Arena Number Seven.

Blood still stained the platform floor. A middle-aged Official stepped onto the stage, his gaze sweeping over the two contestants. Turning to face the high dais where the chief and other examiners were seated, he announced loudly, "Arena Number Seven, the final match of the fifth round! The winner is Yang Jing of Sun’s Martial Arts Hall!"

The moment his voice fell, the crowd below the stage erupted into another round of cheers and excited chatter. Though most of them had never heard of Yang Jing before today, they knew his name now—and would not be forgetting it anytime soon.

Shen Lie grabbed the railing and struggled to his feet. The pain in his chest and the emptiness in his Dantian made him sway with every step.

He shot a sideways glance at Yang Jing, his throat working. He wanted to give him a vicious glare, but the image of the fist that had just grazed his scalp flashed through his mind, along with the undisguised killing intent in Yang Jing’s eyes. A chill shot up his spine, and he swallowed the harsh words on the tip of his tongue.

"Just you wait."

He gritted his teeth, forcing the three words out from between them, his voice as hoarse as if it had been scraped with sandpaper.

But in his heart, a seed of venomous resentment had been planted.

’This humiliation... I’ll pay it back a hundredfold one day!’

’Once I’ve recovered, I’ll make that brat suffer something worse than defeat.’

Yang Jing’s eyes narrowed slightly. He didn’t respond, but he committed the threatening words to memory before calmly following him off the platform.

Just as he stepped off the last stair, a faint shout suddenly reached his ears, seeming to come from a distance. He could vaguely make out words like "Yang Jing" and "won."

He paused for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly.

The voice seemed to come from the direction of the martial field’s main gate. Filtered through the dense crowd and the field’s railings, it sounded muffled and fragmented.

The martial field was where the Court held its official examinations. Aside from the county’s dignitaries and members of the various Martial Arts Halls, ordinary people weren’t allowed inside. It was difficult to get a clear view of the matches from the outside. ’So how could someone recognize me and be shouting my name from out there?’

’Did I mishear?’ he wondered, shaking his head.

Perhaps the chaotic cheers from the crowd were playing tricks on his ears.

Just then, a familiar shout came from beyond the enclosure: "Junior Brother Yang!"

Yang Jing looked up and saw Liu Maolin, Sun Ningxiang, and Xu Hong squeezed into the front of the crowd, smiling at him. In comparison, however, Xu Hong’s face was pale, and his smile seemed a bit forced.

Yang Jing understood immediately. ’This senior brother of mine must have lost his final match,’ he thought. ’He’s probably feeling pretty dejected right now.’

He stopped dwelling on the faint shouts and walked toward the three of them.

With that, this afternoon’s competitions came to an end.

The sunlight fell on him, clearly illuminating the dust on his green robes, but it also made his straight back appear all the more steady and composed.

Meanwhile, outside the high, railed walls of the martial field, a few villagers in coarse-spun clothes were on their tiptoes, craning their necks to see inside. One of them, a woman, was holding the hand of a little girl with pigtails.

"I knew young Jing could do it!"

A dark-skinned man wiped his face, his voice so booming it could pierce the walls. "A young lad from our Yang Family Village is bound to be amazing!"

"Is that really Yang Jing? I can’t see clearly," asked a slightly older, middle-aged man, rubbing his eyes.

"It is! I saw him clearly! It’s definitely Brother Jing!" Yang the Third’s son, Yang Wei, who had climbed onto the railed wall, looked down and said to the middle-aged man.

Not far away, Yang Shouzhuo was sitting on a wooden stump. Yang An stood beside him, quietly recounting the events of the match. A smile bloomed across the old man’s face.

...

The railing next to Arena Number Three had just been pulled aside when Lin Yue walked out, clutching a shoulder wound. His black martial uniform was mottled with bloodstains, but they couldn’t hide the triumphant look in his eyes.

He strode to the spectators’ section and bowed slightly to Sun Yong. His voice was hoarse from his injuries, but it held a triumphant lilt. "Master, I’m fortunate to have succeeded."

Sun Yong stroked his beard, his gaze lingering for a moment on the bleeding wound before he laughed heartily. "Excellent, Yue’Er! Defeating Ye Canglan... you’ve really done me proud! Hahaha, well done, well done."

At these words, the corners of Lin Yue’s mouth curved upward. He replied humbly, "You praise me too much, Master," but his heart was already surging with pride.

’Among all the disciples in the Martial Arts Hall, who could possibly be more talented? In terms of combat strength, who would dare to cross me?’

’In this examination, I am the only hope for the Martial Arts Hall—for our Master!’

’Besides me, who else could win first place in their arena? Who?’

He straightened his back, peripherally scanning the congratulatory crowd. He grew even more certain. ’My other martial brothers were probably eliminated long ago. They have no right to compete with me.’

But after scanning the crowd twice, he didn’t catch a glimpse of that familiar figure in a white dress, and Lin Yue’s heart sank a little.

He suppressed his racing heart and pretended to casually look around. In the end, he couldn’t hold back, his tone tinged with a barely perceptible urgency. "Master, where is Senior Sister Ning Xiang?" 𝕗𝚛𝚎𝚎𝐰𝗲𝗯𝗻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝕞

"She went over to where Yang Jing is," Sun Yong said casually. Then his gaze sharpened, and he pointed toward the southern aisle. "There they are. They’re coming back now."

Lin Yue followed his gaze and saw Sun Ningxiang in the aisle not far away, talking with Xu Hong, Liu Maolin, and Yang Jing. The hem of her simple white dress swayed gently in the wind, and her profile was bathed in the soft glow of the sun.

Lin Yue’s heart suddenly tightened. His earlier triumph felt as if it had been doused with a basin of cold water.

His shoulders, which he had unconsciously straightened, stiffened. His gaze fell on Sun Ningxiang’s face. He saw her listening intently to Yang Jing, a faint smile on her lips. That smile, in Lin Yue’s eyes, was so piercing it made the corners of his own eyes tighten.

He clenched the fists hidden in his sleeves. The pain from his wound suddenly became sharp, yet it was nothing compared to the acute, inexplicable irritation pricking at his heart.