The arena fell dead silent, save for the sound of falling dirt and heavy breathing.
They stood frozen in a terrifying tableau.
General Lin's halberd was a millimetre from Ji'an's heart, and Ji'an's cast-iron soup ladle was hovering a hair's breadth from her father's skull.
General Lin was panting, blood dripping from his chin from the internal backlash. Ji'an's chest was heaving, her eyes wide with the adrenaline of a near-death experience.
They looked at each other. They looked at the weapons hovering inches from their respective vital organs.
Slowly, deliberately, General Lin lowered his halberd, leaning heavily on the shaft as he caught his breath.
Ji'an exhaled a long, shuddering breath, lowering the soup ladle to her side.
"You... you pulled your strike," Ji'an panted, her voice trembling slightly, looking at the blood on his chin. "You hurt yourself to stop the blow! Dad, why would you do this?!"
