be born from that break.