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Not long after.
Chen Hong lowered his eyes slightly and bowed. "Your Highnesses, the competition has ended. Chen Hong will take his leave first."
This departure was perfectly reasonable.
The small figure on the stage who had drawn the cheers of thousands had already quietly left.
Today... was the seventh-day memorial for the disaster that had befallen the Chen Residence. The first seven.
The pad of Prince Xue Jiqing's finger, which had been resting on the armrest, left the distorted patch of space it had been pressing down on all along.
That miniature black domain instantly closed up, and the light returned to normal. Only a few fine new cracks faintly showed on the hardwood.
His expression remained gentle. "My condolences. Tinggang, you go as well. Convey a token of regard on behalf of this prince, and on behalf of the Imperial Court."
Xiao Yicai's Taoist robe sleeve hung down, his aura rounded and withdrawn into stillness. At some unknown point, the scattered specks of crystalline dust on the table had vanished without a trace. "I'll go too."
Those two words were plain, yet they represented the stance and bearing of a top-tier sect.
Just as Chen Hong was about to turn around.
A figure that had originally been as steady as a boulder slowly rose.
Ghost King's gray-white eyelids lifted slightly. No light was reflected in them, only void. "This time... we were able to heavily injure that You Guangzhou, leaving him unable to recover for several years."
He paused. "My Avici Hall... owes the Chen Clan this favor."
The final word.
No pleasantries, no embellishment.
With one sentence—"owes the Chen Clan this favor"—the nearly humiliating defeat in today's arena was instantly turned into a deeper, more obscure