by Tao Wong
“I’ll take him. You watch our back,” Zhong Shei said, the usual light-hearted merchant’s son gone. The lieutenant who had stopped Wu Ying at the gate had returned, all stern-faced and serious. “Wish I’d brought my armor…”
“Don’t we all,” Wu Ying muttered. Damn his curiosity. Damn Zhong Shei for slowing him down. All he’d wanted to do was confirm matters before he reported it. “Stay alive.”
Ji Ang and his men didn’t seem content to talk or posture much either, already dashing forward to meet the pair from both directions. Only Ji Ang held back, content to let his men deal with them first.
Wu Ying had no more time to glance back as the first bandit arrived, holding a shortened sabre overhand. Reacting on instinct, Wu Ying threw a stop-lunge, catching his opponent in the throat. Immediately, Wu Ying recovered and the bandit fell, gurgling and clawing at his wound. As the pair behind the bandit stumbled around their fallen friend, Wu Ying pressed his sudden advantage, landing a few light, cutting blows.
Only when the pair had retreated out of his range, over the top of their dying friend, did Wu Ying have a moment to think. In the momentary stillness, Wu Ying realized what had happened—his day of intense fighting with Duan Rang had seen his battle sense grow sharper, his sense of openings firmer. Since the only chances he’d ever had of landing a blow on Duan Rang had been fleeting moments, the resolution in his attacks had grown sharper.
The grunting and clash of blades behind Wu Ying reminded the cultivator that a more desperate battle was going on behind him. Ji Ang was a cultivation level above Zhong Shei, so the fight behind him would be significantly more dangerous. Considering the bandits before him had stopped moving, Wu Ying decided it was time to finish this.
Dragon steps was the basic movement technique in Wu Ying’s sword fighting style. It taught the stylist how to cover ground explosively with no windup or tell-tale movement. In a flash, Wu Ying bounced forward, appearing before one of the bandits even as he executed the Sword’s Truth. The straight lunge sought the bandit’s heart, and only a last-minute twist allowed the bandit to escape the immediately lethal attack. Instead, the blade tore through the bandit’s ribcage, puncturing a lung and tearing out of the bandit’s chest. For a moment, Wu Ying’s blade was stuck. The other bandit took full advantage of the opportunity.
Crane stretching in the water saw Wu Ying drop and weave, dodging the cut before he threw a rising knee, catching the inside of the remaining bandit’s thigh. The strike buckled the bandit’s body before Wu Ying continued the twist and rise, striking with his elbow as his leg landed. The bandit staggered backward and was finished off by a simple cut to the throat.
Moving away from the corpses—or soon-to-be corpses—Wu Ying approached the fight between Zhong Shei and Ji Ang. Zhong Shei had already maimed one and killed another bandit, but was now hard-pressed as Ji Ang joined the fight with the remaining bandit. Anger radiated from the bandit leader at the loss of his men. A hard strike caught Zhong Shei’s jian, sending the guard to his knees, where the other bandit’s sword stabbed into his shoulder.
“You damned cultivators. I’ll kill you all!” Ji Ang growled as he raised his weapon over his head.
“No, you won’t,” Wu Ying said as he blocked the fatal blow.
Shoving with his body, he pushed Zhong Shei back, using his scabbard to strike the other bandit across the face peremptorily as the pair tumbled away from the bandits. Hopefully Zhong Shei would have enough time to recover.
“I should have killed you when I had the chance,” Ji Ang said as the pair fought, their blades flashing down the shaded alley.
Feet pounding, Ji Ang finally caught a break as Wu Ying’s initial momentum faltered, sending back a riposte that had Wu Ying retreating for defense. Silently, the pair observed one another over the tips of their weapons.
“You’ve gotten better,” Ji Ang complimented.
“You’re still as bloodthirsty as ever,” Wu Ying replied, his eyes narrow.
It was, in its own way, a compliment. Ji Ang’s killing intent, the focus that he brought to the fight, was amazing. The subtle pressure of an opponent who had taken lives, one after the other, was like nothing that Wu Ying had ever faced—except once, briefly. If not for that final strike by Yuan Rang, Wu Ying might have found himself seriously unnerved. But having faced death again and again, Wu Ying was no longer the novice he had been. Now the likelihood of death was less worrisome.
Introductions complete, the pair clashed once more. Quickly enough, Wu Ying realized that like him, Ji Ang maneuvered his sword with grace and understanding. Not too surprising that the older bandit had achieved the Sense of the Sword. In fact, it seemed as though he was on the cusp of finding the Heart. But thin line or not, the line still stood.
Dragon turns in slumber. Greeting the rising run. Blades flashing, the pair exchanged blows over and over. Sparks flew from the swords, such was the force of their clashes. Each blow rang through the narrow alleyway, which intensified the noise until it seemed as if an entire band was there. A momentary slip, a twist, and Wu Ying fell back, his left arm bleeding from a shallow wound. On the opposite side, a light cut marred Ji Ang’s cheek.
“Wu Ying! I’m here,” Zhong Shei said as he came forward, having dealt with the last opponent. He leaned against the wall slightly, one arm hanging uselessly by his side as his shoulder bled. “Let us finish this monster.”
“You two…” Ji Ang’s lips curled. “One a new cultivator. The other a spoiled, injured brat. Do you think you can beat me?”
“Yes.”
“Justice will prevail!” The silence after Zhong Shei’s pronouncement made the guard look between the pair, who stared at him incredulously. “What?”
“What are you? Six?” Wu Ying said.
“Even my son doesn’t say things like that,” Ji Ang added.
“Well, your son wouldn’t,” Zhong Shei said.
“How dare you. My wife brings him up to be an upstanding citizen. He’ll be a scholar one day!” Ji Ang growled.
Wu Ying stood there, dumbfounded, as his sheltered world was broken open once again. Ji Ang raised his sword and charged the pair while Wu Ying was still getting his head around the idea of the bandit having a wife and scholar of a son. Caught by surprise, Wu Ying threw a hasty block and was saved only by Zhong Shei’s quick aid. Ji Ang cursed, jumping back to dodge Zhong Shei’s attack, and blocked the next cut contemptuously. The three stood at a standstill, breathing slowly as they eyed the other party for the next attack.
“Naïve.” Ji Ang eyed Zhong Shei and Wu Ying before his smile widened. “I’ll show you how far a distance there is between us though. Watch my Formless Blade!”
Immediately, Ji Ang executed his attack. Eyes thinning in concentration, Wu Ying focused as the bandit’s blade swirled. In moments, the single blade became a dozen, each seeming to flicker and disappear in the shadows of the alleyway. Cursing, Wu Ying and Zhong Shei wove their swords in their respective defensive patterns in an attempt to deflect the real blade among the illusory ones.
Again and again, the clang of blades resounded through the alleyway. Both of the cultivators were forced backward as the bandit pushed them, blood blooming around their bodies as attacks slipped past their guard. Thankfully, the defense patterns kept their vitals safeguarded, forcing Ji Ang to bleed them slowly.
“Bodies!” Wu Ying called as memory tickled his mind. He hopped backward with a powerful thrust of his legs, jumping over the bodies that lay on the ground from their earlier fights.
Zhong Shei landed beside him a second later, the pair raising their swords as Ji Ang carefully moved around the corpses. Given a break, the pair breathed deeply, feeling the sting of cuts across their body.
“Can’t win if we defend,” Zhong Shei said weakly.
Glancing at his friend, Wu Ying was startled to notice how pale Zhong Shei had grown as he continued to lose blood. The wound in his shoulder was deep and dripped a steady stream down his hand.
“Can you hold?”
Wu Ying asked worriedly.
Ji Ang sneered at the pair as he tested their defenses, but the quick probes of his sword were sent back with light blocks. Wu Ying could tell that the man was still testing the pair, waiting for Zhong Shei to bleed out.
“Not much. Follow me,” Zhong Shei replied.
Suiting actions to words, the guard surged forward, batting aside Ji Ang’s weapon. Yet the attacks were so weak that the bandit’s lips curled up even further as he focused his attention mainly on Wu Ying and his attacks. It would be a fatal mistake.
Twisting with the next block, Zhong Shei used the momentum to pull up his injured arm, forcing himself to move it through the pain. Blood, collected in a loose cupped hand as it dripped down his arm, was tossed at Ji Ang’s face. The brief blindness distracted the bandit, and he stumbled back. Right into the bodies of his comrades. For a moment, Ji Ang’s hands opened as he unconsciously attempted to regain his balance.
A moment was sufficient for Wu Ying to execute the Sword’s Truth. The singular attack of the Long family style was a powerful lunge that threw everything into a single attack. Yet this one had been modified slightly by Wu Ying, a result of Yuan Rang’s attack. The attack became even sharper and more explosive. In that moment of vulnerability, Wu Ying’s jian punched through Ji Ang’s chest, through his heart, and out the back, all the way to Wu Ying’s hilt.
Surprised by the effectiveness, Wu Ying stood stock-still, eye to eye with his opponent. Ji Ang stared at Wu Ying in surprise as blood dripped down his face, giving him a crazed look. His sword clattered to the ground and his now-free hand moved to grab Wu Ying, who contemptuously pushed the hand away. A second later, the light dimmed from Ji Ang’s eyes and he collapsed, sliding off the sword.
It was only then that the clamor of guards outside the alley could be heard. Wu Ying groaned, looking backward and forward around the alleyway before rifling Ji Ang’s body. He took the bandit leader’s coin purse and scooped up the scabbard and Ji Ang’s sword. He quickly sheathed the sword before thrusting the weapon at Zhong Shei.
“What…?”
“Put it in your storage ring,” Wu Ying snapped. Even as he said that, he was emptying the coin purse into his own before tossing the empty, bloody purse aside. He then slid his purse back into his robes before bending to clean his weapon.
It was crouched, bleeding, and wounded, cleaning his sword on the corpses of his enemies, that the guards found him.
“We’re not going to make it to the boat, are we?” Wu Ying muttered even as Zhong Shei swayed, bloody and fumbling for a healing pill while speaking with the guards.
The only good thing was that Zhong Shei had taken his advice and hidden the bandit leader’s sword in his storage ring before the guards arrived. Wu Ying hid his smile while he sheathed his blade and waited quietly, his sect seal held out for all to see. Not as though any of the weapons or coin purses on the corpses were ever likely to make their way to him if he had waited.
Chapter 18
As Wu Ying had expected, the fight between themselves and the bandits had resulted in quite a bit of chaos. If not for his liberal usage of his sect seal and Zhong Shei’s ruthless use of his own standing as the son of a prosperous and well-known merchant and the favored nephew of an even more famous and rich wine maker, along with his position as a lieutenant of a neighboring city, the mess would have been even worse.
As it stood, the pair were frog-marched to the nearest guard post, where a doctor treated their wounds before they were subjected to questioning separately. For the most part, Wu Ying told the truth, only omitting details about the famous bandit’s sword and coin purse when asked. After a vigorous two hours of questioning, the pair were finally released back to a holding room, where they found their belongings from the ship. Thankfully, the precious jars of wine were untouched—the shield of wealth, position, and martial prowess keeping the pair’s belongings safe, even in their absence.
“They asked about the sword. And his coin purse,” Zhong Shei said to Wu Ying, who was storing his clothing and other belongings once again.
“I’m sure they did.” Wu Ying glanced around slightly, curious where the listeners were.
Zhong Shei followed Wu Ying’s eyes and tilted his head toward a small hole that could barely be seen in the mud wall. “I did ask them about the bounties and the rest of the bandits’ belongings, but I never got an answer.”
“Oh? I’m sure they’ll get around to getting the bounty. Don’t they have to report it to the appropriate authority first?” Wu Ying said. Not as if he had any clue how bounties actually worked.
“Yes. I’m sure they will.” Zhong Shei’s voice took on a tone of mock sadness. “I have a feeling that the bandits probably spent all their coin though. I doubt they had a tael between them all. Probably why Ji Ang had nothing either.”
“Really?” When he met the nobleman’s son’s knowing gaze, he sighed and added, a little louder and more theatrically than needed, “Yes, I’m sure you’re right.”
Zhong Shei covered his mouth, stifling a snort of laughter. After a time, he continued, his voice straining to keep serious. “And I bet the weapons we found aren’t very good quality. Really, what are we going to do with a bunch of rusty swords? It would be better if they just took them and gave us the value for them, rather than make us carry that trash around.”
“Trash. Right,” Wu Ying said, trying not to wince too much.
He knew what Zhong Shei was doing now. Bribes were a fact of life, and by refusing the true value of the weapons, they’d grease the wheels for their exit. Still, he hated the idea of giving up all that money. But Wu Ying was also clear how precarious their position was. While rumors would have spread by now about the pair of cultivators who had fought and killed the infamous Ji Ang, the pair might still “disappear” or “succumb to their injuries” before they were released, allowing the guards to take their goods and the bandits. It was not as though either of them had their powerful patrons present. Better to give a little and appease the guards’ greed than be too greedy themselves and disappear.
“That’s good. I’m going to cultivate now. Let me know when dinner is here,” Zhong Shei finally said, closing his eyes and taking the lotus position.
Wu Ying watched him sit down and, to his surprise, actually cultivate. After a moment, Wu Ying shook his head. Why was he surprised? The man was injured. Cultivating would allow him to speed up his healing.
And perhaps being in the best shape possible was important. After all, they had yet to meet or deal with the bandit’s backers. Though Wu Ying would be surprised if they made their move. While they might be unhappy that their cash cow had disappeared, acting against the pair wouldn’t change that fact. But corrupt officials were not necessarily known for their humble nature and logical reasoning.
After a moment, Wu Ying set a chair in the middle of the doorway before moving over to a corner of the room to cultivate. All he could do was get ready and wait.
***
“Told you it would be fine,” Zhong Shei said with a smirk the next morning as they walked out of the guard station.
Their promised bounties would make their way to Zhong Shei’s residence, where half would, eventually, be transferred to Wu Ying—once everything had been confirmed. After their battle, Wu Ying found himself trusting the guard. A man who would shout “Justice will prevail” unabashedly in a fight would be unlikely to stoop to stealing his reward.
And if he did… well, Wu Ying shrugged. That money had only been earned because Zhong Shei had dragged him down that alleyway. By himself, Wu Ying would have turned around and enjoyed a nice, quiet lunch once he had confirmed his initial suspicion.
“You did no such thing,” Wu Ying said as he squinted in the mid-day light. “Now, how are we going to head downriver?”
“Leave that to me!” a chubby merchant cried. Walking forward, he grabbed and shook their hands enthusiastically. “Tang Kei Chan. I am a friend of your father, Zhong Shei, and I would be
happy to host you on my boat.”
“I—” Wu Ying started to stall the man.
“For free,” Kei Chan said as he looked at Wu Ying. “It’s the least I can do for the heroes who took down Ji Ang. The bastard already burned one of my ships and slaughtered the crew on another.”
“Ships…” Wu Ying fell silent while Zhong Shei stepped forward and bowed to Kei Chan.
“Oh, I remember now! It’s Uncle Tang. You always brought those red sweets with you when you visited Father during New Year,” Zhong Shei said, smiling. “We would be in your debt.”
“No, no, no, we are in your debt. Come. I have prepared a feast first. Many want to thank the heroes of the hour. And then we will take you down,” Kei Chan said as he brought the pair to the waiting rickshaw.
Once again, the pair glanced at one another before they climbed in, giving in to the inevitable. It would be a huge loss of face for Kei Chan if they turned him down, especially as he seemed to have organized all this on his own. And while Wu Ying was willing to do that to an enemy, doing that to someone Zhong Shei knew and had good relations with was just wrong.
***
Hour later, Wu Ying stood on the prow of the boat as it pulled out from the port. It had only taken them all of the morning—including multiple drinks and dishes—before the pair could extricate themselves from the banquet thrown in their honor. Wu Ying absently touched his hand, looking at the biggest surprise of the day—a jade band that hid its true worth behind its simplicity. His first storage ring. The ring could only store about a small chest’s worth of items, but it was still a priceless artifact. Or well, not priceless. Just very expensive.
Once more, Wu Ying cast his mind into the storage ring. It took a little effort, a little chi, but as he had spilt his blood onto it and sealed the ring to himself, the ring woke to his request. A constellation of items appeared within his mind, little blobs of energy and matter that Wu Ying intuitively knew to be the items he had stored. He even knew, via that same rough guide, how much more he could store. And what he could not—chief among them, living creatures of any kind.
