Ma Chao sat at the edge of the stage for a while after the match ended. His legs hung off the side, boots kicking lightly against the stone.
The cheers had already moved on to the next match. People were clapping again, but it wasn't for him.
He didn't mind.
His shoulder stung. His chest ached where the blade had passed. The wounds weren't deep, but they were clean. Precise. Controlled.
Yun Zhen didn't beat him with raw power.
She beat him because she moved better. Because she waited longer. Because she didn't let pressure change her flow.
He tilted his head back and stared at the clouds overhead.
They were thin today. The sky was bright, almost too bright.
A light breeze passed by, carrying the scent of burnt qi and distant tea smoke from the lower stands.
Footsteps approached behind him.
He didn't need to turn.
"Don't say anything," he said calmly.
The footsteps stopped. Then someone chuckled.
"I wasn't going to."
