"Lin Zhaojun, are you still alive?"
Lin Zhaojun, kneaded by the Massage Beaver until she crackled and popped, had melted down to nearly the same state as Cat Lamp. She snorted. "What?"
Jiang Han breathed in the steam from the medicinal bath, her cat ears drooping limply. "Nothing, nothing. I just wanted to ask—back when you debuted, um, or rather, when you first entered the competition, made it into the elimination rounds, and faced top-tier witches, how did you feel?"
"I thought, 'In an age without heroes, even brats can make a name for themselves.' Something like that."
Holy Lin!
"What a show-off," Xiya said, unable to hold back her laughter.
Blind Treasure had been listening to Du Lingxuan's commentary every day lately and had picked up a little of that sarcastic edge. "Cocky. Way too cocky. Little Lin, I'm blown away."
Lin Zhaojun had every reason to be cocky. After all, she had won a championship.
Surely there was no competitor in this world who had never won a championship yet was still that cocky, right?
"Besides that?"
As a devoted Lin fan, Jiang Han was satisfied by her idol's "genuine cockiness," but that did not solve the root problem.
What she wanted to know more was how to calm the restless blood surging through her heart.
Though this was not her first time entering the elimination rounds, her heart could not stop trembling with wild joy.
She wanted to fight, wanted to shine, wanted to win.
Her heart was beating fast, but Jiang Han knew that a witch's heartbeat could lie.
The temperature of her spinal cord was rising, though—that could not deceive her. It meant that both body and mind were filled with a thirst for battle, a craving for honor. She could increasingly understand why witch