A Thousand Li Books 1-3: An Omnibus Collection for a Xianxia Cultivation Series (A Thousand Li Omnibus)

by Tao Wong

  “Oh, that’s because the Elders have been betting on the result,” Tou He said.

  Wu Ying blinked, not having heard that. Then again, Tou He had made more friends than Wu Ying, since he had neither directly annoyed an Elder nor left for a month and a half like Wu Ying. In truth, an ex-monk might be considered below a noble, but he was still better than a farmer.

  “Hey, how come you’re here? I thought you were looking to take it easy,” Wu Ying said, recalling Tou He’s professed goals.

  Tou He chuckled ruefully and scratched his head. “Well, it seems the Elder who sponsored me heard about my plans and was quite irate. He threatened me with expulsion if I did not take part and do well in the tournament.”

  Wu Ying took another bite from the bun to hide a smile. Served him right. The damn ex-monk was entirely too gifted and content. Even now, among all those who looked worried, excited, and nervous, the ex-monk sat, serenely eating a steamed bun. Only someone so carefree could think of something like food at a time like this.

  A loud crack brought the pair’s attention to the wrestling match. Somehow, somewhere, the deadlock had been broken. So had an arm. Groaning, the loser cradled his arm while the winner helped him up, clapping his ex-opponent on the shoulder while grinning.

  “Good. Now we can begin,” Elder Khoo’s voice rang out, drawing the group’s attention to him.

  At the Elder’s gesture, a stream of inner sect members appeared, moving down the stairs. In a few minutes, the inner sect members had split the tournament contestants into five mostly even groups. Along with Tou He, there were twenty-one other individuals in Wu Ying’s group, with just above a third who looked like peasants. In truth, Wu Ying knew he was guessing—with everyone in sect robes, it was hard to tell, beyond a certain difference in bearing, the darkness of their skin, and the weapons they held. Commoners like him often wielded spears, if they wielded any weapon at all. After all, every family had at least one, if not more, spear at home.

  “Each of you will pair up within your groups. After the first match, you will be matched with those of equal wins in the other groups, allowing us to better assess your prowess,” Elder Khoo said, sweeping his gaze over the sect members. “While we admire those who are willing to strive for greatness, one must also be aware of their limits. Those of you who fail to do well face a much higher chance of being banished from the sect.

  “May the heavens smile on you.”

  ***

  Of course, the matches did not start immediately. Firstly, they had to make enough space for the chosen pair to fight. Thankfully, the inner sect members in charge of the matter were efficient, and opponents were quickly paired up. Wu Ying found himself part of the circle around the chosen fighters, watching with avid interest as he assessed his potential opponents.

  After four fights, Wu Ying had a clear understanding of the significant difference in skill shown among the remainder members. Through luck or stubbornness, a portion of those who stood in the courtyard were from the bottom ten percent, and it showed in their martial styles. Few lasted more than a few blows against the upper ten percent, those who had stayed in hopes of showcasing their talent to the Inner Sect Elder.

  “Wu Ying. Yin Tse.”

  Wu Ying shook his head free from his thoughts and walked into the middle of the ring, turning his head to look at his opponent. He frowned a bit, noting the slight female before him who wielded a heavy, three-ringed dao[29].

  Clasping his hands, Wu Ying bowed to Yin Tse, who followed suit. At the attendant’s signal, the pair readied themselves. The small girl took a modified back-weighted stance with the sabre held overhead threateningly. Wu Ying cocked his head to the side as he drew his own sword, tempted to drag out the fight, as that particular pose was tiring on one’s arms. Then again, she seemed to be at least Body Cleansing 9, maybe even 10. That would give the slim lady much greater strength than what was directly apparent.

  All the while, Wu Ying was circling the dao-wielder, staying just outside of her range. Other than slight shifts in her position to keep Wu Ying lined up, the young lady seemed content to wait.

  “Boring!”

  “No stalling. We have a lot of fights to get through today. If you two do not begin being active, I will rule this a loss on both your sides,” the referee snapped, growing tired of the two.

  “Damn it,” Wu Ying cursed.

  Wu Ying’s momentary distraction provided the female cultivator an opening, which she took by exploding forward. Her sword stayed still until the last moment before it swirled, cutting down so fast that it left sword mirages in Wu Ying’s eyes. The technique of sword mirages was derived not only from the movement speed of the sword but also the angles, with each cut in a pre-determined order to create a false impression of a net of unbreakable attacks. Eyes wide, Wu Ying could only hold up his sword and launch a series of blocks in an attempt to avoid being struck.

  The clash of jian and dao, of sword and sabre rang through the courtyard in a rising crescendo. By the third strike, Wu Ying’s hand was trembling, the shock of blocking the heavy weapon passing through to his hand. The fourth strike sneaked past Wu Ying’s desperate defense, leaving a shallow wound on his arm. The fifth, blocked, the sixth missed. On and on, the young cultivator’s attacks built up, growing stronger with every moment. Of particular concern was that, unlike him, his opponent had chosen not to use a blunted weapon, instead relying on her technique to ensure she did not kill.

  Realizing the peril he was in, Wu Ying threw himself forward into the attack. It was not a risk he would have taken before his recent adventures, but now, he understood—there was no holding back within a fight. It was either win or die. In the center of the storm, blood flowed, but Wu Ying entered within the range of her attacks even as he covered his vitals. As suddenly as the storm of sabres had erupted, it ended.

  For a moment, the entire group stared at the tableau before them. In one hand, Wu Ying held the cultivator’s arm, stopping her sabre from moving. The other pressed his jian against her lower body, ready to disembowel her.

  “Winner—Wu Ying,” the referee intoned flatly.

  Seeing the cultivator relax, Wu Ying let go of her hand and stepped backward, exiting her reach before he returned her bow.

  “Thank you for your guidance,” the pair recited the ritual words before they moved aside, allowing another pair to take part.

  “You scared me on that one,” Tou He said as he pulled bandages from his waist pouch. “Are you going to be able to continue?”

  “Yes. It’s just surface wounds mostly,” Wu Ying said. Mostly. One cut along his side had gotten deep enough to tear up some muscles.

  Breathing slowly, Wu Ying circulated his chi to speed up the healing process and stem the bleeding while he watched the other fights. A healing pill went into his mouth too, as he worked to reduce the damage. After his experience fighting the sabre-wielder, Wu Ying could only be certain of one thing—winning wouldn’t be easy.

  ***

  “Wu Ying, go to group three.”

  Standing, Wu Ying nodded to the referee before he took off for his assigned group. There, he had the chance to watch another two battles. In particular, the second battle was an eye-opener.

  The combatants were a jian-wielder and axe-wielder, both of them in the Energy Gathering stage. As they fought, they flashed from one corner of the ring to another, each attack so sharp and crisp that it raised a wind. Yet for all their speed, Wu Ying was surprised when, seemingly by an unspoken command, the pair began to truly fight.

  First came soaring pressure as the pair released the locks around their dantians. Their opened Energy Meridians thrummed with power as the pair pushed the newly released chi into the meridians, giving themselves greater strength and speed. The increased pressure was, of course, a side-effect of the increased flow of chi. Part of Wu Ying was somewhat amused, seeing the sudden increase in pressure not so much as an intimidation tactic but a failure in cultivation. But…

  Next
came the dome. The referee, seeing the upcoming fight, raised her hands, forming a clear dome between the spectators and the fighters. Not a moment too soon, for the pair threw themselves at each other, blades of compressed chi erupting from the ends of their bladed weapons as they fought, torn apart only by the strikes of their opposition. Yet for all the fury of the fight, it did not last long. The pair exhausted their chi stores within seconds, leaving one cultivator to stare at the axe blade hovering over his face.

  As the pair staggered off to rest and gather more chi and the cultivators digested the fight, Wu Ying was called into the now-empty circle. This time, Wu Ying’s opponent was a ji-wielder. The ji was a common polearm weapon that had a spear tip and an axe blade at its end. Like the spear, it was a popular weapon for commoners—mostly because it was also a common weapon in the army. In fact, entire regiments were made up of ji-wielders as an effective counter to heavily armed and armored swordsmen or the occasional particularly stubborn spear regiment.

  “Ready?”

  The pair gave a nod to the referee, having already paid their respects to their opponent. Wu Ying stepped back, giving himself more room, rather than hang just outside the longer weapon’s reach as he assessed his opponent.

  Probably a military brat, part-scholar, part-soldier. Broad shoulders that wielded the weapon as though he was born to it. Another who had gained Sense of the weapon. Strong, fast, perceptive, with a subdued killing intent. This was someone who had done more than fight in the sparring ring. Face tight, Wu Ying darted in with his sword held upward, ready to block.

  The ji stabbed out quickly, only to be deflected by the dragon’s greeting to the rising sun. As Wu Ying took another step in, his opponent drew the blade back toward his body, twisting the ji around and swinging the axe head. A cross-body block—covering the clouds with the tail—protected Wu Ying from the attack, but sent him skittering backward as he absorbed the shock.

  In seconds, Wu Ying was back on the outskirts of his opponent’s range. A clash of ji and jian occurred as his opponent pushed his advantage, the weapon darting forward like a swallow. Wu Ying’s breathing quickened, his wrist twisting and curling continuously as he fought to regain the battle’s momentum.

  “Now.” Wu Ying darted down using the cat stretching in the morning, letting the blade skim right above his head. He recovered using dragon steps, attempting to close the distance, but was smashed aside by the haft of the ji, sent sprawling to the ground.

  As Wu Ying rolled back up, the ji-wielder recovered from his own hasty retreat and defense.

  Long reach. Better cultivation. Sense of the ji and refined killing intent. Wu Ying stared at his opponent, mentally judging his options before he sighed.

  “I concede.”

  Silence spread the moment everyone realized what Wu Ying had said. His opponent’s hand slackened slightly, even more so when Wu Ying sheathed his sword and turned to the referee.

  “That’s allowed, yes?” Wu Ying said.

  “Yes. It’s highly unusual,” the referee said, turning her head back to the opponent. “But it’s acceptable. Are you sure?”

  “I already said it, haven’t I?” Wu Ying said.

  “Then I declare this fight over. Please return to your original group for details of your next fight.”

  Wu Ying bowed to the referee, ignoring the derisive comments that had erupted when everyone realized he was serious. As he walked away, Wu Ying rotated his neck to loosen tight muscles. One win, one loss. Not good, but it could be worse.

  “Hey.”

  “Yes?” Wu Ying turned, seeing his former opponent trotting over to him.

  “Why did you do that?”

  “Because I was going to lose anyway. You had better reach, as good—if not better—form than me. And better cultivation.”

  “There is no guarantee in combat. In a fight, anyone can win!” His opponent snapped the words, clutching his weapon tightly. “One should never give up in combat!”

  “But this wasn’t a fight, was it?” Wu Ying said, fixing his gaze on his opponent. “This was just a sparring match. And after this, we have three more battles. If I fought you all-out, win or lose, I’d be even more injured. I can’t always sacrifice my body for a point or else I’ll lose completely. In a real fight, you must risk it all to win, but this isn’t a real fight. I had little chance of winning, so I’d rather give up and save my strength for the next match.”

  His opponent fell silent, staring at Wu Ying, gauging his words and weighing the look in his eyes. After a moment, he grinned. “You have seen real battles, haven’t you?”

  Wu Ying nodded dumbly while the man turned and waved goodbye.

  “Fight well. Do not let yourself leave the sect, for we need those whose swords have tasted blood!”

  “Sure…” Wu Ying said doubtfully, shaking his head as he walked off.

  Army brats were truly strange sometimes. But it was better for them to be friends than enemies.

  ***

  On his way back, Wu Ying realized he was done earlier than normal. As he craned his head around, he spotted Tou He walking into the ring, staff held over his shoulder. The ex-monk was smiling at his dual-wielding sabre opponent, saying something Wu Ying could not catch. Rather than miss the fight, Wu Ying moved toward that group, curiosity aroused.

  After the attendant called for the fight to begin, Tou He’s opponent charged forward. The ex-monk swung his staff in defense, using both ends of the weapon to occupy his opponent’s weapons. The ex-monk rarely shifted his feet, only occasionally moving to a better position as he fought. Wu Ying knew, from previous experience, that that was a hallmark of Tou He’s style—the Mountain Resides. An immovable defense that required little footwork changes, but extremely flexible hands and arms as the staff swirled in defense all around him. No surprise that Tou He had reached the Sense of the staff. In fact, Wu Ying believed that Tou He might already be on the precipice of reaching the Heart.

  But just as impressive was the way his opponent moved. To have achieved the Sense with not just one hand but both hands, and to be able to wield both weapons with equal familiarity, was stunning.

  In moments, the battle between the pair of outer sect members had drawn the attention of everyone nearby. A quick look around showed Wu Ying that even the Elders were pointing and watching the fight as the pair continued to fight at a stalemate. Again and again, the dual-wielding cultivator threw himself at Tou He, only for his attacks to bounce off the staff, and eventually, his momentum was robbed of all strength. At that point, he jumped back, barely avoiding a return strike.

  “Go, Tou He!” Wu Ying cheered softly.

  But something nagged him. Well, beyond the placid way Tou He took the entire thing, barely bothering to do more than counter once in a while. It took Wu Ying one more pass before he realized what it was.

  Tou He’s staff had begun to chip and scar. Even when Tou He was blocking by pushing away the incoming edges, it was insufficient to entirely rob the attacks of their momentum and edge. Each block weakened his staff. As the sword-wielding cultivator rushed in once again, the staff finally gave way, shattering in the middle. Tou He swayed aside, dodging the adjusted blow, and hopped backward, staring at the two pieces of his staff with pursed lips.

  “Give up,” his opponent said, raising his swords as he waited for Tou He’s confirmation of his defeat.

  “If you dare, I’ll have you kicked out myself!” a loud voice cut through the square before Tou He could speak.

  All eyes were drawn to an older woman, hunched over and leaning against her walking stick as she glared at Tou He.

  “Yes, Elder,” Tou He said, bowing slightly to her.

  His movement took his immediate gaze off his opponent, who jumped forward to finish the attack. Almost contemptuously, Tou He raised one piece of his broken staff to block the attack, swirling the blade around and locking it with his elbow and stick before he shoved forward, trapping his opponent.

  Spinning around his
opponent, Tou He pulled his opponent off balance while dodging a missed cut. Then, with his body nearly parallel to his opponent, Tou He smacked his opponent across the temple with the other piece of his staff. Soundlessly, his opponent fell to the ground, the precisely placed attack dropping him.

  “Winner, Tou He!”

  Wu Ying sighed, shaking his head as Tou He looked embarrassed at his sudden win. After all this time, Wu Ying knew that letting Tou He have the time to grasp your timing and tactics was a bad idea. The damn prodigy just built up a mental library of your attacks then used it against you.

  ***

  “Are you sure you don’t want to give up?” Wu Ying asked as he batted aside the spear thrust with ease.

  When his opponent stabbed forward again, Wu Ying grabbed the body of the spear, holding it still. As hard as the other cultivator strained, he wasn’t able to remove it from Wu Ying’s grip.

  “No! I won’t… fail!” Straining, the cultivator kept on yanking on the spear.

  “You’ve barely even improved your cultivation in the time we’ve been here,” Wu Ying said then twisted his body, rotating from his hip as he pulled his opponent toward him before slamming the hilt of his sword into the cultivator’s face. The blow—tightly controlled—sent his opponent staggering back, holding his broken nose. “You haven’t even learned to use your hips. What the hell were you thinking?”

  The foppish cultivator moaned, holding his nose. When Wu Ying looked at the referee, she looked between the pair before she nodded.

  “Wu Ying is the winner!”

  “Thank you,” Wu Ying said before tossing down the spear and walking away.

  Yeesh. And that man had managed to win a single fight. Who was poor enough to lose to him?

  ***

  His next opponent was a fellow jian-user. Wu Ying exhaled as he drew his weapon and fell into his stance. This should be interesting. With one loss and two wins, the individual in front of him was overall considered better than average. Certainly not a complete loser. After so many fights, those who had won more than one would normally be better than normal. Though none were as stellar as those few who had only victories.