The Duel Isn't Over Yet!

"Mu Zhuoyun." Principal Zhu finally spoke up. "I believe both of Bo City's outstanding young men have given remarkable performances today. Why not leave it here? As a leading figure of Bo City, surely you can afford to laugh off the wild words of the young."

Every guest present knew about the grudge between Mo Fan and Mu Zhuoyun. They all knew that if Mo Fan lost this duel, he would have to kowtow and beg Mu Zhuoyun's forgiveness — and keep doing so until Mu Zhuoyun was satisfied.

Mo Fan's performance had genuinely stunned the crowd. A prodigy who had trained Fire Burst all the way to the third level through his own efforts alone — that was someone the entire hall could respect.

At that moment, Mu Ningxue's gaze settled on her father's face as well. She, too, hoped he would simply let the matter rest.

This duel — had Yu'ang not enjoyed the overwhelming advantage of so much Enchanted Gear, he would almost certainly have lost to the improbable Mo Fan. Mu Ningxue found very little glory in a victory won this way.

"Just let it go? Impossible." Mu Zhuoyun gave a cold snort.

Someone had walked right up to him and hurled insults to his face — and he, Mu Zhuoyun, was supposed to simply swallow that? What would be left of his standing in Bo City? A bet was a bet. What was agreed to would be honored.

Over at the side seats, an old gardener nudged Mo Jiaxing. "Mo Jiaxing, what are you so cheerful about? Don't you know your son is about to kowtow to someone?"

"Kowtow? What are you talking about?" Mo Jiaxing stared blankly. He had been smiling because he never imagined his own son could move every powerful figure in the city to such admiration.

"Good lord — you mean you didn't know? Mu Zhuoyun and your son made a wager. If Yu'ang loses, Mu Zhuoyun personally apologizes to the two of you for what happened back then. But if your son loses, he has to kowtow to Mu Zhuoyun until the old man is satisfied. Every other kid in this city just grumbles about Mu Zhuoyun behind closed doors — your boy has insulted the man to his face, what, two or three times now? Even the most patient person has his limits. Tonight, Mu Zhuoyun is not going to let Mo Fan walk away." The old gardener shook his head in disbelief.

Apparently Mo Jiaxing had never even known about the wager. Truly the most magnificently oblivious father.

Mo Jiaxing stood there stunned. He genuinely hadn't known.

He knew his son better than anyone — the stubbornness, the pride. Force him to kowtow and beg forgiveness here, in a room full of his classmates, teachers, neighbors, and Mu Ningxue?

Young people these days — some threw themselves off buildings over a single slap to the face. Being made to kneel before someone in front of a crowd like this was the kind of humiliation that followed a person for the rest of their life, head forever bowed.

Mo Jiaxing scrambled to his feet and rushed toward the main seats at the center of the hall.

"Master Mu! Master Mu—!" he called out, making his way to Mu Zhuoyun.

Mu Zhuoyun narrowed his eyes slightly. "Ah. Mo Jiaxing." He still remembered this old driver well enough.

"For the sake of all our years together — please, don't make things difficult for a boy. Think about who's here tonight: his classmates, his teachers, his friends..." Mo Jiaxing pleaded, his voice urgent.

"Stop right there. Don't bring up 'all our years together' — it sounds as if I never paid you a single yuan in wages. I already gave you face once, out of respect for your hard work. This time, nothing will make me let him off." Mu Zhuoyun's tone was absolute.

Mo Jiaxing's heart lurched. He truly hadn't accounted for the kowtowing penalty.

This was the prime of his son's life. To be publicly humiliated in front of all these people — what would that do to a young man's spirit?

"Then — then let me do it in his place. A father's failure to teach is a father's fault. I'll kowtow on his behalf. I won't rise until you're satisfied." Mo Jiaxing's face was frantic as the words spilled out.

The moment he finished speaking, the old driver actually went down on both knees — right there, in front of everyone. His eyes, lined deep with wrinkles, tilted upward toward Mu Zhuoyun sitting above him in his chair.

Every eye in the hall shifted to Mo Jiaxing.

Beneath that weight of stares, a wave of crushing humiliation rolled through him.

But he thought it through carefully. Mo Fan had already earned the recognition of every powerful figure in Bo City. He had nearly beaten Yu'ang — the Mu Clan's hand-raised heir. Three years of relentless training it must have taken, beyond anything imaginable. The boy was clever; he wouldn't have thrown himself into a wager against Mu Zhuoyun without a reason. It was all to win back the dignity of a useless old father who had been chased away like a dog all those years ago. Mo Fan was so much better than him. One day, Mo Fan would become something truly extraordinary — a Mage of real renown. If he knelt today, that shadow would trail him for the rest of his life. Mo Jiaxing himself was just an old driver — a nobody who had never amounted to anything. For a man like him, this kind of lifelong shame barely stung at all.

Mu Zhuoyun's expression showed no sign of softening. Mo Jiaxing clenched his jaw — and pressed his forehead to the floor.

In the dueling arena, Mo Fan saw it happen. The sight hit him like an arrow through the chest — a sharp, twisting anguish unlike anything he had ever felt.

*Those on high remain on high.*

*The lowly remain lowly. For a lifetime.*

*Is this society truly equal for everyone?*

*If it were truly equal, I wouldn't have been driven away simply for spending time near Mu Ningxue.*

*If it were truly equal, we wouldn't have lost our home — the only roof over our family's heads, reduced to nothing but a trivial footnote in someone like Mu He's property ledger.*

*If it were truly equal, in a fair magic duel witnessed by this entire city — there wouldn't be mountains of money-bought Enchanted Gear, walls of wealth so high that someone like me, born with nothing, could never hope to scale them.*

In the old days, class was branded clearly onto everything — at least you knew exactly where you stood in the order of things. The cruelest thing about this age was that the same hierarchy existed in full, but wrapped itself in invisibility. No one would tell you before you left school. You stepped into the world, and then it fell on you like a thunderbolt from a cloudless sky — sudden, devastating, leaving you no room to breathe, no will to carry on.

Those who kneel? Those who sit?

Most of the time you stand on your own two feet — and it makes no difference at all.

"Dad. Stand up." Mo Fan turned toward where Mo Jiaxing and Mu Zhuoyun were.

Mo Jiaxing turned his head, but his knees wouldn't move. He was too afraid — afraid that if he rose, Mu Zhuoyun would demand that Mo Fan come and do it himself.

Mu Zhuoyun remained in his seat, unmoved.

Mo Fan looked at his father — a man who had once again made an enormous sacrifice for his sake. Then he looked at Mu Zhuoyun, who showed no intention of backing down.

"Dad," Mo Fan said, his eyes carrying equal measures of cold and fury, "don't offer the return gift so early. The duel isn't over yet."

"Return gift?" Mo Jiaxing had no idea what his son was saying.

Mu Zhuoyun didn't understand either.

*Return gift? So you're saying I, Mu Zhuoyun, also owe you a kowtow?*