Chapter 275

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Qin Shiyue was originally one of the renowned experts of the Heavenly Dragon Divine Cult. In the martial world, he was a first-rate master. Yet now, facing this nameless soldier wielding a curved blade, he found himself unable to gain the upper hand. In fact, the soldier held a slight advantage. The curved blade’s techniques were strange and unpredictable. Several times, Qin Shiyue barely managed to evade its strikes, coming dangerously close to being wounded. As the soldier’s relentless attacks continued, a faint gray hue began to rise on Qin Shiyue’s once-smiling face.

Even though he had bluntly stated earlier that he was poisoned, the onlookers hadn’t taken it seriously. After all, what kind of place was the Heavenly Dragon Divine Cult? Ordinary poisons shouldn’t pose any threat to Qin Shiyue. At the very least, Ying Fei knew that the Detoxification Pill in Qin Shiyue’s possession could neutralize any poison under the heavens.

Yet, it was as if this soldier had meticulously planned everything out. First, he used a scheme to inflict a minor wound on Qin Shiyue, delivering the venom into his system. Then, he launched a relentless offensive, giving Qin Shiyue no opportunity to detoxify himself. A single misstep had landed Qin Shiyue into a trap, leaving him with no way to explain his suffering.

Seeing the change in Qin Shiyue’s complexion, Flood Dragon King Xu was the first to react. He took a swift step forward, about to rush into the fight. However, Murong Jian, who had been watching the entire scene closely, immediately stepped forward and said with a smile: “Uncle Xu, what are you planning to do? Are you thinking of using numbers to overwhelm a lone opponent?”

“This…” Flood Dragon King Xu hesitated, torn. In the martial world, honor and trust were paramount. Although the soldier had used poison, no prior rule had prohibited it. Moreover, Qin Shiyue had agreed to let his opponent have three free moves. If he was injured within those three strikes, he had no grounds for complaint.

This duel was originally between Qin Shiyue and Murong Jian. The soldier was merely a substitute. If Flood Dragon King Xu were to intervene recklessly, not only would it damage the Heavenly Dragon Divine Cult’s reputation, but given the soldier’s level of skill, it was uncertain if Flood Dragon King Xu could even defeat him easily. This dilemma put Flood Dragon King Xu in a difficult position.

Seeing Flood Dragon King Xu’s hesitation, Murong Jian chuckled and said: “If Lord Qin admits defeat, this match can naturally end. Uncle Xu, in that case, you must agree to betroth Jiaotong to me.”

Flood Dragon King Xu glanced at the distant Xu Jiao Tong, who had already risen from her seat, unsure of what to do.

Xu Jiaotong silently observed the situation in the arena, her heart devoid of any ripples. She had no intention of stepping in to help. Even if Qin Shiyue were to succumb to the poison and die, she would not intervene with even half a move. She understood that this was a matter of a man’s dignity. “In life, be a hero among men; in death, be a mighty ghost”—these were not just empty words.

Moreover, her heart had already drifted away the moment that silver-haired man had called her “A’Jiao.” It had long been captivated by that cold and ruthless figure. Facing the current situation, only one thought filled her mind: If Xiaoyue succumbs to the poison, then A’Jiao must not live alone!

How could a woman like her ever be something that an ugly brute like Murong Jian could dream of possessing?

Xu Jiaotong’s calm demeanor puzzled Flood Dragon King Xu. Anxiously, he rubbed his hands together and paced back and forth outside the arena. But he was not the only one—inside the hall, nearly everyone had stood up and moved to the front of the banquet tables. Only Zhang Xiaohua remained seated, scanning the crowd with his divine sense while munching on food with great interest. He even mused to himself, The chef of this manor truly has remarkable skills. If I could hire one like this for home, my parents would surely be delighted.

Ying Fei, on the other hand, was growing increasingly restless, scratching his head in frustration, itching to intervene.

Unlike Flood Dragon King Xu and the others, he was Qin Shiyue’s subordinate. If anything were to happen to Qin Shiyue, it wouldn’t just be the Heavenly Dragon Divine Cult that would punish him—Lord Garuda would certainly not spare him either. Right now, he desperately wished that he were the one in the arena instead.

At least then, Qin Shiyue, watching from outside, could step in and save him if necessary.

Murong Jian’s gaze swept triumphantly across the hall. This was a dilemma with no escape, and he had no fear that Xu Jiaotong would slip from his grasp. Whether Qin Shiyue admitted defeat or perished from the poison, everything was unfolding exactly as he had planned. The best part was watching these so-called heroes of the martial world—who always prided themselves on honor—stand by helplessly, unable to intervene as their distinguished guest fell into peril, and as Flood Dragon King Xu watched his daughter fall into Murong Jian’s hands with no means to save her.

Is this not the difference between intelligence and brute strength?

Murong Jian felt intoxicated with his own superiority. These reckless warriors will always be reckless warriors. How could they ever compare to someone from an aristocratic family like me?

Yet, Xu Jiaotong’s reaction was somewhat beyond his expectations. He had assumed she would be nervous, perhaps frightened. He had even hoped she would beg him, plead for Qin Shiyue’s life, offer herself in exchange for a chance to save that silver-haired lord. That way, the humiliation he had long suffered would be avenged, his vanity would be immensely satisfied, and he could savor the thrill of being the victor—turning this proud beauty from the wilds into his personal plaything!

But reality was cruel to his fantasies. Xu Jiaotong’s expression remained cold, utterly indifferent, as though he were nothing more than air. That icy gaze sent a chill through his heart. Yet behind that chill, a deeper craving stirred within him. Only such untamed arrogance could truly ignite his ambition—only a woman this difficult to subdue could awaken his desire to conquer.

At that moment, there was a sharp clang as Qin Shiyue’s right foot suddenly gave way, nearly causing him to collapse. The soldier’s curved blade slashed out like a bolt of lightning, cleaving toward Qin Shiyue’s left shoulder. Seeing no way to block it, Qin Shiyue gritted his teeth and thrust his flexible sword straight at the soldier’s heart, opting for a mutual destruction strategy. The soldier sneered inwardly, the corner of his lips curling in mockery as he dodged nimbly to the side. Without pause, he raised his blade high and brought it down with the force of a mountain, hacking toward Qin Shiyue with overwhelming power as if splitting Mount Hua.

Xu Jiaotong could no longer maintain her composure. Her face turned deathly pale, and a flicker of resolute despair shone in her eyes. She knew—it was the end. The deathly black hue that spread across Qin Shiyue’s face contrasted starkly with his silver hair. He was performing the final dance of his life at the edge of an abyss!

Zhang Xiaohua’s divine sense drifted over the battlefield, taking in every detail—the smug satisfaction on Murong Jian’s face, Flood Dragon King Xu’s frantic anxiety, Ying Fei’s gut-wrenching desperation, the soldier’s aggressive pursuit, and Qin Shiyue’s stubborn resistance. He registered them all, but what did any of this have to do with him? He was merely a prisoner, uncertain of how the Heavenly Dragon Cult Master would deal with him. What business did he have meddling in other people’s affairs? The ancients spoke wisely: Sweep only the snow before your own door and ignore the frost upon your neighbor’s roof. How true those words were.

And yet, when his divine sense brushed past Xu Jiaotong, something inside him stirred. Her beauty, her icy aloofness—those did nothing to move Zhang Xiaohua. But the look in her eyes… That resolute determination, that quiet sorrow, that lingering attachment—it struck a chord deep within him, awakening a distant memory in Zhang Xiaohua’s heart!

Perhaps it was Liu Qian’s gaze as she faced the Three Wolves of West Cui Mountain.

Perhaps it was Ou Yan’s expression when confronted by the black-robed elder.

Perhaps it was Li Yinfeng’s despair as she stood against the West Cui Mountain’s bandits.

But what truly shook Zhang Xiaohua was something even deeper—the memory of a pair of eyes at a river’s edge, inside a lonely thatched hut. Those large, clear eyes, filled with an unspoken reluctance, a pure innocence.

Zhang Xiaohua was not a man without dreams. But he had always considered his dreams fleeting and ephemeral. He had convinced himself that he would not dwell on those bright eyes, that he would not recall that high-spirited bun of hair. He had thought it was merely a brief encounter in the vastness of life, an insignificant brush between two people on their separate paths!

Yet now, in the gaze of Xu Jiaotong—someone utterly unrelated to him—he found it. He understood. He realized.

He was not without dreams. He was not unwilling to dream.

It was simply that this dream was too deep, too distant, too elusive.

When Liu Qian looked at him in helplessness, he was powerless to change her fate.

When Ou Yan looked at him in terror, he had stepped forward to protect her.

When Li Yinfeng looked at him in despair, he faced the mountain bandits with a carefree smile and sent them fleeing.

But when that dream-like gaze—tinged with hesitation, with reluctance, with a trace of shy affection—fell upon him, what had he done?

Yes, he didn’t know what he should do. He didn’t know before, he doesn’t know now, and what about in the future?

Maybe I will know!

But, if it were now, the things in Xu Jiaotong’s eyes that stirred Zhang Xiaohua’s heartstrings, what could he possibly do?

And in that instant—when her gaze and the gaze from his memories overlapped, even for the briefest of moments—it was enough for Zhang Xiaohua to make a decision!

By now, the situation in the arena had reached a critical point. Qin Shiyue staggered, his footing unsteady. In a moment of weakness, he nearly collapsed onto the ground. His jaw clenched tightly, but he did not utter a single plea for help. His eyes were filled with unwavering resolve, though there was also a trace of unwillingness. The flexible sword in his hand trembled as he thrust it upward, desperately trying to halt the curved blade that was streaking toward him like a bolt of lightning!

He knew all too well in his heart that it was nothing more than a fool’s dream!

At this moment, he turned his head. In this life-and-death crisis, he turned to glance at Xu Jiaotong, who stood gracefully in the distance. Their eyes met, and in that instant, they both felt a sense of relief—though no words were spoken, their hearts were as one!!

A faint blush spread across Qin Shiyue’s ashen face.

Xu Jiaotong’s cheeks were also tinged with red.

Murong Jian watched everything with jealousy, his fists clenched so tightly they nearly trembled.

The nameless soldier leaped high into the air, his curved blade gleaming like the moon, streaking toward his fallen prey like a bolt of lightning!

At that very moment, a voice rang out: “I can’t stand this anymore! I can’t just sit and watch! A true warrior must unsheathe his blade to right injustice!!!”

Before the words had even finished, a thin figure shot forward from behind the Three Seas and Seven Waters group, diving from the air like a great eagle swooping down upon its prey. His speed was astonishing. At first, the soldier paid him no mind and did not halt his descending blade, merely glancing up. But that single glance made his pupils contract—despite his frail frame, the newcomer’s momentum was overwhelming! In the blink of an eye, he was upon him, and with him came a pitch-black sword light streaking toward his throat. The sheer sharpness of that sword light left no room for doubt—if he did not stop his attack, then before he could sever Qin Shiyue’s head, the sword would pierce his throat first!

The nameless soldier made an immediate decision, withdrawing his curved blade and channeling his strength to block the incoming sword light. In that split second, a crisp “clang!” echoed through the hall as the two weapons clashed, their powerful forces colliding head-on. The soldier took a step back, standing firm, while the frail figure was sent flying like a kite with a broken string. With a whoosh, he was flung high into the air—fortunately, the hall’s towering ceiling prevented him from crashing straight through the roof!
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