Chapter Thirteen: Toyed by Fate

Han Liang made her move first, heading directly to the box bearing Han Bingyan’s name. Han Bingyan’s heart leapt into his throat. “So it really is targeted at me!” he thought with indignation.

She reached into the box, carefully sifting through the slips before finally drawing one out. Examining it closely, Han Liang addressed the assembled crowd, “Han Bingyan, 445th generation inner branch of the Han family—his opponent is—” She seemed intent on building suspense, pausing deliberately until all eyes and hearts were fixed upon her. Only then did she continue, “The 445th generation outer branch descendant—Han Bingruo!”

“What?” Han Bingyan was stunned. Han Bingruo and Han Bingran were likewise taken aback. They had considered many possibilities, but never this. Now Han Bingyan faced a dilemma: to fight or not. He was confident of victory against Han Bingruo—after all, his innate martial talent surpassed hers. But a nagging question twisted within him: “If I win, what will become of Bingruo?”

In the center of the field, Han Bingruo shook her head and sighed, stepping up to the platform. “Bingyan, come on. Give it your all—don’t hold back on my account.”

“I—” As he hesitated, he felt a piercing gaze at his side, sharp as an eagle’s, stern and profound.

Under Han Liang’s scrutiny, Han Bingyan walked onto the stage as well.

“Now, let the first match begin!” Han Liang announced.

“Wait!” Han Bingyan’s clear, young voice rang through the arena. The crowd’s attention, initially split between the two, now focused entirely on him.

“Is there something you wish to say?” Han Liang asked, her tone calm yet carrying an unquestionable authority. The very sound made Han Bingyan shrink back, but he summoned his courage and said, “May I forfeit this match?”

“You wish to forfeit? Are you certain?” Han Liang, as both head of the clan and chief judge, pressed him after his declaration. Amidst the murmurs from the crowd—many unable to understand his choice, given the importance of the matches—who could truly fathom the bitterness in Han Bingyan’s heart as he made his decision?

“Bingyan, what is the meaning of this?” Han Bingruo demanded, her surprise tinged with anger. Facing her questioning, Han Bingyan simply nodded. “I have decided to forfeit this match,” he said, turning to Han Liang, “I made this decision after careful thought—I will not regret it.” Without waiting for further reaction, he stepped down from the stage, oblivious to the confusion and whispers behind him.

“Brother, you—”

Coming to Han Bingran’s side, Han Bingyan shook his head, stopping her words. “Say no more. I understand, but I have no other choice. I have a slight edge over Bingruo. If I forfeit, perhaps there will still be a path forward for me. Yet for Bingruo, in the same situation, it might mean a dead end.”

At that moment, Han Bingruo also approached. Looking at Han Bingyan, she said, “Bingyan... thank you. But you shouldn’t have done this. In our family, one’s standing is earned by strength. If you deliberately hand me this chance, what is that supposed to mean? Do you pity me? I do not need your pity. If we are truly siblings, you should defeat me without mercy!” Tears welled up—tears a man rarely sheds, unless his heart is breaking.

“It’s all right. This was my choice. And it’s not as if I’m without hope, right?” Han Bingyan replied, patting her shoulder with a smile.

A sharp “clang!” drew their attention back to the match, where two swords struck with a ringing note. A figure, ethereal as a fairy, danced across the stage—Han Bingyan’s cousin, Han Bingyao, herself blessed with a prodigious martial talent.

Her opponent now was Han Bingwu, whose talent was not insignificant either.

A flurry of attacks and defenses ensued, the match lively and intense. The spectators watched, entranced, while Han Liang and the other judges nodded in approval, clearly satisfied with the contestants’ performances.

“Who do you think will win?” Han Bingran whispered.

“Cousin’s moves are more practiced and varied than Han Bingwu’s. And when it comes to inner strength, she surpasses him too. So, she should win,” Han Bingyan replied gently. Hearing this, Han Bingran cast him a look of admiration. She thought to herself: If only my brother didn’t have those innate blocked meridians, his achievements would surely be remarkable. What a pity...

True to his prediction, Han Bingyao soon flicked her sword, sending Han Bingwu’s blade spinning skyward. In a flash, she was before him, her sword poised at his throat.

“Stop. Han Bingyao is victorious!” Han Liang’s voice announced the outcome. Han Bingyao saluted the audience and left the stage.

The following matches saw other Han family descendants compete. Han Bingran, too, took her turn, winning with simple elegance. Her cheeks flushed with excitement, and Han Bingyan tapped her nose in shared delight.

The next round came swiftly, and once again Han Bingyan’s name was called. Han Liang read from the slip, “Next match: Han Bingyan versus—Han Bingran!”

“What? Seriously?” The brother and sister both gaped in disbelief. “A match against my own sister? But—” Han Bingyan was at a loss for words.

Stepping onto the stage, he stammered, “Um, I—”

“What is it? Do you intend to forfeit again?” Han Liang’s tone was tinged with anger. “Do you think you can simply give up these matches at will? I warn you, Bingyan: If you forfeit again, you’ll be barred from your next match as well. It will count as a loss!”

Han Bingyan could barely restrain his frustration at this unfairness. Was fate toying with him yet again? To face his own sister—one of the leading contenders for the clan’s next head—was cruel. He could not defeat her; yet he feared she might throw the match out of pity, or even forfeit in turn, dragging her down with him. Perhaps it was best to withdraw himself...

“I—I... forfeit!” The painful decision, made for the second—no, the third—time. With that, Han Bingyan lost his third match as well.

As he suspected, had he hesitated any longer, Han Bingran would have requested to forfeit herself.

Returning to the sidelines, Han Bingyan’s mood grew ever more complicated. Out of seven matches, he had already forfeited two, and the third was counted as a loss. Did he still have a chance? He did not know; his heart was in turmoil.

“Don’t dwell on it.” At some point, Han Bingruo had appeared at his side, laying a consoling hand on his shoulder.

“What beauty in sorrow—who could ignore it or fail to treasure it? This competition is both a test and a hurdle we must cross. But why must I be forced into such helpless choices?”

A mist of tears welled up in Han Bingruo’s eyes, her heart trembling with empathy. Indeed, why? He was only a child, battered by hardship—would heaven not grant him a fair chance? As for herself, there was little to say; she knew her own worth. A broken jug and a grain of sand—how could she compare to Bingyan, whose path was even rougher? Even if she left the Han family, what would it matter?

Perhaps she could dust off her sleeves and walk away laughing, but what about Han Bingyan?

The world’s red dust swirls, painting faces with beauty, fleeting as drifting clouds... All is fate, destined by the heavens.

“Can Bingyan break free from this fate?” Han Bingruo watched her cousin, uncertain.

“Next, Han Bingyao—her opponent: Han Bingyan!” Han Liang’s announcement brought Han Bingyan back onto the stage.

This time, as he stepped forward, he seemed transformed—his earlier dejection swept away.

Facing her cousin, who now brimmed with new energy, Han Bingyao couldn’t help but feel curious. What was sustaining him? How could someone change so quickly, shifting from despair to resolve in an instant?

“Though you are my cousin, I won’t go easy on you out of sympathy.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t need you to,” Han Bingyan replied with a smile, his dark eyes sparkling like stars in the night sky. Yet would his resolve last eternally, or was it only a fleeting flash like a shooting star?

“Very well, let’s begin.”

“Yes!”

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As the introduction said: in a single moment, the dragon transforms into a phoenix, only to find that gathering and parting are but a dream...

Now, Bingyan is caught in the undertow of sorrow. When will he break free from the cocoon and emerge as a butterfly? Please stay tuned...