Deep at the mouth where the Yangtze River flows into the sea, the Flood Dragon Palace gently swayed.

"Ah... out of all people to provoke, you chose someone capable of composing imperial poems. And the little princess, who has read countless poems, happens to adore his the most. Had you won, that'd be the end of it. But since you lost, what a pity, such a pity..."

Above the Yangtze River, the Flood Dragon King of Qingjiang opened its draconic mouth, its eyes glaring wide. With a slight release of its grip, the sacred horn of the Flood Dragon fell. But with a swift move, its claw caught the horn.

"An imperial poem... there's an ominous feeling about it! He's only written half of it. I still have a chance!"