"Do you understand?" Wen Jingge asked him.
"I don't know." Qiao Yu lowered her head and looked at Shan Hongxing, who was still sparring with Gouchen Sword and making a big commotion. "If Uncle Shan stops sparring, will Master feel better?"
What did I teach you before?
He lowered his head and bent over, the gaze above him still waiting for him. "Master said that in the face of absolute power, everything is insignificant."
"Then tell me, did I win or lose?"
"Master..." Qiao Yu was in a dilemma. It seemed that her master had lost, but her master's sword seemed to have won.
"Forget it." Wen Jingge said impatiently, "Second Senior Brother."
Fan Zifan, who had won the bet, was overjoyed: "Here it is! Here it is!"
"Give him a kick."
"Alright!" Fan Zifan kicked the person to the ground. "Any other instructions?"
Wen Jingge was speechless. "That's all. You may leave."
"Okay!"
Qiao Yu dusted himself off and knelt down again. "This disciple is foolish and begs Master for guidance."
"Did you feel it?"
He was puzzled.
Do you yearn to become strong?
He thought of the composed and reserved man in black robes from last night, and then of the imposing Wen Jinge from before, and nodded, "Longing."
"And now?"
Qiao Yu noticed that Wen Jingge was staring at his lower abdomen, and the cramping pain worsened. He gritted his teeth and said, "It hurts."
"Don't you want it to stop hurting?"
"think."
"Then let's go fight with your Uncle Shan?"
"……ah?"
"A person about to die doesn't care about whether their stomach hurts or not!"
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