Pei Ye raised a goblet of wine to him without a word.
After a long while, Xu Menglang lowered his head and poured himself a cup with trembling fingers. Much had spilled by the time he raised it, but he still touched it gently against Pei Ye's. Amid the clear chime of gold and jade, they drank.
"...From dust we came, to dust we return. There's nothing so bad about that." The man gave a low laugh, his throat trembling slightly, and looked at him. "But after saying something like that, whatever result you get in today's Sword Trial will probably be useless."
"Didn't we just say it? Poetry and swords were never meant for their eyes." Pei Ye's eyes were quiet and bright. "Brother Xu, there's no need for any 'study letters and swordsmanship to join the army.' Your integrity is already a hundred times greater than that of the imperial guard commander I've met."
He adjusted his mask and rose with his sword. Xu Menglang stared. "...Where are you going?"
"Isn't it nearly my turn?" Pei Ye smiled. "I'll go submit yours first-since you've written the poem, recite it if you want. Why care who they are?"
"..."
The youth smiled and left, the cloth-wrapped outline of his sword knocking twice against the table's edge-it had yet to show itself since he entered the tower.
Jiang Yiner poured every ounce of her concentration into the sword in her hand, her body drawn taut to its limit.
He Jiu's brilliant sword light was already before her eyes.
In the eyes of everyone who understood swords, she would lose to this strike-just as all those before her had, losing her sword field and with it the ability to resist.
That was what "Seven-Step Sword Control" was. Within the circle