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

by Tao Wong

  “Wu Ying. Long family style,” the swordsman in front of him said, twirling the jian absently. “I have always wanted to test out your family’s style. It was once considered one of the five great styles of Shen. Too bad your family never amounted to much.”

  Wu Ying’s teeth ground together, the insult stabbing deep into his pride. While the progenitor of their style had been a great martial artist, it was true that few of his descendants had ever reached the same heights. Worse, because there were often large gaps between each notable ancestor, his family had slowly fallen further and further till they became nothing but farmers. Even then, they still kept the style, trained in it.

  “Red Lotus Sword Style,” Wu Ying said softly as he recalled the other’s introduction, idly waving his sword before he nodded. “Is that not for women?”

  “You hún dàn!” Incensed, the cultivator threw himself at Wu Ying.

  Not bothering to hide his smirk, Wu Ying moved, utilizing the footwork of the Long family style to deal with the sudden rush. Red Lotus Style was a strange style of swordsmanship, one that Wu Ying had heard of only due to their infamous founder. A rare lady scholar of Hakka descent, she had been known for her hot temper and her gift at martial arts. One lucky day, the lady had been enlightened and created the style on a field of white lotuses, dyed red with the blood of her enemies. Her style was reputed to be infected with her temperament, and all her stylists were known to be somewhat impetuous.

  Fast. Furious. Never-ending changes in direction with the sword twisting and circling constantly. The style was all about forward momentum and constant impetus, the attacks meant to cut and cut, forcing the opponent to bleed. Some had described the jian in the stylist’s hands as a paintbrush, with the paint the opponent’s blood.

  To combat that, Wu Ying used dragon steps that focused on quick, circling movements to ensure that his opponent would always be at his optimum attack range. Fast strikes at angles, short stabs directed not at the body but the arms. Wu Ying shifted and fought, the pair dancing around the encirclement at ever-increasing speed, the ting of their blades a symphony of metallic death.

  A hit, then another. But the problem was, Wu Ying was using a blunted weapon, and enraged as his opponent was, he was shrugging off blows that would have crippled him with a sharp. Wu Ying’s lips compressed as he spun away once again, a stinging blow landing across his shoulders as he did so. Dangerous to stay out there so long when his opponent showed no intent of slowing down.

  Then…

  Dragon stretches in the morning sent Wu Ying sliding into a low lunge, ducking beneath an attack to suddenly appear within the charging cultivator’s reach. Shen Kicking style, a quick wrist lock and upset, then a kick to throw over one’s hip. In a second, Wu Ying had the opponent’s free arm locked out, his foot wrapped around it, and stretched straight as he put pressure on the elbow and shoulder joint.

  “Yield,” Wu Ying commanded.

  “Never!”

  “Yield or I break your elbow and shoulder.”

  “I will see you eat dirt, you hun dan.”

  Wu Ying looked at the referee. At the referee’s slight nod, Wu Ying sighed and extended his leg fully even as he rotated his body. A loud crack ensued, along with a muffled pop that Wu Ying felt in his body as the opponent’s shoulder gave way. Grunting, Wu Ying stepped back and away from the waving sword and the injured cultivator.

  “The peasant injured him,” one of the other noblemen spoke up, pointing at Wu Ying. “He should be disqualified. The Outer Sect Elder told us to not injure one another.”

  “He did.” Wu Ying tensed before the referee pointed at the moaning cultivator being helped to his feet. “But his opponent was allowed the chance to give up and refused. As he had no other choice to end the fight, his actions are acceptable. Respect must flow both ways. If you refuse to give up when you have lost, you are not respecting your opponent. Do not expect them to respect you either.”

  There was a pregnant pause after the referee’s words.

  When no one contradicted or objected, the referee turned to Wu Ying and pointed Wu Ying back to his original group. “You may leave.”

  Wu Ying bowed to the referee and sheathed his sword before pushing through the crowd, enduring the cold shoulder the rest of the group gave him. Obviously having a commoner injure one of their kind, even if it was fair and right, was still not acceptable. As he limped back, he rubbed at the growing bruises on his body. Three out of four was good enough, was it not?

  ***

  “Why won’t you give up?” the other cultivator snarled, the paired shields on his arm blocking and striking Wu Ying in the chest once again.

  An explosion of blood and spit erupted from Wu Ying’s mouth, coating his opponent in viscera and revulsion as Wu Ying staggered back. Holding his injured chest with one hand, feeling the grate of broken bone as he breathed, Wu Ying took his guard again as he stared at his opponent. Good news—the shield rims were not sharpened. Bad news—dual-wielded shields were a pain to get through. It was the first time Wu Ying had ever fought such a combination, and the turtled defenses were a pain.

  “You’re good training,” Wu Ying replied.

  No need to hold back much. If he lost here, he might still be on the bubble. If he won, he was certain even Elder Mo could do nothing to him. After that… well, he would worry about after if he won. And unlike earlier, Wu Ying knew that he had a chance to win here. A small chance perhaps, but small was enough.

  “You!” Growling, the cultivator dashed forward, one shield forward and the other a little behind and angled to cover his body or lash out as needed.

  Once again, the pair clashed, Wu Ying doing his best to stay out of range while his opponent closed in. With two shields, feints and threats to the body were difficult to enforce, the range of exposed parts fleeting. With only a single sword, Wu Ying often found his attacks hampered by one shield while the second threatened him, forcing Wu Ying to constantly move. Except that within the confines of the fighting circle, Wu Ying could only run so far. Cornered again, Wu Ying dropped low.

  “Not this time,” the shield cultivator said, gloating as he dropped as well, having seen Wu Ying use this form before.

  Even as his opponent dropped, Wu Ying’s bunched legs exploded, throwing him up and over the suddenly shorter cultivator. A reflexive raising of the shield allowed Wu Ying to grab hold of one edge, giving the cultivator a pivot point in mid-air. Pain coursed through his body as his injured chest and shoulder muscles strained at the sudden shifts and twists. Yet the movement also pulled the shield stylist off balance and arched his back. As Wu Ying landed, he lashed out with his sword, hammering the blade’s edge into the exposed area of his opponent’s arm, numbing it. Another twist of the shield with his body pulled his opponent off balance again before he thrust through the exposed gap, the blow taking the fighter in the dantian.

  As the shield cultivator finally pried his shield free, Wu Ying rotated at full speed and threw a sidekick directly into the newly regained shield. The opponent, caught unprepared, was thrown backward as the shield slammed him into the center of the ring.

  “Got you,” Wu Ying said with a grin then clutched his chest as the pain finally caught up with him. He let out a stifled groan as he hurriedly pushed his chi through his chest region, healing and blocking off the frantic nerves.

  His opponent stood, his nose bloodied and one arm seriously bruised. “This is not over yet.”

  “Of course not,” Wu Ying said despairingly.

  Stubborn idiot. Raising his jian, Wu Ying walked forward. At least he had begun to understand the style before him. Now all he had to do was put his understanding to work.

  ***

  “Winner, Wu Ying!” the referee announced, looking at the pair of beaten, bloody, and bruised cultivators.

  Wu Ying gratefully collapsed, cradling his injured leg that was already swelling. That last kick with the already cracked shin bone had been painful but necessary. It was the only o
pening he had managed to create.

  “Should have known you’d punch my leg,” Wu Ying said as he slowly channeled more chi into his leg. The process helped alleviate some of the swelling and, just as importantly, helped him assess the full extent of the damage. Wu Ying reached into his robes, pulled forth the pill bottle, and swallowed one, circulating his chi through his stomach to speed up the absorption of the medicine.

  “I don’t believe you kicked me with that leg.” The shield cultivator sat up, talking to Wu Ying friendlily.

  As the last match, the scores had to be all tallied before the next stage was announced, so the little circle they had been fighting in was no longer required. All around, groups of cultivators were breaking apart, some despairingly and others with barely concealed hope.

  “Why wouldn’t I?” Wu Ying said. “I needed to win.”

  “Yeah, but you didn’t even hesitate. If you had…”

  “You’d have gotten your shield back into place and broken my knee,” Wu Ying said, recalling the last few moments of their fight. “That’s why I didn’t hesitate.”

  “For someone who gave up after a single pass, you’re nothing like what I thought you’d be,” his ex-opponent said, staring at Wu Ying with a puzzled expression.

  Around him, a few of his friends who had arrived with water were nodding in agreement. Wu Ying could not help but roll his eyes at how fast the gossip had traveled.

  “You do realize he was my second fight,” Wu Ying said as he slowly stood, testing his leg. Better to head over to the healing station where more pills, poultices, and acupuncture needles awaited. Perhaps they could speed up his healing further. “If I’d fought him like I did you, I would have been too injured to go on.”

  After Wu Ying’s explanation, a few of the cultivators continued to frown while others relaxed as the mystery was solved. Ignoring both groups, Wu Ying limped over to the healing station in search of a doctor. He continued to flush his chi through his body while absorbing the ambient chi in the surroundings. A slight frown crossed Wu Ying’s face as he felt how stifled the chi in the region was—probably from having so many cultivators doing the very same thing. Hopefully they would extend the rest period before they began the next stage.

  Four wins. That should be enough. Even Elder Mo could not have him kicked out of the sect now. Having achieved his first goal, Wu Ying realized that he was dissatisfied with the thought of achieving a “good enough” result. No. He had come this far. Maybe the chance of winning, of achieving a position within the inner sect was impossible—but he would try. He owed it to himself.

  ***

  “Thank you for your patience,” Elder Khoo said, sweeping his gaze over the participants.

  Wu Ying looked up as the Elder’s voice pierced the air, splitting his attention to listen as he continued to cultivate and heal.

  “The wins and comments have been tallied. Those of you who have been chosen to have an opportunity to win a spot in the Inner sect will be informed in person.

  “The next stage of the tournament begins now!”

  Chapter 23

  “Long Wu Ying?”

  “Yes?” Wu Ying said carefully, turning to the attendant. It was probably time to get off the field, though he wondered why they felt the need to tell him directly.

  “Please proceed to the front of the courtyard,” the attendant said, gesturing in the direction she wanted him to go. Wu Ying’s nodded, a part of him wondering why she looked so familiar. “Please, Junior.”

  “Yes. Of course,” Wu Ying said as he stood and winced as pain ran through him. Cracked shin bone, two broken ribs, torn and strained left arm muscles, and so many bruises he could not even count them. Not to mention the cuts he had gained earlier in his first fight.

  “Junior Long? Please change your weapon to a proper one,” the attendant added.

  When Wu Ying’s eyes widened at the change in rules to one that enforced sharps, the attendant only offered him a slight, pitying smile.

  “Yes, Senior.”

  “Good.” She turned away, searching for and finding her next victim. Before she left, she gave Wu Ying a quick smile. “Good luck, Junior Long.”

  That smile. Wu Ying realized that the lady attendant was one who had served him before, that first time Elder Mo had shown his displeasure. Shaking his head, Wu Ying walked toward the temporary weapons stands that had been placed around the courtyard and returned his training jian to it. He quickly moved past the various other weapons, finding the stand that displayed the loaner jians available. One after the other, Wu Ying tested weapons, hoping to find one of better quality. In the end, under the attendant’s disapproving gaze, Wu Ying gave up and picked a slimmer and slightly longer blade and went to join the other “chosen” ones.

  Wu Ying swept his gaze over the sparse group of individuals who had been brought forward, finding few whom he recognized. Most of the participants were scuffed and slightly dirty, a few even having their clothes torn or sporting bruises and bandages. Still, most had taken the time to clean themselves up, and a few had even changed into spotless robes. After his initial assessment, Wu Ying realized that not a single other participant looked as beaten as he did.

  Among those gathered, Wu Ying noted that Tou He was not present, but surprisingly, Yin Xue had advanced. Eyes narrowing, Wu Ying stretched out his senses, feeling for Yin Xue’s presence, only to be staggered by the result. Body Cleansing 10? How? Why? Head spinning, Wu Ying was caught staring at Yin Xue by the very person who sneered at Wu Ying.

  “Really? They even let a dog like you this far?” Yin Xue taunted.

  His words drew the attention of others to Wu Ying’s battered and bloody form, their gazes raking over his disheveled clothing before they assessed his cultivation. More than one sneered like Yin Xue. Between his clothing, his injuries, and the faint presence that he released, Wu Ying knew he was not an imposing sight, especially compared to the Energy Gathering cultivators among them.

  “Just like they let you in,” Wu Ying said.

  “I won four of my fights,” Yin Xue said with a snarl and touched his sword’s hilt. Drawn by the movement, Wu Ying blinked as he realized that Yin Xue had upgraded his weapon. “That’s right. My father passed the family sword to me.”

  As a villager, Wu Ying knew the stories. It was a fabled sword—at least in their village. Said to be sharp enough to cut a dropping silk scarf, light enough for a child to wield, and durable enough that it never chipped. Of course, a lot of those were from children’s stories, but it was without a doubt a very good weapon.

  “That’s… nice,” Wu Ying replied, trying hard to suppress the flare of jealousy and anger. Jealousy over the fine weapon used by an inconsiderate, privileged child, and anger that his own parents were unable to provide him such a gift. It was irrational, but then, emotions were.

  “Pray you do not meet me,” Yin Xue taunted once more.

  “I could say the same for you,” Wu Ying said then bit his tongue. Damn it. Why was he acting so juvenile?

  Shaking his head, Wu Ying turned away from Yin Xue. He ignored the mocking laugh behind him, lips pressed together as he waited for the next announcement. Before it could happen though, a commotion erupted from the sidelines as an attendant walked out of the crowd, pulling a reluctant Tou He by the ear.

  “Ow! Ow! Ow! Please stop. Please!” Tou He complained.

  When the female attendant finally made it most of the way into the courtyard, she tugged Tou He forward in front of her before launching him the rest of the way with a well-aimed push-kick. The monk flew forward, tucking himself into a perfect recovery roll to end up crouched and clutching his ear, still complaining.

  “Tou He?” Wu Ying said as he stared at his friend.

  “Hi!” Tou He waved, still rubbing his ear as he walked over.

  “What happened? How are you here?” Wu Ying was sure that Tou He had said he’d lost his other fight, so he must have lost two already. There was no way he should be part of this
group.

  “I got added.” Tou He made a face. When Wu Ying stared at him, the ex-monk dropped his voice as he said, “I think they realized I let myself lose the second fight.”

  “You…” Wu Ying clamped his mouth shut before he said anything further. Damn the monk. A slight burning rage appeared in Wu Ying’s chest once again as he contemplated the genius martial artist of a friend before him. If he wasn’t so immune to hard work…

  Silence descended over the group. Together, the pair turned toward the stairs where, instead of Elder Khoo, another Elder stood, his presence sending a chill through the courtyard. This Elder was one Wu Ying knew only from rumor—the Inner Hall Master, Elder Khoo’s equivalent. Of course, Elder Shin was of greater seniority than Elder Khoo, his position more secure. But the cold gaze he swept over the gathered hopeful outer sect members quieted even the bravest among them.

  When pin-drop silence finally held, Elder Shin spoke up. “Those of you standing here have some hope of becoming high-standing members of the sect, of learning stronger techniques, advancing your cultivation, and earning the right to the greater secrets of our sect. But the opportunity to do so is much in demand. This year, we only have eight spaces available.”

  The Elder’s words shocked the group, the open slots being lower than normal. Wu Ying looked around the now-tense group, doing a quick count. Just over twenty hopeful applicants and most of them stronger than him.

  “To make this simple, there are seven who did not lose a single battle. Step forward,” Elder Shin commanded.

  From the group, the seven swaggered forward, looking at the others with a smirk.

  Then Elder Shin looked over the group, his gaze falling on Wu Ying, a slight smirk crossing his face. “And you, Wu Ying, can be the eighth.”