Qi Hao stood trembling, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
His chest heaved, not merely from the pain of the blow but from something far deeper—humiliation, seething rage, and the bitter taste of defeat.
His gaze swept across the gathered disciples of Dazhu Peak.
Faces he had once considered loyal… all of them averted their eyes.
No one moved to help him. Even Lin Jingyu, his own junior brother, the one he had always guided and protected, stood still, uncertain.
Qi Hao's fists clenched tight, his nails digging into his palms.
No… I won't let this end like this.
Today, I've lost face.
But if I don't act now, I'll lose everything.
Summoning his willpower, Qi Hao turned his sharp gaze to Lin Jingyu.
"Jingyu," he began, his voice low and weighted with emotion, "tell me—how have I treated you since you entered Longshou Peak?"
Lin Jingyu blinked, caught off guard. "Senior Brother, of course you've been good to me.
Aside from Master, you've always looked out for me the most."
Qi Hao nodded, a look of righteous indignation crossing his bruised features. "Then you saw what happened.
Zhang Xiaofan ambushed me. A sneak attack—he nearly crippled me. And you… you just stood there?"
Lin Jingyu's brows drew together in conflict. His eyes flicked from Qi Hao to Zhang Xiaofan, whose expression remained cold and unreadable.
"…Senior Brother," he said at last, his voice soft but steady, "this isn't so black and white. Xiaofan and I… we've known each other since we were children.
We were raised side by side. We're not just friends.....he's like family to me."
Qi Hao's eyes narrowed. "And I'm not?"
"That's not what I meant," Lin Jingyu said quickly. "If you asked me to risk my life in the Demon Sect, I would do it without hesitation.
But if you ask me to draw my sword against Xiaofan… I can't do it."
He took a slow breath and turned fully toward Zhang Xiaofan. "He's my sworn brother. I'm sorry, Senior Brother… I must refuse."
Qi Hao's entire body trembled with fury. "You… you dare disobey me? Lin Jingyu, you've grown bold. Is this rebellion?!"
Lin Jingyu stepped forward instinctively, trying to steady him. "Senior Brother, please…"
But Qi Hao shoved his hand away with a harsh flick.
"Hmph!" he spat, turning his back. "Don't bother pretending to care."
Then he turned his burning gaze to Zhang Xiaofan.
"You ambushed me when I wasn't ready. That wasn't a duel.....it was cowardice!" he shouted, pointing a trembling finger at him. "But remember this....two years from now, at the Seven Clans Martial Arts Tournament, we'll fight again.
A real duel. No tricks. No interference. I'll defeat you in front of the world and erase today's shame!"
Zhang Xiaofan didn't flinch. He stepped forward, eyes calm, voice steady.
"Two years?" he repeated. "I'll be there.
But don't cry when you lose again, Qi Hao. Next time, I might knock out more than just your pride."
Qi Hao's face flushed dark with fury, his jaw clenched.
He wanted to retort, but the words caught in his throat.
He had already been embarrassed enough today.
Suddenly remembering something, he reached into his robe and retrieved a small, gleaming object....a spiritual bead, warm with faint radiance.
He turned and approached Tian Ling'er, who had remained silent all this time, watching the conflict unfold with unreadable eyes.
"Junior Sister," Qi Hao said, attempting a gentler tone, "this bead… I obtained it after slaying a high-ranked demon from the Demon Cult.
It holds a protective charm. I thought… you might like it."
He held it out to her, the glow of the bead catching the setting sun.
Tian Ling'er glanced at it, her expression unchanged.
Then she looked back up at Qi Hao, her voice laced with scorn.
"Who wants your broken bead?" she said flatly. "Keep your trash."
Qi Hao froze. His outstretched hand stiffened in the air before slowly lowering.
The weight of rejection settled on his shoulders like a mountain.
His lips twitched in a stiff, embarrassed smile. "Then… I'll take my leave."
Without another word, he turned away. His figure flickered and soared into the sky, escaping as fast as his wounded pride could carry him.
From a distance, his angry voice echoed back: "Zhang Xiaofan, you've won today....but next time will be different!"
Zhang Xiaofan watched the sky where Qi Hao vanished and gave a quiet, wry smile.
"I'll be waiting," he called out calmly.
Lin Jingyu remained behind for a moment, then turned to Zhang Xiaofan. "Xiaofan… let's both do our best.
That tournament may decide more than just rankings."
Zhang Xiaofan nodded, his tone lighter. "I'll see you there, brother."
With that, Lin Jingyu flew off, trailing Qi Hao.
The training ground fell silent once more, the tension gradually dissipating like mist in the morning sun.
Tian Ling'er remained beside Zhang Xiaofan, her arms folded.
Her gaze lingered on him, thoughtful, almost surprised.
She had watched him face down one of the most talented disciples in the sect.
He had protected her, fought bravely, and endured the pressure of dozens of watching eyes without faltering.
The Zhang Xiaofan she once knew—quiet, humble, always standing in Lin Jingyu's shadow—was gone.
In his place stood someone different. Stronger. Calmer. Bolder.
"…Xiaofan," she said softly.
He turned to her, his breath still ragged. "Yeah?"
"…Thank you. For everything."