Ever since he began loosely "cooperating" with the Spirit Hall, Ning Fengzhi had subconsciously placed himself in the position of a strategist—evaluating gains and losses, weighing pros and cons, and worrying about "the bigger picture."
And because of that…
He completely forgot.
Or rather—deliberately ignored—a very basic, yet absolutely terrifying fact:
The Spirit Hall was not his Seven Treasure Glazed Tile School.
The Spirit Hall was not weak.
Not helpless.
Not struggling.
The Spirit Hall had so many Titled Douluo that three hands weren't enough to count them.
And just the ones capable of slapping Yu Yuanzhen to death?
There were three.
Three.
Whole.
Super Douluo.
Plus three tables of Titled Douluo above level 95 sitting right there eating pig trotters.
What kind of concept was that?
This wasn't an organization.
This was a fully armed, fully supplied, continent-sweeping military machine—one that could overthrow the existing order and create a new world overnight.
Forget the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Sect.
Even if the Upper Three Sects and both empires teamed up…
They wouldn't survive a single clean sweep.
As for Yu Yuanzhen?
In front of three Super Douluo, that "old dragon" wasn't even a mid-boss.
A fight to the death?
With what?
The fish dies, but the net doesn't even tear.
And Ning Fengzhi—
finally slapped himself awake inside his heart.
What happens when the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Sect tears off all pretenses?
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
He was meddling.
His vision was too small.
He finally understood the reality:
Well done, Bibi Dong!
This should've been done long ago!
He'd long been annoyed by those arrogant, temperamental idiots from the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Sect anyway!
Ning Fengzhi's mental trajectory completed an epic U-turn.
Yu Yuanzhen?
His strength?
His pride?
Take these concerns to the three Super Douluo sitting behind him.
All those words about "stability," "balance," "mutual restraint," and "maintaining peace"—
turned to dust.
What replaced them was a single, extremely clear thought:
The Spirit Hall can attack the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Sect—
but please don't accidentally step on us Seven Treasure Glazed Tile people while charging forward!
We're on your side! We're loyal! We're insiders!
"Ahem."
Ning Fengzhi coughed lightly.
In an instant, his expression shifted from "concerned patriot" to "fighting on the same front."
He took a step forward, bowed deeply toward Bibi Dong, posture humble—almost pitifully so.
"Your Holiness, Supreme Pontiff!"
His tone was filled with sincerity and loyalty.
"Although the strength of our Seven Treasure Glazed Tile School might be insignificant in your eyes…"
"As the Spirit Hall's firmest ally, when suppressing rebellious sects such as the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Sect…"
He bent even lower, the fawning smile glued firmly onto his face.
"Please!
Please bring our Seven Treasure Glazed Tile School along!"
"Let our Spirit Masters support your righteous campaign with all our strength, Your Holiness!"
The entire hall fell silent.
Devil Bear Douluo leaned close to Ghost Douluo, whispering with confusion all over his burly face.
"Elder Ghost… what's that supposed to mean?"
He pointed his giant hand at Ning Fengzhi, who was bent at a ninety-degree angle.
"Just now he said not to go too far, to think about the big picture."
"Why did he suddenly change his mind and beg us to bring his Sect to fight the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Sect?"
Devil Bear scratched his head.
Finally, with his simplistic thought process, he arrived at the only explanation he could understand:
"…Does he also want to come grab money?"
Ghost Douluo's eye twitched violently.
He nearly slapped Devil Bear's thick skull.
Grab money?
How dare he say that aloud?!
We were Elders of the Spirit Hall!
People with status and dignity!
How could the Spirit Hall ever be said to be "grabbing money"?
We call it—
"lawfully claiming compensation."
Righteous, proper, justified execution!"
Ghost Douluo took a deep breath, ready to correct him sternly.
But when he turned and met Devil Bear's pure, earnest, foolish eyes…
All of his words were strangled in his throat.
Forget it.
This child was simply… beyond saving.
He cleared his throat and patiently explained:
"Devil Bear, listen carefully."
"This time, we are going to claim compensation.
Not grabbing money."
He emphasized every syllable.
Devil Bear blinked.
"But isn't that still grabbing money?"
Ghost Douluo: "…"
He silently turned away.
He couldn't teach this man.
He really couldn't.
Meanwhile, Ning Fengzhi's magnificent mid-air face-switch stunned everyone present.
Even Bibi Dong's cold, beautiful eyes flashed with a hint of surprise.
But she soon recovered and nodded elegantly.
"School Master Ning is thoughtful."
Her young voice carried the authority of the Supreme Pontiff.
"In the future, the Spirit Hall will certainly not mistreat its most steadfast ally, the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile School."
Upon hearing this personal assurance—
Ning Fengzhi finally breathed out.
Cold sweat soaked his back.
Being with the Spirit Hall for even a few minutes…
Was more thrilling than decades of running the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile School.
With the matter settled, Ghost Leopard Douluo wasted no time.
His mind was already filled with the glittering, overflowing treasury of the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Sect.
This wasn't just a mission.
This was the Spirit Hall's great financial revival!
He stood up, saluted, and strode toward the exit full of momentum.
But just as his foot stepped out of Fengran Pavilion's entrance—
A filthy, staggering figure crashed into him.
Bang!
Ghost Leopard Douluo felt like he'd slammed into a mountain and was forced backward two steps.
Already excited about "creating revenue," he was instantly annoyed and about to curse—
When he saw who the person was.
All the curses turned to stone in his throat.
Then—
A shrill, terrified scream burst out:
"Holy—Holy crap!!
Tang Hao!?!"
His roar made the entire hall freeze.
Everyone turned their heads.
At the doorway…
A figure stood swaying like a candle in the wind.
Dirty.
Reeking of alcohol and blood.
Clothes tattered like a ragged beggar.
Right sleeve empty and fluttering.
Half his face covered in dried blood.
Half twisted in despair.
Who else could it be—
But Tang Hao, beaten like a stray dog just days ago?