"Fellow Daoist, you looked well."
"Your Highness as well. I caused many offenses in the arena in the past; I hope Your Highness would forgive me."
"On the arena, blades and swords had no eyes. How could it be called an offense?" Zhao Yin said calmly.
"We should have been in the arena today. I must thank Your Highness for yielding to me; I accepted it with shame." Song Changsheng was not speaking sarcastically. He meant it from the bottom of his heart.
In the arena, he had merely been an unknown nobody. Whether he won or lost, there had been no pressure on him whatsoever. As an unknown figure, he had climbed step by step from the preliminary rounds to the finals and become the first to initiate a clash at the peak. Even if he lost, he would still be the darkest dark horse of this Five Academies Grand Competition.
It could be said that from the moment he stepped onto the arena, he had already won—in another sense.
Zhao Yin was different. From childhood to adulthood, far too many halos had shrouded him, and far too many people had placed their hopes upon him.
For that very reason, in the eyes of the vast majority, this competition had contained no suspense at all.
If he lost a match that had supposedly held no suspense, all the halos and expectations built up before would shatter. The glory of the past would turn into a nightmare, bringing a mad backlash like surging tides.
That immense sense of falling from the clouds was like an abyss, enough to swallow anyone whole.
Failure was often unacceptable, because what the masses liked was only the halo of invincibility and supreme honor.
What was more, Zhao Yin's opponent had been at a lower