At the summit of Moonwatch Mountain.
Yang Jing walked unhurriedly through his fellow disciples' burning gazes, returned to his place, and settled into his chair.
No sooner had he sat down than a gaze fell upon him from beside him.
Si Jiawen sat upright, her bearing graceful and elegant, her expression composed. She quietly watched Yang Jing, whose battle had just stunned the entire crowd, layers of indescribably complicated emotions concealed in her eyes.
Noticing her gaze, Yang Jing turned toward her with a gentle expression, smiled faintly, and gave her a small nod.
Si Jiawen nodded in return. Her long lashes trembled slightly as thoughts churned ceaselessly within her, a jumble of bitter and sweet.
Scenes from the past surfaced in her mind.
The duel between disciples of their peak in Lingxi Square.
In that contest for the foremost position on Lingxi Peak, she and Yang Jing had fought head-on, exchanging fierce blows in a closely matched struggle. In the end, she had fallen just short, losing by a single move and yielding the position of Lingxi Peak Senior Brother to the rising Yang Jing.
After that defeat, she had not been entirely convinced. Frustration, resentment, and stubbornness had lingered in her heart.
She had always felt that the gap between them was minuscule, that her loss by a single move had merely been a matter of luck in the moment. Given time, she would surely surpass him again and reclaim the position that belonged to her.
For a time afterward, she had traveled beyond the sect, tempering herself amid mountains, wilderness, and perilous lands, refining her character and diligently practicing her cultivation arts.
Along her travels, wind and frost tempered her bones, while danger honed her heart. Gradually, she emerged from the shadow of defeat and let go