The scent of herbs filled the dimly lit chamber as the healers moved swiftly about. Linen cloths, soaked in medicine, were pressed against bruises and wounds; the faint hiss of pain escaped Ruan's lips as they tended to her back. The marks would scar , she knew it. Ugly lines running across once-smooth skin, permanent reminders of a battle she hadn't planned for. She turned her face away, ashamed and furious, refusing to let the tears come.
Across the room, Jin looked like a mummy that had lost an argument with fate. His ribs, arm, leg, waist, shoulder, neck, jaw, even his head...all wrapped in layers of white. His once-handsome face now looked like a poorly wrapped dumpling. He sat on the bed stiffly, unable to even scratch his own nose. When the nurses left, the room grew quiet. The silence was too heavy, too pitiful.
Then came the sound ,a sniff.
Ruan turned sharply.
"Are you crying?"
Jin tried to shake his head, but it only made the tears wobble down faster. His jaw was wired tight, so he couldn't speak, but his eyes betrayed him...wide, glassy, miserable.
"Oh for Heaven's sake" Ruan snapped, smacking his arm. "This is all your fault! You and your stupid plans and your 'brilliant ideas'! You almost got us killed, idiot!"
Jin blinked rapidly, trying to defend himself through gestures that made no sense with both arms bandaged. He looked ridiculous. Ruan almost laughed, almost , until he suddenly pulled her into a hug.
"What—hey! Let go!" she hissed, trying to wriggle free. But Jin's grip was firm. Desperate, even. She struggled for a few seconds more before sighing and letting her head fall against his chest.
She could feel his heart beating, steady and strong beneath all those bandages. For a moment, she stopped talking. "You're smiling, aren't you?" she muttered.
He nodded.
"Idiot."
---
That night, the Grand Dining Hall of the Tiān Yún Diàn Clan glittered with gold and firelight. Dozens of lamps burned above long tables laid with roasted meats, fruits, and gleaming wine cups. The air was thick with the weight of authority , generals, ministers, scholars, and clan elders filled the hall, murmuring among themselves. At the far end sat the Clan Leader himself, his aura calm yet suffocating, like a mountain under moonlight.
To his right sat Lord Bi'an, his face unreadable, while Shen stood silently beside him. The air shifted uneasily. Something was coming.
Then the doors opened.
All heads turned.
Through the wide bronze doors hobbled a man wrapped head-to-toe in white, supporting a woman with a proud glare and an embarrassed blush. Jin. And Ruan. The atmosphere, dignified moments ago, cracked like a brittle shell. Jin's every step was accompanied by the faint creak of bandages and the ghost of his own arrogance. His lower face was still mostly covered, but his eyes gleamed with mischief — he even winked at a few female attendants, whose reactions ranged from horrified to flustered.
"Shameless," Ruan muttered under her breath as they approached the table.
They were seated among the guests, the smell of roasted duck tormenting Jin's empty stomach. He tried to stay composed… right until his hand quietly reached for a duck leg.
The silence was so heavy, even the generals' armor seemed to stop breathing. All eyes turned toward him as he chewed like a man resurrected from starvation. Then, realizing the stares, Jin froze mid-bite, swallowed hard, and slowly lowered the bone.
The translator at his side cleared his throat nervously.
The Clan Leader, a man of deep gaze and calm dominance, finally spoke. His words were slow, measured the kind of tone that made lesser men bow without being asked. The translator relayed it quickly:
"You've impressed me, outsider. To defeat my son, and in such fashion… that was no small feat. At first, I wished to kill you both for breaking our laws. But now...now, I find myself intrigued."
The hall stirred with murmurs. Jin blinked, duck leg halfway to his mouth again.
The leader continued:
"For the first time in our history, the Arena of Six Rounds shall end in the fourth. I have seen enough. Four days from now, you shall face me. If you win, you will earn your freedom."
Jin perked up, leaning forward, clearly interested. But as the translator spoke, his mischievous mind began to wander. Freedom? Just like that? That was too easy.
He raised a hand. "Wait," he mumbled through the bandages. "If I win… just my freedom? That's boring."
The translator looked horrified. "Sir—uh—what would you wish instead?"
Jin thought of horses, gold, maybe a nice room. But then, that other side of him...the one that never thought before speaking rose up.
"I'll fight for my freedom and life… and if I win—" he said proudly, "I'll become the next Clan Leader!"
The entire hall exploded.
Chairs scraped. Cups shattered. A general nearly choked on his wine. Even Lord Bi'an's jaw dropped in disbelief.
Ruan covered her face. "Oh my gods, Jin. You absolute fool."
The translator, stammering, translated the words to the Clan Leader, who paused… then smiled. Slowly. Coldly.
"You wish to take my position?"
Jin's smirk faltered. He nodded anyway, trying to play it cool.
And then the unimaginable happened, the Clan Leader nodded.
"Very well. If you win, the Tiān Yún Diàn Clan shall be yours."
The silence that followed could have frozen lava. Jin spat out the sip of wine he'd just taken, coughing violently. Ruan slapped his back in panic while the hall descended into hushed whispers.
The Clan Leader's eyes gleamed.
"But if you lose, you shall serve me forever as my slave. No escape. No mercy."
Jin gave a weak thumbs-up, smiling through panic. He thought, Sure, I can always run away before that happens… right?
But then the Clan Leader leaned forward, voice low and heavy.
"I have heard… you seek something. The Martial King."
At those words, Jin's blood ran cold.
The translator repeated it aloud, and Jin's eyes widened. He hadn't told anyone that name since arriving here. How did this man know?
"You're not the first to speak that name," the leader went on, his gaze sharp as a blade. "But few understand what it truly means."
The hall dimmed in tone. Even the generals stopped whispering. He continued, his words now carrying the weight of memory and legend:
"The Martial King… is not merely a warrior. He is a myth older than the empires of the south, older even than Heaven's own decrees. My ancestors recorded the tale over a thousand years ago, when our clan was young. They say the Martial King walked this world when gods still touched the mortal realm."
He lifted his cup but did not drink.
"He was said to have defied Heaven itself. To have faced a god and lived. Some claim he invented the first martial paths destroying the old ways that bound man to spirit beasts and blood pacts. Others say he was once mortal, who through endless struggle ascended beyond what the world could define."
The hall was utterly silent now.
"Each generation, one or two have claimed to see him , though never the same face. Perhaps the title passes down. Perhaps he is immortal. The truth was lost long ago. But our clan's founder swore that the Martial King was real. He fought beside him once, in the first great war of the heavens."
Jin listened, still and pale.
"To know this legend," the leader said, "is not something ordinary. Which is why I know, Jin… that you are not ordinary. Who are you, truly? A wandering master? A hidden heir? Or something else entirely?"
The question pierced the hall like lightning.
Ruan's hand tightened around her cup. Lord Bi'an's brow furrowed. Even Shen leaned forward. Jin wanted to laugh, to say something clever — but his throat was dry. For the first time, his jokes failed him.
The Clan Leader rose to his feet. His voice deepened.
"My name," he declared, "is Tiān Guāng Zhào, Leader of the Tiān Yún Diàn Clan, heir to those who once walked beside the Martial King. I swear this upon my blood — if I cannot defeat you, Jin, then I have no right to lead. But if I win, you will tell me the truth."
The translator's voice trembled as he finished. Jin sat there, stiff as stone. All he could think was , I just wanted a better horse.
Dinner resumed, though no one ate much. Jin poked at his food, lost in thought. He'd started a fire he couldn't put out.
The generals were whispering about him. Ruan kept smacking her forehead. Lord Bi'an watched in quiet calculation.
Across the table, Tiān Guāng Zhào's eyes never left Jin's ,calm, piercing, ancient.
Two men, one foolish and one proud, staring across a feast that would soon become a battlefield.
Three days.
At high noon.
Only one would walk away free.
Jin sighed to himself, poking the duck leg again. "Well," he muttered quietly, "guess I'll need a new outfit."