Xu Wuyi looked at his teacher and suddenly asked, "Teacher, do you think we can win?"
Han Mo didn't answer right away.
He looked up at the simulated moon in the artificial sky, watching it for a long, long time.
"I don't know," he finally said. "But I trust those old-timers. They've lived for over a hundred years and have been through tougher wars than this. Since they chose to open a Grandmaster battlefield, they must have some confidence."
"Even if the price is death?"
"Yes." Han Mo's voice was soft. "The path of a Martial Artist has always been one of walking toward death to find life. We cultivate, we grow stronger, we fight. If we die to protect others, that, too, is a form of Perfection."
Xu Wuyi fell silent.
That night, the master and disciple spoke for a long time in the courtyard.
