The first time Zhou Qing ran into Tang San, the boy had paused when he saw a child picking mushrooms alone. He stood there watching for a while before silently walking away.
Not long after, Tang San returned with a basket of his own and began gathering mushrooms too.
Tang San's family was poor. All three daily meals consisted of rice porridge so thin you could count the grains of rice in it. When he saw Zhou Qing picking mushrooms, even someone as focused on cultivation as Tang San understood the importance of filling one's stomach, so he joined in without hesitation.
"What's your name? I've never seen you in the village before."
Zhou Qing clearly remembered asking this when he saw the frail and slightly younger boy. He himself was only two at the time.
"Tang San," the boy replied, not stopping as he picked mushrooms.
"Oh, I'm Zhou Qing," he responded, and then asked, "Can I come play at your house?"
A question only a two-year-old would ask.
"You can, but... my place is kind of messy."
Tang San stayed quiet for a while before replying. Deep down, he thought: once this kid sees the mess and gets scolded by his parents, he probably won't come back.
After all, any village child who visited his home would be sternly warned by their parents never to go back.
And so, that was Zhou Qing and Tang San's first meeting—simple and uneventful.
The second time they met, it was at Tang San's house.
Cramped. Claustrophobic.
It was also the first time Zhou Qing saw the legendary Haotian Douluo—Tang Hao. Zhou Qing had been nervous, but Tang Hao only gave him a glance before retreating into his room to sleep.
To think the mighty Haotian Douluo had fallen this far. So fragile, so broken.
"This is my home. Messy, huh?" Tang San said as he began tidying up.
Clearly, he did this every day, but every time Tang Hao left his room, he'd turn the already cramped living room into a disaster zone.
"It's not so bad," Zhou Qing said as he joined in to help.
Tang San was a bit surprised. While village kids matured early, a child this young helping out like this? He was clearly ahead of his peers.
"You should head home," Tang San said eventually, joking lightly. "Or your parents might come looking and give you a spanking."
That sentence confirmed Zhou Qing's earlier guess—Tang San was indeed a transmigrator, just like in the original novel. No ordinary two-year-old could mimic that kind of casual, teasing tone.
Zhou Qing responded casually, "I'd actually like a spanking... but sadly, I don't have the chance. I live alone."
An orphan?
Tang San paused. He thought of his own situation—and strangely, he felt a connection.
He had a father, but it hardly felt like it.
Coming from an ancient world himself, Tang San didn't see Zhou Qing as someone like him. He just thought Zhou Qing had grown up alone, and so matured faster—already as thoughtful as a preteen at just two.
This difference in mindset—between an ancient transmigrator and a modern one—shaped their bond.
From then on, a true orphan and a half-orphan began spending more and more time together.
Tang San, lacking love in both his past and present life, naturally craved someone he could talk to.
And Zhou Qing? As a mentally adult transmigrator, he found it difficult to relate to other children in the village. Their minds were simply not on the same level.
In this time, Zhou Qing began sharing little survival tricks with Tang San—like which wild plants were edible in the forest.
Tang San, raised in the Tang Sect, was well-versed in poisons, but he knew little about wild vegetables. So when Zhou Qing taught him how to distinguish edible greens from weeds, Tang San's respect for him grew.
After all, his family was truly poor, often relying on Old Jack's support.
Since learning how to forage, their meals were still sparse—but at least he wasn't starving.
Zhou Qing also took the chance to subtly probe Tang San's perspective on reincarnation and self-awareness.
It wasn't just idle curiosity—it was preparation. Zhou Qing needed to understand Tang San's mindset to plan his future interactions.
For instance, he wouldn't directly ask, "Who am I? Where did I come from? Where am I going?"
Instead, during their mushroom-picking or vegetable-digging sessions, they'd lie on the hillside outside Holy Soul Village, looking down over the landscape, and Zhou Qing would muse aloud, almost to himself, "Xiao San, do you ever wonder who you really are? I mean, I don't even have parents. And if I can cultivate one day, I'll have to leave the village… become a Soul Master. But what kind of person am I, really?"
At that, Tang San fell silent for a long while.
Maybe he was surprised a two-year-old could think so deeply.
Or maybe... he was questioning himself too.
In his past life, he was Tang San of the Tang Sect.
In this life... was he just Tang Hao's son?
Zhou Qing saw it clearly—Tang San's eyes wavered for a second, then firmed with resolve. He whispered under his breath, "I am Tang San. Whether in my past life or this one, I am still Tang San. I long for familial love... but what I truly miss is the Tang Sect that gave me purpose. So—"
He didn't finish the sentence.
But Zhou Qing knew exactly what he meant:
"I will rebuild the Tang Sect here on Douluo Continent."
"What are you muttering about?" Zhou Qing pretended not to hear, eyes wide with curiosity.
"Nothing," Tang San snapped out of it, chuckling as he covered it up. "I was just thinking... when I grow up, I'll leave Holy Soul Village and go somewhere bigger to fulfill my dream."
"What dream?" Zhou Qing asked, noting Tang San's momentary daze. It reminded him—no matter how mature their souls, in a child's underdeveloped body and brain, emotions still leaked through.
He was the same.
"Becoming a Soul Master, of course."
"Same here!"
Zhou Qing laughed.
And Tang San smiled too. His dream of rebuilding the Tang Sect required followers—it couldn't be done alone.
Zhou Qing wanted to use Tang San.
And Tang San saw in Zhou Qing a bright, clever, dependable ally.
It was mutual benefit.
Although Tang San never revealed his Xuan Tian Gong over the next two years, Zhou Qing didn't mind. Their friendship had already grown strong enough.
Back to the present—
Zhou Qing extended an invitation: "Want to have breakfast at my place?"
"Sure," Tang San replied with his usual brevity.
Once he'd finished collecting mushrooms, the two of them walked down the hill together.
Zhou Qing opened his door and led Tang San inside.
The living room wasn't large, but compared to the cramped blacksmith shop Tang San called home, it was far more spacious, clean, and tidy—with none of the lingering smell.
Tang San was already somewhat familiar with this place.
Zhou Qing prepared breakfast while Tang San helped.
Before long, a steaming pot of rice porridge was ready.
"Then I won't be polite," Tang San said as Zhou Qing brought over the mushrooms topped with spicy sauce.
"When have you ever been polite?" Zhou Qing rolled his eyes, picked up his chopsticks, and pinching up a thick grasping of porridge. "Bit too thick today."
Tang San chuckled, "If I could eat porridge like this every day at home, I'd die happy."
After breakfast, the two boys had a shared goal to attend to…