As the preliminaries were about to begin, the entire Fushan Square quickly fell silent.
The deafening roar of the crowd vanished as if throttled by an invisible hand, leaving only the clear whistle of the wind whipping past the flagpoles.
The spectating disciples held their breath, their gazes fixed on the open ground beside the arenas. They stared at the six or seven hundred disciples about to begin their journey through the preliminaries, their eyes filled with anticipation and tension.
From an inconspicuous corner of the crowd, Su Qingyue's gaze traveled over the sea of heads and settled on Yang Jing, her expression unreadably complex.
She recalled the first time she had met him, then thought of his meteoric rise since. A whirlwind of emotions stirred within her.
...
Not far away, Liu Rou, Lin Wenxuan, and Jia Yuliang stood together. Their eyes, too, were locked on Yang Jing's figure, their faces filled with wistful admiration.
