At Ye Jing's suggestion to "spar and discuss the Dao," the atmosphere inside the hall changed at once.
The music still played, and the dancers still danced, but everyone's attention had already shifted away from the performance.
Gazes moved back and forth between the training grounds and Si Chen.
Which of these young faces in the hall wasn't a genius picked from ten thousand?
Which of them didn't harbor the pride of "I'm number one under heaven"?
Si Chen's move of pressing down Hui Chen's head had been frightening, but it couldn't frighten this proud, arrogant bunch into submission.
After the shock, defiance was what they suppressed, and fighting spirit was what flared.
Pairs of eyes fixed on Si Chen, as though looking at a towering mountain that had suddenly risen from the earth.
The mountain was right there. How could they be content without trying to climb it?
There was no shame in losing, but if they could last ten moves against him, wouldn't that prove they were stronger than the Buddhist scion of the Western Region?
That thought turned over in more than one person's mind.
Ye Jing held his wine cup, his face brimming with smiles.
He wasn't watching Si Chen, but everyone's reactions, as though taking stock of the pieces on a chessboard:
On the Western Region's side, Hui Chen sat with a deathly pale face. Several monks gathered around him, speaking quietly, their eyes occasionally sweeping toward Si Chen, holding back both anger and apprehension.
At the Northern Frontier's seats, several young people's eyes shone like wolves that had spotted prey. They whispered to one another, plainly unable to sit still any longer.
As for the Eastern Region's side...
Xie Changsheng was feeding peanuts to the gray donkey, which crunched them noisily.
Zhou Yan was