"You mean to beat me with a Four Level?" Shang Huaitong laughed, unconvinced, "Even if there's a chance of defeating me, I would not shy away from such a challenge."
He took his hand off the saber hilt, his smile faint: "In a sword-fight, I could settle the score with anyone in an open and direct way."
Qi Zhaohua smiled mysteriously, as if he was reminded of something. He looked at the man revealing his true self before him: "Anyway, we can wait for the martial law competition."
"Exactly." Shang Huaitong nodded, slowly mouthing, "Pei Ye..."
By this time, the poetry reading at the literary section came to a close. Nearly a fifth of the scholars had participated in composing poems. It wasn't until the teenage boy finished the eighth round that the poems were all evaluated, and the herons were released.
There were still scholars arguing: "How is it not a good match?"
"My next verse is 'Yilan Mountain', which rhymes with 'Love Fades', what exactly are you trying to say?"
"..."
