Leaves and grass flew through the woods. Zhao Ning stood with her back to a tree and flicked the soft sword from her sleeve. Its gleam swept across the throat of a masked attacker. She gasped for breath, sweat beading at her temple. What she'd hidden for ten years had finally come to light.
“Not bad. The sickly one came armed, too.” Xiao Che punched the man behind him to the ground. His knuckles were red, and he was nothing like his usual carefree self.
Zhao Ning said nothing. Seeing him tied up by two opponents, with his side left exposed, she pulled out her silver hairpin and tossed it to him. “Catch!”
The hairpin sliced through the air. Xiao Che caught it with his other hand and drove it precisely into the arm of the attacker sneaking up on him. He shook out his hand and grinned, holding the bloodied pin. “That hairpin of yours is tougher than you are.”
“Still better than the prince's fist, which is so hard you wouldn't think he'd just lost a bet.” Zhao Ning sheathed her sword. The weakness on her face had vanished.
Bodies lay scattered across the ground. Xiao Che weighed the silver hairpin in his hand while Zhao Ning fixed her disheveled hair. Neither of them mentioned the act they'd been putting on.
The wind swept through the treetops, lifting the hems of their clothes.
They couldn't keep this performance going any longer.
