Chapter 108: Tang San’s Record

Under the flickering light of a soul lamp, shadows dancing on the dim walls, Tang San sat quietly on the edge of the bed, his diary spread out like an open door into his mind. His hand lay poised over the page, the scratch of a pen suspended in the air like a half-written note.

They may call it foolish, he started, his pen moving smoothly on the paper, for a Tang Sect disciple to maintain a diary. Mysteriousness is our school of thought, being said, after all, a whisper of the tradition resonating in the recesses of his mind.

But if there's anything my brother has taught me, it's that remembering is just as important as concealing. And if these pages can help the group that now wears his name, then it's worth the risk, however perilous the road ahead.

At the head of the page, he wrote the name: Black Dragon's Fangs, his heart racing with doubt and pride. Only a few hours earlier, he had revealed the name El Dorado—a name stirring with wonder and a hint of fear—to his master, among his fellow students best known as Jr. Master.

As the words tumbled from his mouth, a deep change washed over Jr. Master's face. The blood disappeared from his face; his eyes narrowed into slivers of ice, and his hand shook infinitesimally, giving away his control.

"El Dorado…" Jr. Master breathed, his tone thick with a combination of fear and haste. "Where… where did you hear that name?!"

A cold shiver wrapped the room, and Tang San gulped hard, his throat constricted with fear.

"My brother," he answered honestly, working to maintain a level tone.

For a moment, Jr. Master seemed locked in a desperate inner conflict, as though fighting shadows of the past. His lips opened to say something, then closed into a tight line, his face a mask of worry.

"That name… change it at once," he cautioned, voice low and urgent, a tempest seething beneath his placid facade. "The original El Dorado was created by that man. If they get wind of some bunch of kids appropriating it. they might strike back. And let me tell you, they wouldn't care about your motivations."

A tremulous sigh escaped him, the creases on his forehead deepening with the weight of mutual history.

"And your brother… what's his name? And your mother's?" he asked, each of his questions a sharp dagger.

Tang San hesitated, the inner conflict within him evident. He gave the same replies as before, deliberately omitting the dark figures of Di Tian and the others.

"I… don't have maternal uncles," he supplemented, attempting to protect the tenuous truth he was holding in his hands.

Jr. Master looked at him for a moment, as if weighing unspoken anxieties against the dim light, then he shut his eyes, weighed down by the knowledge now on his shoulders.

"Go," he ultimately said, his voice laden with gravity. "Go, and never speak that name again unless your brother himself sanctions it."

Tang San lowered his head, hiding the shiver that ran down his spine, then slipped into the resounding emptiness of the hallway.

Later, in the crowded dormitory bathed in the gentle light of spirit lamps, he assembled his classmates. Unease hung in the air like the humming of static electricity.

"Change the name? But why now?" one asked, confused.

"Did something happen?" another asked, their interest tangible.

Tang San stood firm, his tone unmoving in the tempest of uncertainty.

"Listen. El Dorado is forbidden unless my brother—Tang Yan—personally permits it. Until then, it's perilous, and it's taboo."

Hesitant murmurs of doubt circulated among the group. Eyes met, concern marked on their brows. But after a hesitant silence, they nodded in concord; faith in Tang San was not to be lightly overturned.

As they threw around options, names whizzed like leaves blown by a gust of wind, each one more ridiculous than the previous. 

"Golden Tigers?" one suggested, with a tinge of amusement in their voice.

"Mighty Blades?" another joined in, with laughter dancing on the fringes of their worry.

Tang San couldn't help but smile, though brief, chased away by a resolute determination as he lifted his hand to silence them.

"No. We must have something that really belongs to us… something that is worthy of him," he announced, his voice unshakeable as rock. "We'll name ourselves Black Dragon's Fangs. Because we're the fangs of the Black Dragon—my brother, Tang Yan."

Silence fell, heavy with meaning. Gradually, heads nodded assent; even those still clutching for comprehension felt the heaviness of his words weigh over them like a cloak.

"Fine," one of the students finally spoke, his voice firm. "Black Dragon's Fangs it is."

Later, Tang San put down his pen again, his mind floating like autumn leaves blown by a soft wind. He remembered Tang Yan having discreetly turned the whole dormitory's rudimentary soul power collection array into something much more complex, redesigning what they thought was possible.

He recalled how his brother had carefully overhauled the academy's standard physical training armor, substituting the soul guide core with a thinner, stronger, and more effective design. Even Jr. Master had been rendered speechless, something rare after such brilliance.

At times, Tang San wrote, it is as if Brother can view the very architecture of the world itself, his intellect lighting up the secrets that lay beyond grasp.

He paused, the memory of Jr. Master's frightened eyes when he heard the name "El Dorado" lingering on his mind like an unanswered question. 

I'm not yet strong enough to ask him what that name truly means, Tang San admitted to the diary, his resolve hardened with determination. But one day, I'll become strong enough to uncover it for myself.

To demonstrate that determination, he had pushed the dorm's training schedule to new extremes, unwavering in his drive for strength. None of them griped—although a time or two, they grumbled in fatigued protest.

And Xiao Wu, who in the past had slipped off to sleep or snack, now trained assiduously alongside him from first light until the lamps burned late, her mettle as unflinching as his.

Tang San dripped the pen again, finishing off the last line with flair.

He sensed the gentle swoosh of covers as Xiao Wu crawled up onto the same bed, wrapping herself around him—attracted by the heat of the thicker mattress his brother had so kindly arranged, a modest solace in their austere lives.

Finishing off the diary, Tang San took a long, calm breath.

El Dorado… the ancient name, red with blood and dread. The new one, selected in his honor. And between them… the truth remains, sharp and concealed.

He lowered the lamp, the dancing flame giving way to the cover of night.

Amidst the silence of the dormitory, his heart steady and unfaltering, Tang San allowed himself to settle into the gentle fold of slumber, dreams churning with the promise of dawn.