With a metallic clang, the snake-shaped sword slid into its scabbard. Du San stood tall, a humble smile on his still-childish face. He cupped his fists toward the dashing young man across from him and said, "Second Young Master, your swordsmanship is extraordinary. It was only because you showed mercy that I managed to hold out this long. I can't keep going, and I concede."
At last, some color returned to Second Young Master Chen's slightly pale face. He smiled faintly and replied with studied composure, "Good. You know your place."
In secret, countless people praised Du San for his tact and social savvy, saying his future prospects might well be limitless.
When their bout ended, someone else immediately stepped into the ring. This time, they were testing the power of their palms. Each burst of palm force sent the river surging and boiling—a truly spectacular sight.
"How does this scene compare with your poetry and prose?"
Jiang Yingyue leaned against the painted boat's railing, smiling like a flower as she watched Jia Junpeng, whose eyes had gone round. She still wore a red dress, blazing like a flame.
Jia Junpeng wiped his forehead. "That was dangerous—far too dangerous. One careless move, and I'd have my guts ripped out. Weapons truly are inauspicious instruments; the sages used them only when they had no choice."
"You!"
Jiang Yingyue stamped her foot and stormed off in a huff.
Tonight, the young martial artists of Guang'an Prefecture had gathered aboard the painted boat for a night cruise on the Nielong River. Jiang Yingyue had practically dragged Jia Junpeng along.
Watching Jiang Yingyue's retreating figure, Jia Junpeng couldn't help turning toward the river and letting out a breath of turbid Qi. How could he not understand a young woman's feelings? But the paths of