Emperor's Sorrow: Blood Song of Lan Dynasty

The biting cold wind was like a knife cutting, whining through the martial arts training ground, rolling up the fallen leaves on the ground, making a howling cry, as if mocking the frail figure in the field. "Hahaha! Trash! Third Emperor brother, you better not be embarrassed by your thin arms and legs! Otherwise, if you fail to practice, you will train yourself to death, and your father will have to blame us brothers for not taking good care of you!" Prince Jing's sharp ridicule was as biting as the cold wind. He was tall and muscular, holding a long steel sword in his hand. The blade of the sword shone with a cold light in the sun, reflecting the undisguised contempt on his face. The other princes around him also laughed, their eyes full of disdain and teasing, as if they were watching a poor monkey perform. In the center of the martial arts training ground, Lingchuan held the wooden sword in his hand tightly, his knuckles turning white from the exertion. Big beads of sweat rolled down from his pale forehead, soaking the broken hair at the temples, and his face was so white that it was almost transparent, as if a gust of wind could blow him down. He was thin and out of place among the princes who were as strong as a hill. He stood out like a chicken, no, more like a sickly chicken among the eagles.