by Wong, Tao
Five minutes before the bell tolled the start of the hour[19], the other cultivators arrived. Ji Cheng was dressed in a new pair of robes, slightly tighter to allow for better movement during the duel. It was then that Wu Ying cursed underneath his breath.
Zhong Shei frowned. “Problem?” He eyed the group, wondering what it was that had made his friend swear.
“I don’t want to dirty my robes. Or tear them,” Wu Ying replied. After all, he only had so many undamaged robes.
Zhong Shei chuckled, his humor drawing glares from the newly arrived cultivators. Without taking time to ready himself, Ji Cheng jumped onto the stage, clearing the five feet difference in height with one easy bound.
Wu Ying looked at the hexagon-shaped stone stage where Ji Cheng stood, then jumped up himself. Overlapping light circles from the numerous spirit stone lanterns lit the stage well, leaving only the audience in shadows. The stage itself had been swept recently, leaving it bare and clean. Wu Ying drew his sword once he was on the stage, saluting his opponent. Ji Cheng echoed the motion.
From below, Zhong Shei called, “This is a friendly match. No deaths! Anyone who kills their opponent will have to face the magistrate for breaking his peace.”
Ji Cheng and Wu Ying glanced at Zhong Shei before dismissing him, refocusing on one another. Almost in unison, the pair began to circle one another, edging into distance. Wu Ying eyed the dao his opponent used, noting its quality and the pretty golden edging on the guard. Compared to Wu Ying’s utilitarian straight sword, it was certainly nicer looking.
As if Wu Ying’s brief glance down was a signal, Ji Cheng threw himself forward in a blazing fast series of strikes. Wu Ying blocked them, weaving Dragon paints the Sunset as his defense and letting each blow shed its energy around him. As they fought, Wu Ying tried to grasp his opponent’s skill and style.
The dao lent itself to fast cuts, powerful attacks that could crush or shatter an opponent. It spun and chopped, meant to overwhelm the opponent. Ji Cheng’s style focused on drawing upon this strength of the weapon to increase the speed and strength of his blows. Rather than face each attack head-on, Wu Ying had to shed the attacks, parry them at an angle and divert the momentum.
Each block sent Wu Ying’s sword jittering back, each resounding meeting of blades ringing through the square. Wu Ying was forced to retreat and circle, dodge and block constantly. The momentum of the fight was all his opponent’s.
Yet the flaws in Ji Cheng’s style, in his practice soon appeared.
Wu Ying moved, using Cloud Steps to shift his position, staying at maximum range and eking out the couple of inches advantage his thrusting weapon had over his opponent. More importantly, he used Cloud Steps to work angles of attack. A dao, and a dao in the style used by Ji Cheng, required significant movement to defend the center line. However, Ji Cheng didn’t move his feet enough, didn’t pay attention to the subtle angles a jian could exploit.
A quick wrist cut here. A short extension of the arm there. In short order, Wu Ying had injured the man once, then again. But he still held back, each cut only a trivial injury, surface wounds that looked bloody but did nothing to stop his opponent’s movements. He held back because the next stage of the fight was about to erupt.
Realizing he was out-classed in pure technique, Ji Cheng jumped back, twisting in mid-air and releasing a blast of sword chi. Wu Ying returned the attack in kind, energy projection meeting energy projection. His attack was clear, without color, as unaspected chi looked like nothing more than a heat-haze. His opponent’s attack was wider and purple-colored. Metal chi struck Wu Ying’s own and overwhelmed it—all but the center, where Wu Ying’s focused attack broke through.
Dispersed chi and sword intent rippled around Wu Ying, throwing his hair from his head, kicking up dirt and clouding the air. The defensive formation in the arena flickered to life, nullifying the attack before it could pass out of the stage. In so doing, it muted the roar of approval of the audience for a second.
“Now we’re starting.” Wu Ying’s body vibrated with anticipation. For the first time, he was taking part in a real duel at the Energy Storage stage.
In rapid sequence, the pair unleashed their sword intent at one another, sending strikes flying across the space. It wasn’t just flashy attacks but extensions of simple cuts or thrusts that made such duels different from those at the Body Cultivation stage. A lunge that might be dodged by the sway of the body became dangerous when the opponent increased the width of their sword by an inch through chi projection. A cut was impossible to just lean aside from if said cut became a sword intent projection. A feint became a true attack when sword chi pulsed through the weapon.
Dodges became wider, sword positioning became more important as the pair fought. Wu Ying threw himself into the third form, switching styles as he fought and utilized the stored energy in his meridians. Flashes of sword chi erupted from blades, smashing into the barrier and tearing at the stone arena floor. Dust choked the air and was dispersed with each motion. Eventually, blood bloomed as strikes landed.
A cut across a cheek. A thrust plunging half an inch deep into a shoulder. A swipe tearing at trailing robes and leaving traces of blood behind. Injuries piled up as Wu Ying’s greater skill and control began to tell.
He could not help but grin, confidence increasing with each exchange of blades. His opponent had a larger chi store, had more of his meridians open. At the edges of Ji Cheng’s attacks, his control of the released energy was firmer, more controlled. But his very movements were overly large, his attacks sweeping through unneeded space. It made his greater pool of chi deplete faster, the density of his chi less.
It was, in the end, a one-sided battle. Wu Ying cut, sliced at exposed arms and legs, wending his way in deeper and deeper to Ji Cheng’s defense with each passing moment. And if he dragged out the fight a little, eked out some experience, it was hard to tell.
A single rap, the dao pushed aside, then a half-step close. A hand shifted, placing itself in the path of the returning arm. And suddenly, Wu Ying’s blade was at Ji Cheng’s neck, just under his chin. His opponent froze, the hand holding his dao dropping. Then it twitched, starting an attack.
“No, no, no.” Wu Ying raised the blade, forcing his opponent to rise on his toes.
Ji Cheng’s hand stilled as the threat was made more apparent. Ji Cheng muttered something, too low to be heard under the rumbling roars of approval of the audience.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you,” Wu Ying said.
“I said, I lose. You win!” Ji Cheng raised his voice, almost shouting his loss now. His eyes grew red, and he blinked fast.
“Thank you.” Wu Ying stepped back once, then again, to clear the distance. Wu Ying sheathed his sword as he continued speaking. “Good fight.”
Ji Cheng blinked furiously, then turned away as he slammed his own blade back into its sheath. He made it most of the way to the arena edge, its defensive formation already flickering, before he stopped. His next words were bitter and curt. “Thank you for the guidance, Senior.”
Ji Cheng descended the stage and joined his friends. The group shot Wu Ying one last angry look before they left through the crowd. Wu Ying exhaled threadily, taking his hand off his sheathed sword. It seemed that the matter was settled. And without major bloodshed too. As he turned his attention to the crowd, he could not help but blink.
The crowd was a mixed lot, from rustic peasants in their subdued hemp clothing to waitresses and hosts in colorful robes, scholars of the government exams grouped close to one another, and a smaller gathering of martial cultivators in the varied colors of their sect robes. Amidst them all, Zhong Shei cajoled those who’d bet with him to pay up.
“Something wrong?” Zhong Shei asked Wu Ying as the cultivator came down, head turning from side to side as he caught the scent of those in the crowd.
“Just a weird smell,” Wu Ying said. He could not place it, but that smell had been wrong. Too sharp, too strong, and yet familiar. A difficult th
ing to explain.
“Har. It’s probably you.” Eyes gleaming with humor, Zhong Shei rattled his coin purse. “You couldn’t have held off winning for a few more minutes? I nearly had another win.”
Wu Ying rolled his eyes. “Should a guard be betting?”
“The fight was perfectly legal,” Zhong Shei said. “Good job. I was worried when you all projected your chi, but you’ve improved.” His eyebrows creased, as he added beneath his breath, “A lot.”
Wu Ying shrugged. What could he say to that? His friend had chosen to relax, to stop pushing as hard. When it came to cultivation and the martial arts, persistence and practice paid off. If you stood still, friends and enemies would pass you by.
Too long in the same spot, and you would be irrelevant. At least, martially.
“Well. Now that I have more coin, we should drink!” Zhong Shei said, shaking off his glum mood and smacking Wu Ying on the shoulder. “And I should introduce you to some people.”
“Who?”
Wu Ying’s puzzlement disappeared as Zhong Shei dragged him toward a group of smiling young women dressed in thin, almost translucent strips of cloth that hid little of how cold the night air had become. All of them offered Wu Ying and Zhong Shei wide smiles of welcome, eyes fluttering and silken handkerchiefs rising to cover delicate mouths. Wu Ying could not help but groan mentally, even as his protests to his friend were soundly ignored.
This was going to be a long night.
Chapter 19
Light streamed in through the slats of Wu Ying’s room, striking the cultivator in the eyes. He groaned, twisting from side to side as he attempted to get away from the light. A searching hand found the thick silk blanket supplied by the inn, but a pair of futile tugs showed Wu Ying that he was lying upon the bed covering. For long moments, Wu Ying debated moving again and weighed it against his exhaustion.
Memories of the previous night—this morning—flitted through Wu Ying’s mind. After his win, Zhong Shei and their new friends had been brought to a restaurant. Their first bottle had even been paid for by the restaurant owner, as thanks for a “great show.” Behind Wu Ying and Zhong Shei, the other cultivators and audience members had come along, filling the restaurant within seconds.
After the first bottle, another one came as wandering cultivators all made to introduce themselves to Wu Ying. Drinks had flowed without stop, and Zhong Shei’s fattened purse quickly depleted. Faces of merchants and wandering cultivators, all who wished to speak with Wu Ying, blurred together. Food arrived next, as the hostesses plied late night snacks and more alcohol on all those present. And then…
Then.
Wu Ying touched his lips, blinked, and turned sideways. He exhaled in relief, grateful to note he was sleeping alone. And in his own bed. Or the inn’s. It was the same thing.
Relief was short-lived though, as a loud and insistent knocking rose from his bedroom door. He glared at the noise and stayed silent. Rather than going away, the knocking sped up and grew louder. Wu Ying’s head throbbed in time to the pounding and he let out a muffled groan.
“I can hear you in there!” Lei Hui’s voice called. “Open the door!”
Wu Ying forced himself to his feet, gently circulating his chi to help with the nausea and pounding headache. He made his way to the door and threw it open to see Lei Hui outside.
The thin apothecarist thrust a lidded teacup at Wu Ying. “Drink.”
“What?” Wu Ying muttered as he took the teacup.
“Drink!” Lei Hui snapped.
Wu Ying complied, gagging at the sour and oily taste. It was like a group of fermented fish had taken residence and procreated. Gagging, he took the next bottle thrust at him by Lei Hui and washed down the taste with lightly brewed tea. “What was that?”
“Medicinal tonic for drinking and over-eating. Now, Elder Yang wants to speak with us at lunch,” Lei Hui said.
“Lunch?” Wu Ying turned his head to stare at the sun streaming in. It looked much stronger than dawn light, now that he was actually paying attention.
“In half an hour. Best get dressed and washed.” He looked at Wu Ying’s soiled robes and added, “Even your peasant clothing is better off.”
Wu Ying made a face, then thanked Lei Hui for the tonic. Already, he felt it warming his stomach, reducing the nausea and the pounding headache. He shut the door, stumbling only a little as he made his way to the washbasin in his room, trying to piece together his memories of last night.
Because there were a few hours, including how he got back, that were missing. And a potentially angry Elder awaiting him.
***
The rest of the team were in their private dining room, already waiting for him when Wu Ying arrived. Tou Hei flashed him a quick smile, while Lei Hui ignored Wu Ying entirely. Yu Kun offered a lascivious grin, even going so far as to waggle his eyebrows. As for Wang Min, she shot Wu Ying a cold glare. In juxtaposition to the rest of her team, Fa Yuan seem to ignore the entire byplay between the inner sect cultivators and just waved Wu Ying to his seat.
As if they had been waiting for Wu Ying to arrive, waitresses appeared from the side doors, bearing simple dishes. Tofu, mixed greens, minced meat, and white rice all arrived in large quantities, with thin slices of spirit beast meat scattered throughout. Wu Ying even noticed traces of spiritual herbs grown in a high chi environment mixed into the dishes. All in all, the smell that rose from the meal set his stomach rumbling.
Conversation among the cultivators focused on their activities the day before, each party detailing their part as they supped. Tou Hei was the simplest, having wandered the city in search of snacks before returning to cultivate. Yu Kun had spent his time in local taverns, visiting with wandering cultivators he had met in the past. Wang Min had initially spent the time in the inn before she journeyed out at night to listen to other musicians within the city. As for Lei Hui, he declined to detail his experience.
“And we know of your evening.” Yu Kun grinned at Wu Ying. “You’ve become the talk of the town.”
Wu Ying winced. “What are they saying?”
“That a dashing—and they’re quite insistent on that word—Verdant Green Waters Sect cultivator fought a lecherous cultivator for the honor of a mere hostess and killed him,” Yu Kun said.
“I didn’t kill anyone!”
“I heard it was for the hand of a noble lady. And that he fought four of them—at the same time. And beat them all,” Tou Hei supplied. “But yes, definitely dashing.”
“Two guards who were accosting a wandering cultivator,” Lei Hui said.
“I heard the inner sect cultivator from the Green Water Sect was actually a lecher. And spent the evening in the company of multiple paid women,” Wang Min said. “He wined and dined the ladies and everyone who praised him.”
Each additional sentence made Wu Ying shrink into his seat in embarrassment. “I get it, I get it.”
“I was told one of my inner set cultivators, one of the team members I had carefully chosen for an important expedition, had gone out of his way to humiliate one of the Northern Lake Pearl sect members. I was told of this matter early in the morning by Elder Toh,” Fa Yuan said, fixing Wu Ying with her heavy gaze. “The Elder was looking for recompense. Luckily, all he wanted was a dinner date.”
Wu Ying winced at Fairy Yang’s tone of voice.
“I should mention, Elder Toh is both very old and very venerable. He’s a man well-known for his kindness, as his previous three wives would attest,” Fa Yuan said, tone completely dry. “In fact, his great-granddaughter I believe is only around my age. And his great-great-granddaughter might be of interest to you, Wu Ying. She’s supposedly very pretty.”
Wu Ying twitched as Fa Yuan drove her words home with that dry, acerbic tone. He felt himself shrinking into his seat, trying to hide. Only when she stopped did he straighten. “I’m sorry. I should have not put you in a position like that. But I did not humiliate him. We fought. Because he was sullying the honor of all cultivators.”
Fa Yuan arched a single eyebrow, waiting for Wu Ying to explain. Murmurs of agreement rose from the other cultivators, as interest over the night’s events overtook their desire to tease him. Seeing that he had their attention, Wu Ying proceeded to relate his evening. He chose not to shade the actions he took, going for a simple and plain statement of facts. Even if the fact that he did spend his evening with paid companionship lowered Wang Min’s estimation of himself. After all, he’d only paid for companionship, conversation, and the meal. Nothing else. Or at least, he was pretty certain he hadn’t paid for anything else.
Now, if he only could recall that memory of a kiss, that firm pressing of self against his body properly. Jasmine perfume as he tilted his head down. The feel of bare flesh on his arms as he held a figure close. Water beneath the bridge, lapping at the edges of the stone canal.
He shook his head, dismissing the memory. Pleasant, but unimportant.
“Interesting. If what you said is true, I will not punish you. Though I desire that you seek a more suitable method for managing confrontations next time,” Fa Yuan said after she considered Wu Ying story. “I will tell Elder Toh what you have told me. And if he refuses to see the justice in your actions, I will meet him in the arena myself for a second fight.”
“Oh, there’s already a second, third, and fourth fight at the arena,” Yu Kun said. “It seems that our little dragon here has started a trend. The cultivators have been challenging one another. Even some of my friends want to meet our little dragon and exchange pointers[20] with him.”
“I do not like drawing attention to ourselves like this,” Fa Yuan said disapprovingly.
Wu Ying could not help but nod along to her words.
Yu Kun offered Fa Yuan a small smile. “Of course. But are we allowed to watch?”
Fa Yuan inclined her head in agreement to that.
“And bet?”
“Bet?” Fa Yuan said.
“You bet on the prowess of other cultivators?” Wang Min sniffed, in disparagement.