The champion substitution rule. A fundamental rule of martial duels. A rule that every noble, every general, and every martial family should have remembered.
His carefully prepared humiliation had been ruined by a simple oversight.
"Which fool came up with this plan?" he roared. The golden wine cup in his hand shattered against the floor.
He struck the armrest of his chair with such force that the metal beneath the golden coating bent inward. The servants nearby lowered their heads immediately. None dared make a sound.
The emperor did not merely hate failure.
He hated being made to look like a fool the most. "Who arranged this?" he demanded. A trembling eunuch stepped forward and bowed deeply.
"Your Majesty... it was the Thirteenth Princess and the Ninth Prince." The emperor's eyes narrowed. "Bring those two idiots before me." His voice became colder.
"I will personally teach them the cost of making a fool of their father." Yet even as his anger burned, another thought entered his mind. Perhaps this mistake could still become entertaining.
If Luo He could not be humiliated, then perhaps his substitute could be. After all, in everyone's eyes, Jin Mulan was merely a woman who had stepped onto the battlefield in desperation.
They did not know her true strength. They did not know what Luo He had created. To the emperor of Wu, she was simply another piece on the board.
And he had always enjoyed breaking beautiful things that stood against him.
The entire Wu court believed the duel had already been decided. To them, Jin Mulan stepping onto the battlefield was nothing more than a desperate attempt to preserve Luo He's dignity.
The Seventh Prince was a peak Grandmaster, a genius only a step away from entering the Transcendent Realm. His talent had been recognized since youth.
His victory over Luo He was considered inevitable. Jin Mulan, however, was a different story. Three years ago, before she met Luo He, she had not even reached the Grandmaster Realm.
In the eyes of the world, there was no way someone could rise from such a level to challenge a peak Grandmaster in only three years.
Such a person would have already been discovered by the great martial factions and taken as a disciple. Since no such news existed, everyone assumed the truth was simple.
She was weak. They could not have been more wrong. Under Luo He's guidance, Jin Mulan had undergone a transformation that few in history could achieve.
In less than two years, she had climbed from an ordinary martial practitioner to the peak of the Grandmaster Realm.
She had awakened her elemental power.
She had mastered multiple advanced techniques. And most importantly, she had learned how to fight beyond the limits of her cultivation realm.
The difference between a martial artist with proper techniques and one without them was like the difference between heaven and earth.
A sword in the hands of an ordinary warrior was merely a weapon. In the hands of a master, it became an extension of the body.
Jin Mulan's spear techniques were no exception. Her Illusion Spear Technique allowed her to create dozens of phantom spears, confusing opponents and overwhelming their senses.
Her Coiling Serpent Spear Art was even more terrifying. Unlike ordinary spear techniques that gathered power before releasing it, revealing the attack long before it arrived.
This was different. The Coiling Serpent style moved without warning. No buildup.
No obvious striking intent. Just a sudden strike appearing from an impossible angle.
It was a technique designed to defeat stronger opponents. On paper, Jin Mulan was a peak Grandmaster.
In reality, when she combined her elemental power, techniques, and combat experience, she stood at a level where even a mid-stage Transcendent could not underestimate her.
The First Battle
Luo He stood at the arena's edge in simple robes, his posture relaxed. His expression one of casual confidence. Beside him, Jin Mulan adjusted the fit of her battle dress.
Her deep red eyes silk with wooden reinforcements at shoulder and knee, practical yet somehow elegant in its simplicity.
Her hair, that magnificent crimson veil, was bound in a tight warrior's knot. The crowd's reaction to her appearance was immediate and visceral when she stood at the arena.
A sweeper actually stood up, craning his neck for a better view. Nobles who'd been speaking fell silent mid-sentence. Even some of the older emperors seemed to recalculate something in their minds.
As though seeing her in combat attire had somehow made her power visible in a way even her reputation couldn't match.
The Flame Kingdom's official sat rigidly in his seat, his eyes tracking her every movement with an intensity that bordered on obsessive. His fingers gripped the armrest so tightly his knuckles had turned white.
Prince Zhong stood at the opposite end, silver armor so pristine it seemed to hold the sunlight captive. Each piece fitted to perfection by craftsmen who'd spent their lives refining their art.
The armor gleamed like liquid metal, catching every angle of light and transforming it into brilliance. He moved with the confidence of a man who'd never tasted defeat.
His sword held with the casual ease of an extension of his own body. He was a god of war made manifest. The crowd gasped appreciatively.
Then he turned to face Jin Mulan. "So, general," he called across the arena, his voice amplified by martial power so that every spectator could hear clearly.
"You've decided to fight your own battle after all? How... refreshing." Jin Mulan raised her spear, the movement economical and precise. She didn't bother with words.
The prince smiled, as though her silence was confirmation of something he'd already suspected. That she had nothing intelligent to say.
That she was merely a beautiful woman playing at martial prowess. He casually approached at a moderate pace, giving her time to surrender, to recognize the futility of what she was about to attempt.
This was generosity, his bearing seemed to suggest. This was a man so confident in his superiority that he could afford to be merciful. Jin Mulan waited.
When he was close enough, Prince Zhong attacked. His technique was aggressive, overwhelming. Exactly what one would expect from a high-level Grandmaster who'd never faced real opposition.
He came at her with powerful overhead strikes designed to break through defenses by sheer force, each swing carrying enough power to shatter lesser weapons.
This is an effective strategy as her most obvious weakness is her regular, low quality spear. Shatter it and she is wide open to be attacked.
Jin Mulan didn't meet his strength with strength. Instead, she simply, wasn't there. Her movement was minimal, yet economical.
She didn't dodge dramatically, she stepped aside with the smallest possible motion, letting his momentum carry him past.
His sword cut through empty air, and before he could adjust his stance, she'd already repositioned, her spear held defensively.
"Interesting." The prince muttered, drawing back for another attack. This time he came faster, combining power with speed.
A flurry of strikes that should have overwhelmed any opponent of equal rank. Jin Mulan's spear moved to meet each one, and when their weapons connected, the sound of impact echoed across the arena, but just barely.
She caught his force at the last possible moment, deflecting rather than blocking, using his own momentum against him.
No sound from her. No taunt, no boast. Just the quiet efficiency of perfect technique. Luo He, watching from the sidelines, cupped his hands around his mouth.
"Go, wifey!" He called out, his voice carrying genuine enthusiasm. "You can crush him like a bug!" Several nobles turned to look at him.
Noting his earnest expression, his childlike excitement. Some suppressed smiles. A few actually shook their heads at what they perceived as his simple mindedness.
The prince, however, seemed annoyed by the interruption. He pressed his attack harder, moving faster now, his frustration beginning to leak into his technique.
Each swing was less controlled than the last. More desperation masked as aggression. Jin Mulan continued her dance of evasion.
She wasn't merely avoiding his strikes. She was studying them. Measuring the subtle patterns in his footwork, the way he telegraphed his intentions.
A fraction of a second before committing to each move. Her eyes tracked the minute shifts in his posture, the way his breathing changed with each assault.
Her husband had taught her to see these things. During their private training sessions, when they were alone in their chambers, he'd drilled her relentlessly on pattern recognition.
Not just the visible patterns, the way a fighter moved, the spacing they maintained, but the deeper patterns of hidden intent.
How a man's body betrayed his next move long before his mind had fully decided on it.
"Hit him harder!" Luo He called from the sidelines, clapping enthusiastically after a particularly graceful evasion. "Nice ! That's my wife!" He kept cheering.
The prince's frustration was becoming visible now. His jaw clenched. His breathing grew heavier. The space between his strikes was widening.
Not because he was slowing, but because his technique was degrading under the weight of his own anger.
He was losing control. That was when Mulan changed her strategy.