Conceding Defeat

Zhou Chen lowered his head and looked at the broken sword in his hand.

He looked at the mirror-smooth fracture, at the path of damage running from crack to break along the blade.

He suddenly recalled the first time he had received Startled Swan from his Imperial Father five years ago.

He had been thirty then, having just advanced to the Sub-Saint realm.

His Imperial Father had said, "This sword is called Startled Swan, taken from the phrase 'graceful as a startled swan, supple as a roaming dragon.' True to its name, it is swift as lightning and light as a feather."

He had said, "Thank you, Imperial Father."

He had said, "Your son will not disgrace this sword."

But now...

Zhou Chen raised his head and looked at Xu Wuyi.

The young man had already withdrawn his spear and stood where he was, without pressing the attack. The spearpoint hung toward the ground as its dark-gold patterns slowly dimmed.

There was still no expression on his face. Neither the joy of victory nor pity for the defeated.

Only calmness.

Zhou Chen gripped the broken sword tightly. He wanted to say something, but his throat seemed blocked.

He wanted to fight again.

He was a prince of Great Liang.

He could not lose, much less admit defeat!

Just then, an aged voice came from the other end of the plain.

"Your Highness, enough."

Leaning on his cane, Li Xuangang slowly walked out from Great Liang's ranks.

He walked very slowly, his back slightly stooped, as though that battle had drained all his strength.

Zhou Chen turned back and said urgently, "National Preceptor, I can still fight—"

"Enough." Li Xuangang cut him off.

Zhou Chen opened his mouth, but in the end, he said nothing.

He lowered his head and loosened