He had actually lost. Huang Feihu had actually lost. The Tiger of the Sword, undefeated through a hundred battles, had lost to a nominal disciple who had only just entered the sect—a nobody who had studied Sword Qi for only a few months.
No one could process such a reversal. Everyone froze at first, then eagerly turned their attention to Huang Feihu, wanting to see what this young prodigy known as the Tiger would do.
Some even guessed that Huang Feihu might fly into a rage from humiliation and strike with all his might, beating Ye Tian until he vomited three liters of blood.
But in truth, there were only three people on and below the arena whose expressions did not change: Ye Tian, Li Qingchen, and Huang Feihu, the one who should have been furious most of all.
"I lost!" Huang Feihu calmly spoke those three words, as though he were merely saying that the weather was nice. There was no dejection on his face, no despair, not the slightest trace of crushed ambition.
Even though he had lost, he was still Huang Feihu, still the Tiger of the Sword, still the young genius whom everyone at Blazing Fire Temple would respectfully greet.
As he left, Huang Feihu turned back and gave Ye Tian a long, deep look. That look betrayed him.
His inner heart was nowhere near as calm as his appearance suggested. Ye Tian saw an almost crazed persistence and fighting spirit in his eyes.
It seemed that victory had only stirred the other man's competitive spirit rather than making him feel the slightest bit discouraged. Ye Tian's heart suddenly trembled, and he almost could not help thinking, I should have known that losing would have been easier.
If Ye Tian's prior impression of Huang Feihu had