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Zhuang Mocheng stroked his beard and laughed heartily, his voice resounding like the vault of heaven. "Xiaojun, you truly are a prodigy of far-reaching vision, capable of weighing heaven and earth!"
He stood with his hands behind his back, the mountain wind curling the hem of his blue robe. "This move of yours is truly exquisite beyond words."
Their private box occupied an excellent position in a second-floor pavilion, offering views in every direction. Looking inward, they could see the Soul Fighting Platform; to the rear and off to one side lay the Zhongnan Peaks.
Zhuang Mocheng's expression suddenly sobered, and an unusual flush rose over his bronze face.
His broad palm pressed tightly against the restraining pendant at his waist, and his voice trembled. "If one day our Chang'an Academy could ascend to the throne of the continent's foremost academy..."
He broke off abruptly. His Adam's apple shifted, and moisture seemed to shimmer in his eyes. "Then, even if this old man were to turn to spring soil that very instant, I would smile beneath the nine springs, without a single regret!"
Chen Xiaojun lowered his eyes with a faint smile. His raven-dark lashes cast butterfly-wing shadows over his jade-like face, lending him an added air of mystery and elegance.
He slowly opened a folding fan, imitating Chen Hua's affectation of cultured refinement, and tapped it against his palm with a snap.
Flecks of gold leaf glittered across the fan like scattered stars. "You jest, Elder Zhuang."
He suddenly raised his brows, his gaze piercing the layers of cloud toward the distance. "When the heroes of the world gather here, this student hopes to see you wield that magistrate's block-"
Before his words had faded, his folding fan pointed straight at the