Chapter 175: Love makes you weak
The Prime Minister’s eyes flickered, and for the first time that night, a glimmer of something akin to respect passed through them. But the battle was far from over.
With a renewed determination, he lunged forward, his sword aiming straight for her heart. Hua Jing met him head-on, steel clashing, echoes of war ringing in the night. The dance of death continued, both warriors relentless, neither willing to yield.
Steel clashed violently against steel, the shrill sound of metal slicing the air echoing beneath the canopy of moonlight. Sparks erupted like bursts of fire every time Hua Jing’s blade collided with the Prime Minister’s, painting the air with glimmering arcs of orange. The courtyard, dim but serene moments before, had become a battlefield lit only by the furious dance of two titans.
Hua Jing, still clad in her royal blue robes now splattered with fresh blood and soot, looked nothing like the poised consort who had once stepped gracefully through the palace gates. Her hair was wild, her breath ragged, but her eyes—her eyes burned with something primal, something wild and utterly unrelenting.
The Prime Minister moved like a shadow. Inky black robes whipped around him, his blade an extension of his arm, every motion precise, lethal. The two of them clashed again, blades scraping in a powerful lock. Their faces were inches apart, breath mingling with heat and fury.
"I must say," the Prime Minister hissed through clenched teeth, "I never imagined you could last this long."
Hua Jing gave him a dark smile, sweat and blood streaking down her cheek. "That’s because you imagined me dead before I even began."
Their swords broke apart with a screech, and they spun again. The light caught their movements in rapid flashes—her royal blue against his void-black—a storm of rage and retribution. To an onlooker, it would have looked choreographed, almost beautiful, but this was a deadly dance. And both were fighting to kill.
Every time her blade struck his, the fury inside her grew. Every clang reminded her of the ambush on that lonely road. Of Zhao Yan, cradling his injured side. Of the bandits and the false leads. Of how everything had started to unravel, all tracing back to this very man now grinning before her.