Faced with the enthusiasm of the Misty Sect disciples, Zhang Xiaohua could only cast aside his helmet and armor and flee in disarray.
By the time he squeezed through the crowd and returned to Zhang Xiaohu's residence, Zhang Xiaohua was already panting for breath. Still shaken, he said, "This was practically a battle—more exhausting than fighting on the arena. I'd rather face bald monks."
He Tianshu, who was watching the excitement from the side, laughed. "Don't get cocky. These are only our Misty Sect's male disciples. If the female disciples from Mingcui Hall were here, would you still act like this?"
Zhang Xiaohua chuckled without saying anything, but Zhang Xiaohu's eyes lit up.
Zhang Xiaohu had said that he had fought the one surnamed Yuan to a draw today. Compared with Zhang Xiaohua's great victory, it was somewhat inferior, but it had still brought honor to the Misty Sect. After all, the overwhelming majority of the remaining disciples had lost their matches. His "glorious achievements" would surely reach Mingcui Hall today, never mind tomorrow. Would certain people revise their opinion of him after hearing about it?
The three entered the small courtyard and sat down at the stone table. Zhang Xiaohu brewed tea, while Zhang Xiaohua picked up a cup and drained four large cups in one go before finally stopping.
He let out a long breath, looking thoroughly relaxed.
Zhang Xiaohu asked with concern, "Xiaohua, you must be tired. Can your body take it?"
Zhang Xiaohua narrowed his eyes and smiled. "I'm fine, Second Brother. I do feel a little tired, but it's nothing. I've never fought for such a long time before. I'm just terribly thirsty."
Hearing that, He Tianshu laughed. "Zhang Xiaohua, from today—no, from this morning onward—I'll have to look at you in a new light."