Wounding Others with Hidden Weapons!

Zhao Ming.

Lu Chi glanced at him. Just one glance. He did not stare at him, did not glare at him with the look of I'm going to eat you alive, and did not silently swear to beat him down, beat him crippled, beat him until he could not get back up. He simply looked at him, the way someone passing a field might glance at the crops to see whether they were growing well. He was imitating Xiahou Jie, though he did not know it himself.

Zhao Ming was looking at him too. His gaze lingered on Lu Chi for a moment, sweeping from his face to his hands, from the strips of cloth around his hands to the shoes on his feet, like someone appraising the price of an object. When he was done, the corner of his mouth twitched. It was not quite a smile, more like confirmation that his judgment had been correct.

Lu Chi noticed that twitch at the corner of his mouth. But he did not get angry, nor did he feel any emotional shift at all. He merely filed the information away in his mind, the way Ning Xiaohe would put an unfamiliar herb into a wooden box for safekeeping and deal with it later.

The referee raised the little red flag.

Lu Chi climbed onto the arena slowly. Not deliberately slowly—he was genuinely slow. His legs were no longer shaking today. The muscles on the inside of his thighs were still a little sore, but they were no longer cramping. Every step he took on the wooden stairs was firm, and the steps gave off dull thuds beneath his feet. Thump, thump, thump, one after another, like a heartbeat.

Zhao Ming came up from the other side. He moved before Lu Chi