Ambushed, Saintess?

Xu Lizhi stood at the edge of the arena, watching Ye Xinglan collapse. Both his hands were clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms. His eyes were fixed on Tang Wulin, and the emotion in them was hard to describe—not hatred. Tang Wulin had no grudge against him, but anyone who saw the girl they loved beaten down while they themselves could do nothing would feel resentment.

Resentment toward the heavens for not giving him a good martial soul, for making him able to do nothing but stand below and watch, without even the right to go up and help her to her feet.

After the match, Shen Yi crouched beside Ye Xinglan and helped her recover. She placed her palm over Ye Xinglan's wrist and slowly sent Soul Power through her meridians. Her movements were gentle, like she was smoothing the fur of a startled cat. Ye Xinglan's eyes remained closed, a little dust clinging to her lashes. Her lips moved slightly, but she did not wake.

Wu Changkong stood by the arena, watching the four below bounce around excitedly, and the curve of his lips slowly rose. Xie Xie was gesturing to Xu Xiaoyan about where that sword strike had landed. Gu Yue stood silently nearby. Tang Wulin had his arm grabbed and shaken twice by Xie Xie, and a faint flush still lingered on his face. Being young was wonderful. He let the thought rest in his heart for a moment. Why did he have to keep such a stiff face? Long Bing was by his side, and his disciples were more dazzling than he was. He himself was still a powerhouse at the Titled Douluo level—absolutely protagonist material for a satisfying power fantasy.

"That doesn't sound like something you'd say, Mr. Wu Changkong." Long