Volume One, Chapter 20: So You're the One Bullying My Brother, Aren't You?

For a moment, crimson blood slowly trickled from Jiang Wu’s neck, the pungent metallic scent jolting him back to awareness. He stared in shock at the bloodied spear pressed against his throat, disbelief etched deep in his eyes.

At that moment, Ye Chen lowered his gaze, fixating on the blood at the tip of his spear, his voice low and resolute. “Junior brother, do you concede?”

Jiang Wu was stunned, his eyes wide and uncomprehending. He had never imagined that Ye Chen would trade injury for victory, using his own pain to seize a chance for a counterattack.

Those standing nearby took a long moment to react, their eyes widening in astonishment as they beheld Ye Chen’s spear held firmly against Jiang Wu’s neck.

“How is this possible?” A faint, incredulous whisper rose from the crowd, fragile as a candle flickering in the cold wind, trembling with inner shock.

The outcome of this battle was like a bolt from a clear sky, shattering all expectations and predictions.

“How did Ye Chen move so fast?” A voice echoed incredulously through the throng, seeking an answer yet knowing none could be found.

“Yeah, how could he be so fast?” another voice quickly chimed in, filled with astonishment and confusion, like the brightest star in the night suddenly losing its way.

Then, like lightning piercing through the chaos, someone suddenly remembered. “Sword Son!”

The three words struck like a pounding drum, awakening dormant memories. All eyes converged instinctively on Jiang Wu in the center of the arena.

There he stood, as fragile as a dying candle in the wind, Ye Chen’s spear pressing tightly against his throat.

His face was as pale as paper, his eyes flickering with unwillingness and fear, like a gazelle locked in a leopard’s gaze, powerless to struggle and forced to await the decree of fate.

“Ye Chen, stop this at once! You’d need a hundred lives to repay the injury to Sword Son!” A rough voice exploded from the crowd, bristling with anger and threat.

Soon, more voices rose like a rising tide. “Yes, stop now!”

In these clamors was both reverence for Jiang Wu’s status and dread of the grave sin Ye Chen might be committing.

Yet Ye Chen seemed detached, deaf to the shouts around him.

He lifted his eyes slightly; within their depths gleamed a cold light as if able to see through all worldly illusions.

He looked down at Jiang Wu, his tone calm and unwavering, as if delivering a sacred judgment: “Junior brother, do you concede?”

Within Jiang Wu’s eyes, struggle and reluctance flickered like a faint candle in the dark night, wavering under the oppressive gaze that seemed to devour all. At last, he lowered his head weakly.

His voice was barely audible, almost drowned by the surrounding clamor. “I... concede.”

The three words fell like a sudden chill on a summer day, freezing the once noisy crowd into an eerie stillness.

“What? Sword Son conceded?” a voice burst from the crowd, disbelief thick in its tone.

“Did I hear that wrong?” came another, equally shocked.

Though Ye Chen heard Jiang Wu’s surrender, his spear remained steadfast against Jiang Wu’s neck without the slightest tremor.

His gaze swept over the crowd, resting on the dim outline of two figures inside a nearby building, stirring concern within him.

Their eyes met, and Jiang Wu seemed to understand something, raising his hand in a gentle wave. From within came the familiar, tender voice of Ye Yao: “Brother.”

Hearing Ye Yao’s call, Ye Chen’s tension finally eased. He slowly lowered his spear, then turned and dashed toward the house like an arrow loosed from a bow, each step heavy with deep worry and urgency for his sister.

Behind him, the crowd’s murmurs swelled like a tide—talk of Jiang Wu’s defeat, of Ye Chen’s rise, each word laced with shock and disbelief.

“Sword Son just gave up like that?” came a voice, disbelief coloring every syllable, unable to accept the sudden result.

“Yeah, who would have thought Sword Son would lose to Ye Chen,” another voice agreed, admiration for Ye Chen’s strength mingling with regret for Jiang Wu’s fall.

“Could it be that if Ye Chen hadn’t been crippled back then, he’d be Sword Son himself?” a sharper voice proposed, seeking the roots of Ye Chen’s present power in his past.

But Ye Chen paid no heed to these speculations.

His mind was solely on the safety of his sister, Ye Yao, and his steps never faltered.

Yet just as he was about to enter the house, his body shuddered suddenly, his steps faltered.

A streak of fresh blood slid from the corner of his mouth like a blooming red spider lily—beautiful yet haunting.

“Jiang Wu!” Ye Chen spun around sharply, eyes blazing as they locked onto the figure behind him.

There stood Jiang Wu, his palm still raised mid-air—clearly, it was his strike that had wounded Ye Chen.

But facing Ye Chen’s fierce gaze, Jiang Wu immediately adopted an innocent expression, trying to mask his guilt.

“Senior brother, I...” Jiang Wu’s voice trembled like a dying candle flickering in the wind. He tried to justify his actions, but his words dissolved into silent sighs, vanishing into the air.

This sudden turn froze the surrounding disciples like a painted scene, leaving them speechless, bewilderment and shock spreading through the crowd.

Breaking the silence came a dull thud—the harsh sound of flesh hitting the ground.

All eyes turned to see Ye Chen kneeling on one knee, face pale as paper, yet still clinging to an unyielding will.

Not far off, Ye Yao hurried over, tears streaming from her eyes. She knelt beside Ye Chen, gently wiping the blood from his lips, her voice trembling with tears: “Brother, are you alright?”

Ye Chen forced a faint smile, raising a hand to comfort her. “Little Yao, I’m fine.”

Yet his weakness and pain were undeniable, and Ye Yao’s tears fell like broken pearls. “Brother, you’re still lying to me, you’re so badly hurt.”

A flash of resolve crossed Ye Yao’s eyes as realization dawned. She lifted her gaze, scanning the crowd until it settled on a solitary figure—Jiang Wu, standing closest to Ye Chen, his expression strange and unsettling.

Ye Yao’s eyes sharpened; she had found her answer. This peculiar, thin-lipped young noble was likely the true culprit behind Ye Chen’s injury.