Even as the attendants guided him away, the crowd murmured in hushed respect. For all his silence, for all his lack of titles or noble blood, the monk had left his mark.
Minjun remained where he was, water dripping steadily from his hair, running down his Lushan uniform until dark patches spread across the ocean-blue fabric.
Each drop hit the stone with a soft sound, faint but clear in the momentary lull of noise. He looked composed, almost serene, like the sea returning to stillness after a great storm. Yet in the depths of his eyes a faint spark glimmered — pride. Not arrogance, not boastfulness, but the quiet satisfaction of one who had endured the trial and proven his strength.
From the stands, a voice cut through the lingering noise like a blade.
"That's my boy!" Dan bellowed, his deep voice carrying across the arena. He cupped his massive hands around his mouth to make sure none could miss it. "You show them what Lushan pride looks like!"
