Chapter 4803 — The Fight Goes On
The Blossom Guardian · Page 2 of 2
At those words, Wei Zhao, still coughing blood under the press of the blade force, could only smile bitterly. Ever since he had mastered the power of lightning at the Western Isle trial, he had never found the chance to train it properly. This whole stretch of time had brought him, one might say, no progress at all—otherwise he would not have fallen into such an awkward pass.
Had he known it would come to this, he should not have spent that month at sea occupied with piloting the ancient warship. If he had devoted himself wholeheartedly to cultivating his lightning power, it might well have produced wondrous results. But such thoughts came too late now.
Leng Rufeng advanced on Wei Zhao once more, the cold tip of his blade resting squarely against Wei Zhao's forehead. His ultimatum was simple: "Yield, or die."
Wei Zhao grinned, but before he could open his mouth, someone below the arena cried out in alarm, "The incense is out!"
A clamor ran through the crowd at once. The time of one stick of incense had elapsed, and by the rules the challenge should end there. Of course, this was no formal competition; whether to honor the rule lay entirely with the two men on the arena. Unless Leng Rufeng chose to, not a soul would whisper a word against him for bringing that blade down again.
But Leng Rufeng had no intention of finishing him off for good. The icy wilderness around them melted away soundlessly, and the ice blade pressed to Wei Zhao's forehead vanished with it. His face expressionless, he said, "You've lost. Hand over the Beauty Pills and the Thunder Mystic Vine."
Wei Zhao laughed. With great difficulty he clambered up from the ground, and without a word turned and started limping toward the edge of the arena.
Leng Rufeng frowned and was about to move to stop him, when Wei Zhao abruptly halted, turned, and said to him seriously, "Which eye of yours saw me lose? Was I beaten to death, or did I yield with my own mouth?"
"You—" Leng Rufeng was choked speechless for a moment. Who had won and who had lost, even a blind man in the crowd could judge. Yet he had to admit the fellow had a point: he was not dead, and he had not spoken a word of surrender, so who had decreed that Wei Zhao must be the loser?
Still, by any fair measure, Wei Zhao's conduct smacked of welching. Leng Rufeng was never a man who cared overmuch for principles—if the other party wanted to play the rogue with him, he would not mind settling it in private. Playing the rogue before absolute power was simply courting death. But Wei Zhao's next words made him abandon the idea.
"Tomorrow we continue." Wei Zhao waved a hand with effort, then leaned on Ning Xuefei and, under the eyes of all present, limped away.
Leng Rufeng stood on the arena and looked deeply after Wei Zhao without a word. Then he leapt down, and departed with Yang Qianshuang, who had donned her veil once more.
"What the hell is Cold-name playing at? What's he going soft over this thing for? He should've just cut Wei Zhao down with one stroke just now—why go through all this trouble?" Ren Zhongyuan was hopping mad, cursing at the sight. He had paid the price of a Beauty Pill, and not to watch these two admire each other and call it a friendly spar. He had been hoping for blade after blade drawing blood, one of them dead and the other alive—and this was the result he got!
"Leng Rufeng isn't a fool, after all. Killing Wei Zhao is easy, but doing so would bring the Western Isle's fury down on him. No matter how formidable he is, he can't afford the Western Isle Lord's wrath, so of course he doesn't dare strike the killing blow lightly." Yi Xiaotian chuckled and consoled him. "But this isn't over yet. Since the two of them are going at it again tomorrow, then let them fight. We'll just sit back and watch the tigers battle—whoever dies, whoever lives, we come out ahead."