In the lingering echoes, Wayne stood unharmed in his original position, still holding his sword in a defensive stance, yet...the foil had broken.
In two pieces.
His expression was cold.
The arena fell silent...
Mark looked up ahead, where the woman was still standing on the pillar, her slender figure poised gracefully on the not-so-thick column, exuding elegance rather than discomfort.
He suddenly remembered China, a land prolific in poetry and verses...
And he recalled a friend's description of Chinese women.
--Truly outstanding and independent Chinese women are like the Qing Yuan perched atop the reeds in the surging river, ethereal, distant, untouchable.
He had once scoffed at this, but now he found some truth in it.
The silence of the Marquis of Rose could not stop the crowd from going wild!
Just three seconds of silence had brewed seven seconds of frenzied excitement!
"Wow!"
"My goodness! This is real Chinese Ancient Martial Arts!"
