Not until the succession of challengers departed did Meng Tingxu see, at the end of the crowd, Qin He in his black shirt.
His complexion was pale, like cold light upon snow, his features peerless, but the ruthless darkness in his eyes gave Meng Tingxu a very bad premonition.
Bai Niao stood atop the arena, already bearing several wounds.
He staggered to his feet, his face a disheveled mess, his clothes slightly ragged.
He had already exhausted more than half of his strength.
When their eyes met, Bai Niao saw the excitement in Qin He's gaze.
"Qin He! Qin He! What are you doing! Why are you heading to the leitai!"
"Stop! I told you to stop!"
It was Meng Tingxu's voice, tense, desperate, hoarse—she had realized Qin He's intentions.
Bai Niao turned to his princess.
He still remembered how she looked when she had first arrived in M State, so cold, so aloof, so delicate.
But she never looked down on him; she treated him as her equal.