The weather was exceptionally fine that day, warmth scattering with the flowing light.
In the Chu Kingdom envoys' residence, Zhongli Yan—whose fame had spread far and wide after he beat up a dog in the street—was practicing his swordsmanship in the courtyard.
His movements were very slow, so slow that they entirely contradicted his fierce and impetuous temperament. His feet were planted as though they had grown roots; with merely a diagonal lift of his sword, he held the motion for a full quarter-hour. The heavy Southern Peak Sword now seemed exceedingly light, as if a moment's careless grip would let the wind carry it away.
All his blood and qi were drawn inward; in the quiet little courtyard, concealed radiance was dreamlike.
This overbearing, self-centered Martial Man now resembled someone watering flowers.
"My lord." A Divine Sin Army soldier entered just then, holding a gilded invitation. "Will you be attending Lord Dou Zhao's duel with the Qi State's Marquis of Wu'an today?"
Without pausing his sword practice, Zhongli Yan gave the invitation a disdainful look.
The soldier had a square head and broad face, but he was a clever one. Carefully, he added, "Lord Dou Zhao set this aside for you. He said that if you have the time, you might as well go take a look. There are not many places available to watch this battle; with this on you, no one will stop you."
"What's he putting on airs for?" Zhongli Yan laughed aloud. "There weren't many places for my match with Jiang Wang either. Those who went to observe and learn were all people of standing."
The soldier said nothing.
Zhongli Yan suddenly asked, "What exactly did that guy say?"
"This subordinate's retelling was roughly what he meant."
Zhongli Yan said sternly, "I want to hear