Back at home, Jiang Chen first set aside one of the fish before taking another and heading toward the home of the village chief, Old Jack.
To be fair, Old Jack was once his savior. In the early years, Jiang Chen had lived with him—until he turned three and began cultivating that ominous and sinister cultivation technique. From that point on, the entire village started treating him as a cursed plague.
Even Old Jack couldn't bear his presence for long. The old man would fall gravely ill every few days, until one day he could take it no longer. He gave Jiang Chen a small, remote courtyard on the edge of the village, and had him live there alone.
Jiang Chen understood the harm his presence brought to others. So, rather than resent the villagers for shunning him, he accepted their rejection with a quiet sense of guilt.
After his cultivation improved and his abilities grew stronger, he began hunting and often tried to gift his catch to the villagers. But every time, he was flatly rejected.
The fear they felt toward him had long since surpassed anything reasonable. They didn't just avoid Jiang Chen—they wouldn't even touch the game he offered, afraid it might carry misfortune.
The only ones who didn't completely avoid him were Old Jack and Tang San's family.
Jiang Chen would bring wild game to Old Jack whenever he caught some. The old man was always pleased by the gesture.
As he walked through the village, anyone who spotted him—whether it was women heading to the river to wash clothes, men carrying farming tools to the fields, or children playing in the early morning—would quickly dodge out of his way, eyes filled with dread as though merely brushing past him could invite calamity.
"He's a jinx! A walking disaster!" some of the women whispered behind his back.
A few children even dared to hurl stones at him from afar—but none ever hit their mark.
Jiang Chen suddenly spun around and lunged playfully toward them. Instantly, the kids screamed in terror and scattered like frightened birds.
"Heh. Just that little bit of courage and they still dare mess with me?" Jiang Chen shook his head with a grin. Scaring those little brats from time to time was its own form of amusement.
Old Jack's house was near the village center, and it wasn't long before Jiang Chen arrived.
By now, the morning sun had fully risen. Ever the leisurely one, Old Jack had already dragged out a bamboo lounge chair and was reclining comfortably in the courtyard, basking in the warmth.
"Grandpa Jack!" Jiang Chen called out from a distance.
At the sound of Jiang Chen's voice, Old Jack visibly flinched. Then, in a flash of speed that betrayed his elderly frame, he jumped to his feet, dashed to the gate, slammed it shut, and locked it with practiced ease. The entire sequence flowed smoothly—far too spryly for someone in his sixties.
Only after backing away from the door did he finally let out a long breath of relief.
Jiang Chen wasn't the least bit surprised by this. He didn't take offense and simply walked up to the gate and stopped.
"Grandpa Jack, I brought you a fish," he said.
"Mm, Little Chen, you're a good child. Just hang it on the door handle. I'll come out and get it in a bit," Old Jack replied, keeping a cautious five-meter distance from the gate.
Jiang Chen deftly looped the fish onto the handle. His gaze lingered on the courtyard beyond—the place he had once called home for three years. A touch of nostalgia flickered in his eyes.
He had been just a newborn when Old Jack found him—abandoned, crying and swaddled outside the city of Nuoding. When the old man picked him up, Jiang Chen was as thin as a skeleton, no bigger than a rat, and barely breathing.
Old Jack had thought for sure the child wouldn't survive. But against all odds, Jiang Chen pulled through.
The villagers often spoke of the day Old Jack brought him home. That very night, thunderclouds had blanketed the sky above the village, lightning roaring like the wrath of heaven itself. The villagers were terrified.
So when Jiang Chen later began cultivating an evil technique and brought misfortune to those around him, they quickly tied his dark presence to that thunderous night. Many believed that even the heavens had been angered by his birth—that he was a forsaken child, abandoned by fate itself.
Jiang Chen, of course, didn't believe any of those superstitions. He was just an ordinary child. How could he possibly provoke divine wrath?
…
After hanging the fish, Jiang Chen turned to leave—only to remember something important.
"Grandpa Jack, when is Su Yuntao coming to the village?"
"How many times have I told you? Be respectful—call him Lord Su Yuntao, understand?" Old Jack scolded with a frown.
Then he added, "Lord Su Yuntao will be arriving the day after tomorrow. You should come too—for the awakening ceremony."
Jiang Chen immediately sensed something off. Narrowing his eyes, he asked suspiciously, "Grandpa, were you planning to forget about me? If I hadn't brought it up, were you even going to tell me the awakening ceremony was the day after tomorrow?"
Old Jack coughed dryly to hide his embarrassment. "I'm getting old, you know. Memory's not what it used to be…"
Jiang Chen let out a helpless sigh. "Alright, fine. I'll head back then. I'll be there for the ceremony, on time."
"Good, good, off you go now." Old Jack waved him off repeatedly.
Once Jiang Chen was out of sight, Old Jack immediately unlatched the gate and happily retrieved the large fish from the handle, a pleased smile on his face.
"I was right about you back then—Little Chen truly is a good child."
Old Jack smiled as he spoke to himself. Jiang Chen would bring him nourishing wild game every few days, and it often made the old man feel that rescuing him all those years ago had been a truly wise decision.
Although Jiang Chen had already walked quite far, his ears twitched slightly—he had clearly heard Old Jack's muttered words. A subtle smile tugged at the corners of his somewhat handsome face.
Ding… ding… ding…
The sound of metal striking metal echoed through the air. Jiang Chen paused in his steps and looked toward the edge of the village.
There stood three humble mud-brick houses. Above the central one hung a wooden sign, roughly painted with the image of a hammer.
Jiang Chen knew this was Tang San's home. From the sound, it must be Tang San practicing his forging skills—after all, that scruffy blacksmith Tang Hao was never out of bed before noon.
He had never dared venture close to that house. Jiang Chen was the only one in the entire village who knew Tang Hao's true identity—a fearsome powerhouse of absurd strength, a Titled Douluo.
When Tang Hao had first broken into the Titled Douluo realm, he had already been able to crush multiple other Titled Douluo from the Spirit Hall in battle. He had even severely wounded the previous Pope, leaving him on the brink of death.
If Tang Hao were to decide—like the rest of the villagers—that Jiang Chen was a harbinger of misfortune, and then casually smashed him with a hammer… now that would be a tragic and unjust end.
Back at home, Jiang Chen finished eating the fish and promptly collapsed onto his bed for a nap. It was his habit: during the daytime, he avoided cultivation. Aside from eating and basic necessities, he typically spent his days sleeping indoors.
It wasn't until dusk that he finally stirred from slumber. After preparing a simple dinner, he lightly leapt onto the rooftop, waiting for night to fall.
At last, the sun dipped behind the distant mountains, and the silvery moon crept into the sky. Another beautiful night blanketed the land.
Under the glow of the rising moon, Jiang Chen began his cultivation. As his technique circulated, faint streams of silvery moonlight—barely visible to the naked eye—poured down from the heavens and were drawn into his body.
His pupils darkened instantly, turning pitch-black like ink. His neatly trimmed nails rapidly extended, each growing over an inch long—black, razor-sharp, and gleaming menacingly.
Two tiny white fangs crept unnaturally from behind his tightly shut lips, giving his already handsome features a strange, oddly adorable edge.
Then, a sinister black mist—like something from the depths of the underworld—began to rise from his body, coiling around him in ghostly tendrils. His small frame became faintly visible through the shadows, surrounded by an eerie and ominous aura.
Bathed in the essence of moonlight, Jiang Chen felt his entire being relax and open. He sank completely into the tranquility of cultivation.