by Tao Wong
Wu Ying twitched, the malice clear in Elder Shin’s intention. But still, the cultivator had no choice. He walked forward, joining the group, and tried not to listen to the muttered comments around him.
“Him? Why him?”
“He has no sense of propriety. He didn’t even clean himself!”
“Don’t you know? Elder Mo’s group wants him gone.”
“Is he that cultivator? A disgrace.”
Wu Ying’s lips tightened as he stood with his back to the group, staring at Elder Shin, who made no move to silence the talk. When the other Elders moved slightly, growing restless at the delay, only then did Elder Shin continue.
“The eight individuals standing here have earned a place in the inner sect,” Elder Shin said. When the collective intake from the competitors and audience had subsided, he continued with barely concealed malicious glee. “But any of the other competitors may challenge any of the eight to a battle.”
Immediately, all the remaining contestants focused on Wu Ying, their gazes boring into the injured and bedraggled cultivator.
“The winner will, of course, have gained the loser’s place. Understand that you will only have one opportunity to win your fight. Choose your opponent well.”
Wu Ying drew a deep breath, Elder Shin’s words weighing him down further, the pressure almost making his knees buckle. But a memory came of a blade flying at his chest, and Wu Ying found himself straightening, meeting the expectant gazes around him with a half-smile. Could any of them be more dangerous than what he had faced? He had already escaped death twice. And this—this was just a spar.
“Elder Shin.” A voice, one that Wu Ying recognized. His eyes tracked over, surprised to see Elder Ko of the library speaking up. “This test seems to be potentially flawed.”
“Elder Ko,” Elder Shin said, dissatisfaction tingeing his voice. Still, he stared at the other Elder before he inclined his head. “To clarify. No cultivator may be challenged more than twice.”
Elder Ko stepped back, retreating into the throng. Wu Ying stared at the group one last time before he turned back to Elder Shin, who detailed further rules, minor clarifications about the upcoming battle. In the time given, he circulated his chi and waited. Two fights. And then he would win.
At least, Wu Ying consoled himself, those he fought would be like him—one-time losers. Not the towering geniuses who stood beside him. So. He had a chance. Maybe.
***
“Of course it’s you,” Wu Ying said when the speeches were finally done and he turned around. If he had been a betting man, Wu Ying could have won some serious coin. Well, if anyone was willing to take his money.
Across from Wu Ying, Yin Xue smirked. “Well, I guess you didn’t have a chance to escape me.”
“No. I didn’t,” Wu Ying said, letting his hand rest on his borrowed blade. Wu Ying found himself smiling slightly in satisfaction. If he had to fight someone, Yin Xue was a good choice. Injuring the lord’s son, inadvertently or on purpose, would make Wu Ying lose little sleep.
From the corner of his eyes, Wu Ying was surprised to see Tou He matched up against a slim gentleman wielding a pair of hooked swords. Tou He himself carried his staff, propping the weapon on one shoulder, looking way too casual for the fight he was about to engage in.
“We could just exchange a few blows and I’ll call it my defeat,” Tou He tried wheedling his opponent, who stared at him impassively.
Wu Ying’s attention was torn back to his own stage, where a new cultivator had appeared, staring down at Yin Xue. The new cultivator was attired like the rest of them, but instead of wielding a more common weapon, he had a pair of tong fas slipped into his belt. The simple wooden weapons were basically a stick with a handle a third of the way in on the slimmer side, offering the martial artist a location to hold and wield the weapon. It was an interesting weapon that Wu Ying had never actually fought before. Curiously, Wu Ying cocked his head to the side to listen to the conversation between the pair of cultivators.
“Senior Lin Tsui, I was here first,” Yin Xue whined.
“And I do not care. You can stay and suffer afterward, or you can leave,” Lin Tsui said, staring straight at Yin Xue fearlessly.
Yin Xue paled slightly, staring between Lin Tsui and the referee who made no move to help. Finally, Yin Xue shook his head and backed away, allowing the other cultivator to take his place on the fighting platform. Wu Ying watched the incident silently, amusement dancing in his eyes. Yin Xue snarled slightly, fist clenching around his sword’s hilt when he saw Wu Ying’s smile, but eventually he shook his head.
The referee looked between the pair still on the combat stage. “Are we ready?”
***
Wu Ying spat to the side, clearing his mouth of blood and torn skin as he glared at Lin Tsui, who stood up slowly too, favoring his left ankle. Once more, the pair circled one another, Wu Ying carefully probing Lin Tsui’s defenses. Of course, since his opponent wielded two weapons that exceled at blocking, Wu Ying made sure to never overextend himself. In turn, Lin Tsui probed Wu Ying’s footwork and defense, attempting to find the appropriate time to enter Wu Ying’s measure. Because of Wu Ying’s reach and his ability to fade away with dragon steps, Lin Tsui had to gauge his timing appropriately. After all, rushing in was the most dangerous time for him.
All this—and Lin Tsui’s fighting style with the tong fas—was hard-earned knowledge, gained from significant bruises, a newly re-cracked pair of ribs, and a swelling eye. The damn tong fas were fast, highly manipulable, and perfect for close-in fighting. If Lin Tsui got into Wu Ying’s measure, Wu Ying’s only chance was to retreat as quickly as possible.
“Why did you learn the Shen style anyway?” Lin Tsui asked conversationally, eyes narrowed as he casually batted away a quick probe of the sword.
“For people like you.”
Wu Ying had to smile slightly. That last sweep had done exactly what he wanted—injured his opponent and forced him back. The Shen kicking style, integrated into his Long family style, had been a surprise and the only reason Wu Ying was still in the fight. Every time Lin Tsui closed in, he had to worry about being grappled and kicked away. Though Wu Ying’s last attack had done nothing to stop Lin Tsui from smashing him across the face with his tong fa, leading to the fast-growing swelling on his face and bloodied mouth.
“Smart,” Lin Tsui said. “Most people try to emphasize their strengths without ever shoring up their weaknesses.”
“Thank you.”
Wu Ying stopped moving for a second then shifted direction, trying to cut the circle of Lin Tsui’s defense. Once again, Wu Ying failed, his quick tip cut easily deflected. However, rather than springing forward, Lin Tsui waited. For the next few minutes, the pair feinted and parried. Occasionally one or the other would step in to attempt a more significant attack. Those attempts were ineffective at everything but exhausting the pair.
Around them, Wu Ying idly noted that the other fights had finished. Some of the other contestants had chosen to pick on one of the winners, leaving only a few contestants waiting. Most of those had gathered around his combat stage, eyeing the pair of them.
“How do you expect to win, injured as you are?” Lin Tsui said.
Wu Ying stood just outside of his lunge distance, catching his breath and circulating his chi to slowly fix his injuries. Wu Ying dared not send too much of his chi in case he was interrupted, but even a little was helping dull the pain.
“It’s impressive enough that someone with such a low cultivation level has come so far, but you cannot expect to win. I am at least a half-dozen levels higher than you.”
Wu Ying frowned, his exhausted mind unable to understand why Lin Tsui would think there was such a large discrepancy. Sure, he was at Body Cleansing 8, but Lin Tsui himself was only at 11. Maybe 12. There were no levels after that—not without entering Energy Storage. And if he had managed to achieve that, this fight would have been over.
As the pair completed another tired pass, Wu
Ying realized the reason. Even if he was cultivating, drawing energy into his body and passing it through weary muscles to give himself strength and speed, to heal and clear fatigue, his strengthened aura was hiding his cultivation. It was likely that the added stress of cultivating and fighting had increased the amount that leaked, giving Lin Tsui a slightly better idea—but not enough.
Could he use that? Wu Ying landed lightly from a skip to the side, swinging his sword in a cut then reversing the rebound to threaten his opponent. As he retreated, Wu Ying felt his thigh want to give out, exhaustion and injuries catching up to him. Except this time, on instinct, Wu Ying let himself collapse.
As if he had been waiting, Lin Tsui exploded forward. Even the injured ankle no longer seemed to impair his movement. Wu Ying found Lin Tsui bearing down on his collapsed form, the lead tong fa sweeping toward his head and the other held low and close, ready to block his sword. Except this time around, Wu Ying ignored his jian, dropping it to catch Lin Tsui’s arms. While the other cultivator might be stronger and faster due to his cultivation, the unexpected change caught Lin Tsui by surprise. Even more so when Wu Ying used Lin Tsui’s momentum to roll the both of them backward and pinned his opponent.
For a brief second, Wu Ying realized he had not thought of what to do next. He had Lin Tsui pinned cross-body, hands on both arms, a throbbing in his shoulders from a slipped block. But with both hands busy holding his opponent down, Wu Ying had no other weapons. For a second, Wu Ying paused. Then recollections of rolling around in the dirt, fighting and wrestling with his friends in the village, came back.
Wu Ying reared back and slammed his forehead into the surprised nobleman’s face, making blood burst from a broken nose. His head throbbed a little from the sudden impact, but it didn’t stop Wu Ying from repeating the attack. And again. And once more, before the referee pulled him away, the weakly struggling noble covered in blood.
“What was that?” the referee snarled, pointing at the injured noble.
“Winning,” Wu Ying replied blearily, offering the referee a half-smile as he tottered on his feet.
When the referee growled, Wu Ying could only shrug and wipe at the blood on his face. Thankfully, none of the cuts he had gained were wide or bleeding too freely, unlike the smashed lips, nose, and orbital bone of his opponent. After the referee called the fight, Wu Ying moved aside, and the cultivators took his opponent off the stage.
“That was different,” Tou He said to his friend, handing Wu Ying a waterskin. “A bit less sophisticated than your usual style.”
“It worked, didn’t it?” Wu Ying said, splashing water onto a cloth to finish cleaning his injuries. He drew a deep breath, forcing himself to breathe around the pain of his ribs even as he channeled his chi through his body. Even with its aid, the bone-deep weariness in his body was making him sway slightly. “Did you lose?”
“Won actually,” Tou He said with a grimace. “I was told I had to fight. Then my opponent tried to cut me up when I tried to give up. Ended up accidentally beating him.”
“You accidentally beat your opponent.”
“Yes.”
“I hate you,” Wu Ying said without heat. He was too tired to deal with the damn ex-monk.
As the stage was cleared and the blood hastily washed off, Wu Ying spotted Yin Xue already waiting on the stage, eager to begin. He was pushing the attendants to move faster, intending to give Wu Ying as little of a break as possible.
“Don’t lose. I don’t want to be the only one in the inner sect,” Tou He said to Wu Ying as the referee gestured for the cultivator to take his place.
“Because that’s what I’m worried about,” Wu Ying said, rolling his eyes as his friend. Still, the words brought a slight smile to his face and took his attention away from the upcoming fight. A good enough result.
As he limped toward his spot, Wu Ying cast one last glance about the courtyard. As the sun set, the courtyard was basked in a pinkish-red glow, creating a slightly surreal view as the attention of the Elders and waiting cultivators turned to his stage. Not that there were many cultivators left—only the most bored or curious still stayed. The rest had left at some point, their interest guttering out like the sunset. After all, the upcoming battle had little to do with them.
Drawing another pain-filled breath, Wu Ying considered his options as he stared at Yin Xue, who smirked right back. Wu Ying was tired, injured, and of lower cultivation than the noble. His opponent had had time to rest, to study his moves, and to plan his attack. This fight should be over in a second.
***
“Are you both ready?”
The referee’s voice cut through Wu Ying’s exhaustion, pulling his attention back to his situation. Drawing his sword, Wu Ying nodded to the referee. As Yin Xue had already offered his acknowledgement, the battle began almost immediately.
Rather than waiting for Wu Ying to settle into a distance battle, Yin Xue exploded forward, crossing the distance between the pair. Wu Ying’s breath hastened, his perception of time slowing as adrenaline and chi coursed through his body, jolting him awake. In the time-dilated moment, Wu Ying found himself with all the time in the world to spot the sneer, the rabid craving to inflict pain in Yin Xue’s eyes as he thrust his weapon forward. Wu Ying had all the time to note that the tip was aimed at his heart, but the hand behind it was already angling higher.
A feint for his heart.
Immediately, Wu Ying understood. Yin Xue expected Wu Ying to use dragon stretches in the morning to avoid the blow. It was Wu Ying’s—the Long family’s—response to a sudden charge, dropping the body beneath the attack while offering their own sword for sheathing in their opponent’s body. It was the ingrained response.
In the moment of clarity, Wu Ying saw this all and something shifted in him. He understood, and because he understood, he could act. Rather than dragon stretches, Wu Ying took a drop step to the side, a precursor to the kick that came in under Yin Xue’s already dropping tip. Falling rocks in a rainstorm.
Even as Yin Xue folded around the foot that crushed his chest, deforming under the pressure of both cultivators’ momentum, Wu Ying was moving. For the form was not a single kick but a series of light attacks with palms, elbows, knees, and then finally another full-body axe kick. The rain of blows, following a dropping rock.
Yin Xue, caught unaware and staggering beneath the initial attack, ate the majority of blows. Blood flowed from a crushed nose, the only spot of color on an otherwise deathly pale face. Only a hastily formed block with his free hand stopped Wu Ying’s final kick from crushing his shoulder blade. Weapon waving, Yin Xue forced Wu Ying back. As Wu Ying raised his weapon, readying himself to finish the battle, the referee stepped between the two.
“Wen Yin Xue, can you continue?” the referee asked, his thin body blocking Wu Ying from his opponent.
When no answer came, the referee continued to wait while Wu Ying tried to edge around to see his opponent. Unsurprisingly, Yin Xue was rubbing his chest, drawing tentative breaths as he attempted to make his chest work again.
“Wen Yin Xue. I ask again. Can you continue?”
“He can’t answer you. He’s obviously injured. Let me finish this or call this my win,” Wu Ying said, pointing his sword at Yin Xue as he spoke to the referee.
“Long Wu Ying, do not attempt to influence the referee. Do it again and I will declare this match your loss,” the referee replied.
Wu Ying’s jaw dropped open in surprise before his eyes narrowed. Of course. Thin. Snobby. Another damn noble son.
“Wen Yin Xue?”
“I can. Continue.” Yin Xue said, finally getting the words out.
“Then both contestants, return to your starting positions,” the referee commanded the pair.
Wu Ying hastened to his spot, growling softly, especially when the referee said nothing to the slow-moving Yin Xue. By the time Yin Xue had managed to return to his starting spot, the lord’s son had recovered most of his color and breath.
“Begi
n.”
This time, Yin Xue did not charge forward. Wu Ying covered the distance between the two immediately, stopping just outside of Yin Xue’s range. However, his feinted charge drew no overextended or hasty response, forcing Wu Ying to give up on his plan.
Settling into a longer fight, Wu Ying tested Yin Xue’s defenses with simple probes, shifting stances as he focused on the essence of the Long family style. Long-range attacks, probing wrist-cuts, and stabs at full measure that forced his opponent to constantly shift and deal with his weapon. Sudden and quick movement of the feet to open new opportunities and lines of attack. Pass after pass, the pair spun and dueled as sweat grew on Wu Ying’s brow. As he fought, Wu Ying’s focus grew sharper and tighter, the nagging pain from his injuries fading to the back of his mind.
Yin Xue was faster than him, if only barely, but there was a jerkiness to his motion, as if he had not grown entirely comfortable with the increased strength and speed of his body. It was most apparent when Yin Xue was transitioning from one technique to the next, though it also cropped up whenever Yin Xue had to deal with sudden changes in direction.
Something. Wu Ying knew something was different, something had changed. It nagged at him, as he blocked a thrust then riposted. It distracted him as he twisted his body sideways, throwing a quick tip cut to drive back Yin Xue. It puzzled him as he circled his opponent. And then, it came to him.
“You’re scared,” Wu Ying said as he pulled outside of Yin Xue’s range and shook out his hand. His opponent’s attacks had grown stronger, harder. Each block hurt his hand, the stronger weapon and his opponent’s greater cultivation sending jarring shocks through his body, wearing away at his endurance.
“Garbage,” Yin Xue snarled.
He threw a sudden lunge then a cut to punctuate his words, but Wu Ying did not even bother blocking the attack, instead taking the opportunity to side-step and nick Yin Xue’s arm. The hiss of pain and the sudden blood along Yin Xue’s arm made Wu Ying smile slightly. But it was not enough. Not yet.
