Wang Chen merely smiled at her praise.
He had heard those exact words from her countless times before, and every single time, his response had been the same—calm, unruffled, almost indulgent. How could she ever grow tired of his swordsmanship? He had already walked the mortal Sword Dao to its absolute peak, a realm where technique itself became art, where every motion carried a charm that transcended logic.
But admiration was not why he had come here.
Taking a slow breath, Wang Chen let the smile linger before speaking lightly, "You enjoyed the show I put on? Then I am honored."
Mo Huyan did not reply at once. Her gaze lingered on him, deep and unfathomable, as if countless thoughts were colliding behind those eyes. Layers of emotion flickered across her pupils—curiosity, caution, something older and harder to name. It was as though she were trying to peel him apart, to see how much of the man before her was real and how much was illusion.
Then Wang Chen's smile faded.
