Young hero, stay put and don't be reckless.

Chapter 113 Lost

In the second match, Ye Qingying from Mirror Lake faced Tuoba Feng from the Northern Border.

Jiang Xun sat up straight.

Ye Qingying walked onto the stage, dressed in white as snow, with hair as black as ink. Her steps were light and graceful, like a cloud drifting silently up.

Tuoba Feng stood up from the Northern Viewing Stand and walked up slowly, his steps light, yet seemingly treading on people's heartbeats.

The two stood on the stage, gazing at each other with expressions that became more solemn.

"Please." Ye Qingying drew her sword first, the sword light as clear as a pool of water as it left its sheath.

Tuoba Feng also drew the long sword from his waist—a narrow-bladed Northern Border Sword, its blade slightly cold, as if still carrying the frost and wind of the northern frontier.

Before the words were even finished, the two attacked simultaneously.

Ye Qingying's swordsmanship was light and graceful, the sword light flowing like moonlight, like a gentle breeze brushing across a lake, without a trace of worldly malice.

His figure appeared and disappeared in the sword light, as if he might ride the wind away at any moment—but beneath this seemingly otherworldly sword technique, every thrust was designed to block Tuoba Feng's retreat, with killing intent hidden beneath the gentleness.

Tuoba Feng's swordsmanship was completely different.

Sharp, fierce, and fast as lightning, each sword strike carries the chill of the northern snowstorm.

The sword's path is treacherous—you think he's aiming for the chest, but halfway there he veers towards the throat.

What's even more deadly is that his sword moves are almost continuous, with one sword strike followed by another, like a blizzard sweeping over everything.

In her seventh move, Ye Qingying slashed her sword diagonally, the sword light flashing like a bolt of lightning as it cut towards Tuoba Feng's left shoulder.

Tuoba Feng sidestepped, and with a flick of his sword tip, he aimed at her wrist.

Ye Qingying flipped her wrist, slashed the sword horizontally, and with a "clang," deflected the sword strike. She then pressed forward, the tip of her sword aimed directly at Tuoba Feng's throat.

This series of rapid changes was so fast that it was dazzling, and some people in the audience couldn't help but gasp.

Tuoba Feng advanced instead of retreating, raising his longsword to block.

"Clang!" The two swords clashed, sparks flying everywhere.

Using the force of the recoil, he turned and thrust the sword out from under his armpit, aiming it at Ye Qingying's back.

The angle of that sword strike was so tricky that even Jiang Xun, sitting in the audience, felt a chill run down his spine.

Ye Qingying, however, seemed to have eyes in the back of her head. Without turning her head, she blocked the attack with her sword, touched the ground with her toes, and floated more than three zhang away before landing steadily.

The two looked at each other from a few steps apart, their eyes filled with seriousness.

The audience below held their breath, completely captivated.

Jiang Xun was also engrossed in watching.

He had fought Tuoba Feng in Qiantang and knew how strong the man's swordsmanship was.

He had also been intercepted by Ye Qingying before, but now it seems that she didn't use her full strength that time at all.

Fifty moves, sixty moves, seventy moves... the two still couldn't determine who was better.

Ye Qingying's sword moved faster and faster, its light like layers of ribbons, enveloping Tuoba Feng completely.

His movements were unpredictable, shifting left and right like a leaf swirling in the wind, making it impossible to pinpoint where the next sword strike would come from.

Tuoba Feng's swordplay became increasingly fierce, each strike carrying the force of thunder, forcing Ye Qingying to retreat repeatedly.

The blue bricks beneath his feet were deeply cracked, and the platform trembled slightly with each step he took.

In the eighty-third move, the two drew their swords simultaneously, and the tips of their swords collided precisely in mid-air.

"bite--"

A crisp metallic clang resounded, making the eardrums of the audience buzz.

The two men each took three steps back, and the blue bricks beneath their feet creaked and cracked, revealing two fine lines.

They exchanged a glance and simultaneously sheathed their swords.

"A draw," Huang Hu announced loudly.

The applause of the audience was thunderous.

"Thank you for your guidance." Ye Qingying glanced at Tuoba Feng, smiled faintly, and turned to walk off the stage.

Tuoba Feng stood there, watching her back, and remained silent for a moment before slowly sheathing his sword, turning around and walking back to the Northern Border stands.

Jiang Xun watched this scene and suddenly felt a pang of emotion—these two were really fighting to the death.

In the third match, Song Qingshu faced a martial artist from the Northern Border.

But Jiang Xun had no interest in watching. He clutched his stomach, stood up with a pained expression, and his brows furrowed.

"What's wrong?" Chen Lei asked.

"My stomach hurts." Jiang Xun grimaced, squeezing out a few drops of cold sweat from his forehead. "I ate something bad this morning, I need to go to the toilet."

Chen Lei nodded: "Go and come back quickly, it'll be your turn soon."

"I know, I know."

Jiang Xun walked backwards from the stands, his back bent and his face contorted in pain. Turning past a pillar, he straightened up, and the pain on his face vanished as if by magic, replaced by a sly grin.

He quickly walked through the passageway behind the stands and made his way towards the central courtyard.

Four guards stood at the moon gate on the east side of the training ground, long swords at their waists, their eyes like those of eagles.

Jiang Xun didn't get close; instead, he went around to the west and walked back along the wall.

Before he came, he had memorized the layout of the city lord's mansion perfectly—there was a corridor behind the martial arts arena that led to the central courtyard.

He crouched low and crept along the wall to the entrance of the corridor—where no one was.

He slipped inside and walked quickly forward.

The backyard is located to the north of the central courtyard, separated by a wall with a moon gate guarded by guards.

Jiang Xun didn't force his way through; instead, he took a detour and went back along another path.

Shadow Seven's map shows a path that leads around the western garden, bypassing the guards at the main gate.

He went through a small door and entered an artificial bamboo forest.

It wasn't large, but it was very dense, blocking out the sun.

The ground was covered with a thick layer of bamboo leaves, which made a rustling sound when stepped on.

Jiang Xun moved with the lightest of steps, like a cat, through the bamboo forest, and came to a low wall.

Once you climb over this wall, you'll be in the backyard.

He took a deep breath, placed his hand on the top of the wall, and was about to climb over—

"Who is it?"

The sound was neither too loud nor too soft, but it felt like a needle pricking your spine.

Jiang Xun's heart tightened, and he turned around.

A young man in his early twenties stood by the bamboo grove, a curved sword at his waist, his face cold and hard, his eyes sinister—it was none other than the young city lord, Helian Jun, whom he had met in the East Market that day.

"I..." Jiang Xun scratched his head and forced an awkward smile, "I was looking for a restroom, but I got lost."

Helian Jun didn't speak, he just stared at him—his gaze wasn't intense, but it was like a dull knife slowly scraping his face.

"Are you Jiang Xun?" Helian Jun finally spoke, his tone icy. "The outhouse is in the front yard."

"Oh, I'm sorry." Jiang Xun nodded repeatedly and turned to leave.

After taking two steps, he suddenly stopped.

Because he saw it—a person was hurrying past on the bamboo path behind Helian Jun.

He was in his forties, of medium build, and had an ordinary appearance, but his eyes were very bright, like those of an eagle or a snake.

Ma Zhong, leader of the Black Flag Gang.

Jiang Xun's heart skipped a beat.

What's Ma Zhong doing here?

"Aren't you leaving yet?" Helian Jun's voice rang out again, a few degrees colder than before.

Jiang Xun snapped out of his daze, a smile returning to his face: "Let's go, let's go, we're leaving now."

He walked back quickly, feeling Helian Jun's gaze fixed on his back, like a sword yet to be drawn.

When we returned to the main courtyard, the fourth performance had just ended.

Chen Lei won and was bowing to the surroundings on the stage, his face expressionless, with a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead.

"Where have you been? It's been so long." Ye Qingying asked, her gaze sweeping over with suspicion.

"I'm lost," Jiang Xun replied casually, plopping down in bed. "This place is too big."

"It's your turn." Ye Qingying didn't say anything more.

Jiang Xun nodded, stretched his limbs, and stood up to walk onto the stage.