The contest finally began. A broad-shouldered mountain of a man planted himself at one side of the ring and looked down at Wei Chengyang with undisguised contempt. Wei was much smaller, leaner — the kind of slight figure the steppe fighters loved to mock.
“Does your Central Plain have no proper warriors?” the giant shouted. “Why don’t the three of you go up at once? I wouldn’t want anyone saying my victory was dishonorable.” His words were nothing but raw provocation. The Kokchin warriors behind him burst into coarse laughter.
“Basa, when you hit him, don’t mess up his face — pretty boys can’t take a beating,” someone jeered, and the laughter swelled again. To them, the capital’s gentlemen were pampered and fragile, all pretty skin and no backbone.
From the royal box the words were muffled by distance, but in the waiting area Qi Rong and Qi Yu had already gone stone-faced.
Wei Chengyang met their sneers without shrinking. “Does the Kokchin always pick fighters by loud mouths?” he shot back, venom clear in his tone. “No wonder you came up with this lot — all muscle, no brains. The tribe must be scraping the bottom of the barrel.”
He sounded harsher than usual. Time spent around Qi Rong had sharpened his tongue as well as his blade. The Zhen brothers whooped their approval.
The Kokchin man’s face darkened like a storm-cloud. A warrior’s honor was his life; such humiliation could not go unanswered. He flung his great saber aside with a clatter and glared at Wei.
“You’re like an ant to be crushed. No weapon needed.”
Wei tossed his sword as well and met the stare with his own calm. “The louder a dog barks, the less courage it has. We’ll let skill speak.”
He wasn’t of a martial clan like the Zhens, but he’d trained from childhood. The emperor had chosen him to fight because he could. Qi Rong’s voice dropped into Wei’s ear: “Watch his left fist. Strike his right leg.”
Wei felt the warning tighten his focus and nodded once. The match began. The giant lunged first; Wei answered precisely, following Qi Rong’s direction, targeting the man’s right leg until the big man began to falter and curse.
“You tricked me — hitting where Grandpa is wounded!” the giant roared. “Cowardly—”
“Deception is a weapon too,” Wei said coolly. “You only exposed your weak spot.”
The big man’s reach and power were terrifying; if he grabbed Wei, it would be over. Wei kept on the offense, turned defense into attack. He barely avoided a wild left hook and slammed his foot into the man’s right thigh. A sickening crack split the air — the leg gave way.
Seizing the moment, Wei drove forward. The warrior tottered, then Wei’s boot sent him tumbling out of the ring.
It was over in under two breaths. The emperor’s face brightened; he stood and clapped. The arena exploded with thunderous applause.
Riding that momentum would have been ideal, but Kokchin’s next fighters were every bit as formidable. Wei managed the first bout, but the second opponent proved stronger; he lost, quickly and decisively.
Qi Rong clapped Wei’s shoulder and the third of the Zhen brothers, Zhen Yuanfeng, strode into the ring. The Kokchin tried to goad him, but Yuanfeng replied with no words — only a barrage of blows so tight and relentless the man fell unconscious before he knew what hit him. Months of brutal training had turned Yuanfeng into a force. The third and fourth Kokchin went down the same way.
By then Yuanfeng’s strength was drained. The fifth opponent — larger, more seasoned — caught him off guard and sent him sprawling from the platform.
Still, the Zhen family had reclaimed their honor. The emperor praised the youth as a “talented young hero,” murmuring that the Zhens had heirs to their name.
But the fifth Kokchin fighter was a different breed. Cruel and efficient, he kept scoring brutal victories. Three of the imperial challengers had already been carried off wounded. Suddenly the tide had turned.
The crown prince, Qi Yu, watched the injured men being hustled away. His jaw tightened; he was ready to throw caution to the wind and step into the ring to reverse their fortunes. Qi Rong, however, stepped between him and the platform, blocking his path.
“Not your turn,” Qi Rong said coldly, voice flat and final.
Qi Yu planted his feet and met that coldness with steady resolve. “This concerns the dignity of the royal house. We cannot keep losing.”
“Do you think you’ll change the outcome just by going up?” Qi Rong’s voice cut like winter. Qi Yu’s face tightened, but he pressed on.
“I’ve seen their openings. I can finish them before they catch their breath.”
Qi Yu had reason to be confident: earlier fights had worn the Kokchin down. He toyed with the idea that Yunxi might be watching him, that reclaiming glory would bring her closer — she had been chosen for him as crown princess by his mother, and their past hardships had bound them. In the prince’s mind, Yunxi’s loyalty had been deferred only by fear of Qi Rong’s shadow.
Qi Rong’s expression betrayed his thought in a single flash. “Are you trying to win Yunxi’s favor? Do you think she’ll look your way because you fight?”
Qi Yu’s next words fell like a needle. “Is that it? Are you afraid she’d look at me?”
Qi Rong’s eyes flicked to the gallery where Yunxi sat, visibly tense. A cold smile creased his mouth. “She is mine,” he said softly but without doubt. “You have no chance — not in this life. I advise you to stop entertaining thoughts you cannot carry. The consequences will be more than you can bear.”
Qi Yu’s face went pale at the threat, the old habit of stepping back flickering across him. But something inside him had hardened — a new resolve no threat could sway.
“And I’ll say this in return,” Qi Yu shot back, voice steady with sudden fire. “Yunxi isn’t your caged canary. One day she’ll break free of whatever cage you build and choose the life she wants.”