"Number three."
Chen Cheng drew a slip, then immediately held it up for the elder serving as referee to see.
The instant they saw the number, disappointment crossed the faces of several of the weaker rising stars from the sects. They sighed inwardly at their rotten luck. Such a ripe, soft persimmon, ready for the picking, and it had slipped right through their fingers.
The most disappointed of them all was Duan Yuchao.
Duan Yuchao had already promised Qu Fanghua that he would kill Chen Cheng if he got the chance.
More importantly, Duan Yuchao knew his own limits.
In his eyes, Chen Cheng was the only opponent in this round he could beat.
But he had drawn number four, so he would not be facing Chen Cheng after all.
He cursed his rotten luck, filled with frustration.
And when he saw Ji Jingyou draw the number four slip, Duan Yuchao's fighting spirit plummeted a thousand miles in an instant.
Duan Yuchao could not help lamenting just how important luck was.
If he had been lucky enough to draw Chen Cheng, he could have shown off before the alliance's twelve sects and won Qu Fanghua's favor to boot.
Even with slightly worse luck, as long as he drew a weaker opponent, he could at least exchange a few moves without making a spectacle of himself.
But who could have imagined his luck would be this abysmal? Drawing Ji Jingyou was practically the same as drawing the strongest contender in this round. How could he possibly have any chance of winning?
At the thought, Duan Yuchao ground his teeth in frustration, his jaw clenched tight.
Yet when he saw who drew the second number three slip, a savage grin of schadenfreude rose uncontrollably to his face.
Ran Shuang!
With the same