by Wong, Tao
“For helping with your little play,” Fan Yi said.
Wu Ying continued blinking, even as she sashayed off as the other senior sect members called for her participation in the discussion.
“Is it the innocent obliviousness?” Tou Hei asked, making Wu Ying jump again.
When Wu Ying turned to his friend, he was met with the sight of a stick of meat in his face. As he breathed in, Wu Ying could not help but note the lightly charred sweet-glazed meat, combined with the scent of water chi.
Meat stick waggled in the air. “Snake gizzard?”
“What do you mean?” Wu Ying asked grumpily as he took the skewer.
“Your ability to attract the strangest of women,” Tou Hei said. “Be careful of her. She’s much slyer than Li Yao. And from another sect.”
Wu Ying glared at his friend and bit into his meat. Still, he could not help but glance at Fan Yi, as she argued among the other cultivators, before shaking his head.
No. His friend was wrong. There was no way the young noble lady, at least a few years older than him, was interested in Wu Ying in that sense. She probably just wanted some of the taels they’d conned out of the group.
That was it.
Definitely.
Chapter 21
Twice in less than twenty-four hours. Wu Ying shook his head as he stood on the stage and looked around. As the defensive formations were yet to activate, he could see the crowd without an issue. Throughout the day, the numbers had kept growing with each fight. Now, midday had come and gone, and the mid-afternoon sun beat down on Wu Ying through wispy clouds. He made note of where it was and the angle it would hit. Not too high, not too low. It’d probably not get into the eyes. Not unless he jumped.
The smell of the crowd, the scent of mingling chi came back to Wu Ying as he stood on the stage, carefully regulating his breathing. The sharp smell of the Elders, of strengthened dantians until they had become a core of power, told him that even more Elders had joined Fa Yuan in the restaurant. If things went well, she was likely placing bets too, earning what she could from them.
And below, he knew, Yu Kun would earn a little for the sect whichever way this fight played out. But to cover their losses, the money Lei Hui had lost, Wu Ying would need to beat Tou Hei’s record. And, unlike what others might think, the ex-monk had not tried to lose. His loss was real.
It was just that Fairy Yang and Wu Ying knew of Tou Hei’s weakness. In an endurance battle, he could not last. So they had planned for his loss. Just in case. Because the one thing Wu Ying could do was endure. He could push on, be stubborn, and win even when he was tired. And if he was no genius martial artist, neither were the sect members attending the auction.
These were the flowers of their sects, blooming with promise. These were people who had bought their way to success, who would rather visit a city for an auction than fight a war, cultivate, or run another assignment. And compared to them, Wu Ying could win.
Or so they hoped.
Noise at the other end of the stage drew his attention to the present moment. Wu Ying drew a deep breath and unsheathed his sword as his first opponent, a young lady with a piece of rope wrapped around one arm and a small dagger on the end, ascended the platform.
Rope dart. Joy.
Wu Ying pushed his feelings aside, his thoughts on their plan. Now, all he had to do was beat seven sect cultivators.
As simple as turning over one’s hand.
As if.
***
The rope dart was a unique and specialized weapon that was probably the most flexible weapon among the eighteen weapons of wushu. It had immense range, speed, could curl around simple defenses, and punch through hasty blocks. It required immense skill to wield, but in the hands of a master, it could slay dozens. Add the ability to project chi to make its greatest weakness—its rope—as hard as steel, and as a weapon, the rope dart was unequaled in a duel.
To simplify, it was a pain to fight.
Wu Ying cuts sideways, beating the flying dagger off course. It flew up into the air before it shifted directions again at the tug of the rope. Not that Wu Ying was letting the opening go. He stepped forward, attempting to close the gap. And was defeated, as the returning weapon nearly cut off his ear.
Snarling, Wu Ying blocked and tried a lunge, only for his sword tip to be wrapped in the hardened rope and yanked off line. Another attack forced him to jump, twisting his sword in the rope and tearing at the bindings. The rope held, reinforced by her chi. Through his blade, Wu Ying felt the energy sent within, strengthening each strand of rope and the weapon itself. He could even smell it, the way rope and wood chi flowed, mingling together.
Chi bound, strengthened, but not sharpened. It never reached the end of her blade. There were traces, but her wood chi focused on the rope itself, binding it tight.
Wu Ying landed, drawing his sword to his face as he brought up his guard, and his assailant returned her weapon to herself, sending it spinning back around her arm to keep its momentum.
“Very annoying,” Wu Ying muttered to himself.
No more time to complain, as she launched the weapon once more. This time, it was a shortened attack, jerked back just before Wu Ying could block. The weapon flew untouched by his blade but a threat as it returned and built more momentum.
Wu Ying threw himself forward, following the returning weapon. She had repeated this motion three times already. Foolish.
Even as she wrapped the weapon around her arm, the blade twisting about and coming toward Wu Ying at greater speed, he was ready. He snatched his scabbard from his belt and, covering it with his sword chi, blocked the attack. His lunge, aimed for her face at the beginning, dipped low to plunge into her foot as he extended the blade by a few inches with his aura.
Blood dripped from the sword aura, falling to the stone as he retracted it. The pain froze his opponent’s attacks long enough for Wu Ying to step deeper and launch a roundhouse kick into her side. The impact caught her in the short ribs, throwing her to the side. Before she could recover, a foot on her still rope blocked her weapon and a blade to her throat made her yield.
Then he helped her stand. “Good move. But too repetitive.”
His opponent grimaced but nodded with thanks as she hobbled down.
Wu Ying felt a little bad for her, but he knew that injury would heal quickly, especially under the ministrations of the pills her sect members were already plying her with. And in truth, it was better to learn now than later.
Even as he walked back to his corner, Wu Ying churned his dantian, drawing in the chi of the world. He could have finished the fight a little faster if he had not been trying to cultivate at the same time. But he needed to last.
One.
***
His next opponent was simpler, at least to Wu Ying. His opponent stood before him, holding a jian in each hand, and beckoned Wu Ying toward him. Right foot forward, back foot on the ball of his foot to give him the explosive movement his style required.
Another clash of swords, and Wu Ying threw a series of quick wrist cuts to deflect a pair of attacks. He felt his opponent’s water chi thrum through the swords as they met. Muted, like his previous opponent’s wood chi. Unsuited, but still part of the weapon. More, Wu Ying could smell it on his opponent’s body, in the traces in the air as they circled. Sensed the way it made him a little more fluid, how it helped adjust his opponent’s body a little, make him react faster. How Wu Ying’s own jian slid off the blade a little faster, a little more smoothly than it should have.
After a half-dozen exchanges, Wu Ying shook his head at the dual-wielding jian cultivator.
“Who told you that you should dual wield jian?” Wu Ying said.
In the half-dozen confrontations, he’d learned that his opponent had the Sense of the Sword, but it was muted. Muted by having to pay attention to two weapons at the same time instead of a single weapon. The jian, with their similar long lengths, were ill-suited for anyone but a master to dual wield.
“What’s it matter to you?” the youth sneered. He drew a series of cuts at Wu Ying as he spoke, bok choy green and silt brown robes flapping.
A simple falling dodge, back foot placed behind Wu Ying’s body, was all he required to angle himself away and out of his attacker’s line of control. Wu Ying left his hand in the same location though, only going so far as to raise the hilt of his sword, while leaving the point in place. Almost as though it was magic, it slid past both swords into the gap, just over his opponent’s defense.
“Because I want to thank them,” Wu Ying replied, pushing a little forward so that the tip of the blade sat facing the cross-eyed teenager’s eyes. “For giving me such an easy win.”
A beat, then his opponent stepped back and sheathed his weapons. Unwinding himself, Wu Ying did the same. They did the formal thanks at the end, though Wu Ying could tell his opponent did not feel it. In truth, he should not have taunted his opponent. But the teen had hurt Wu Ying’s sense of pride as a swordsman. You did not pick up two weapons, wield them, and act as though you knew what you were doing until you were the master of one.
Wu Ying drew a deep breath, returned to his position, and continued churning his dantian as he dismissed the man and the echoes of his father’s words from his mind.
Two.
***
“Crossbow!” Wu Ying exclaimed angrily. Even as he spoke, he dodged from side to side, his sword weaving in the Cloud Hands and Dragon pins the Sunset mixed defense form he was using. Each motion was aided by the projection of sword chi, cutting fast-moving bolts out of the air and sending the wooden skewers clattering to the stone floor.
“It is a legitimate weapon,” the grinning opponent on the opposite side of the stage replied, pausing only long enough to slap another box of crossbow bolts to the repeating crossbow he used.
Wu Ying growled, cursing the fact that the additional speed offered by the cultivator’s cultivation stage had taken away one of the crossbow’s greatest weaknesses. Now, all Wu Ying could do was wait for his opponent to either run out of crossbow bolts or risk charging in.
Another series of projectiles flew at him, and Wu Ying managed to dodge and block all but one. A light injury resulted from a bolt sliding across his ribs, tearing at his skin. Air chi—a mixture of wood and fire—was not imbued into the bolt itself but wrapped around the wooden shaft and metal tip. Wu Ying hissed then drew another breath, the stuffiness of an enclosed arena filling his nose for a second as the buzz of the working protective shielding penetrated his focus.
Even as he recovered, his opponent switched the box of ammunition beneath the repeating crossbow for a new box. Wu Ying darted closer, only to be forced to back off as a series of caltrops—small metal balls with spikes on them—were thrown on the ground, blocking his way.
“What kind of fighting is this?” Wu Ying said as he ducked, sending a blast of chi parallel to the ground to blow away the impediments. He even almost managed to send one into his opponent’s legs, but received another light wound across his shoulder for his efforts as a bolt cut through the air.
“The Black Nightingales care about winning, rather than silly concepts such as proper battles,” his opponent replied. “Now, taste the Three Shadows.”
To Wu Ying’s mild surprise, rather than three bolts, he spotted five. Four in front, and a fifth that had formed from pure chi behind the first wave. He cut and ducked, using his sword sheath to help block the attacks, and dispersed the final chi bolt with a flaring of his aura.
“You…” Wu Ying growled.
But a sudden cessation in attacks made Wu Ying freeze. To Wu Ying’s astonishment, his opponent was slapping at the edges of his weapon, trying to dislodge a stuck bolt.
Wary of a feint, Wu Ying rushed his opponent. The slight widening in his opponent’s eyes, his lack of balance, told of a man who was likely actually surprised. And if not…
The Sword’s Truth glowed as Wu Ying pushed the aura in his chi to the maximum. It flowed around him, glowing yellow and white as his blade plunged toward his opponent. Even a hasty attack of a trio of throwing knives did nothing to slow Wu Ying, the simple attacks missing and deflected by his solidified aura.
Out of options, his opponent solidified his aura, taking the attack as he crossed his arms. Metal struck metal as the opponent’s hidden bracers protected him from being skewered. They did nothing for Wu Ying’s built-up momentum, however. Light flared and the Black Nightingale cultivator was thrown backward, off the arena to crash into the ground.
“Lucky,” Wu Ying heard muttered from the crowd.
But he had no time to listen to them. He had chi to gather and wounds to bind.
Three.
***
Weapons clashed, sparks flew. Wu Ying growled, pulling back and shedding another attack. A small motion at the corner of his vision wanted his attention, but he forced himself to focus as he fought. He knew what the glinting, flying distraction was. Just another chip of his weapon, shaved off as he and his opponent dueled.
Metal chi infused his opponent’s weapon, making it sharper than ever. It was so sharp that it was impossible for Wu Ying to block the infused chi attack directly. Instead, he focused on infusing just enough chi to make sure his weapon did not break upon clashing while he used angles and shedding blocks to slide his opponent’s weapon away. Better to conserve his chi and win this the old-fashioned way.
Unfortunately, his opponent, like himself, had focused his studies on the sword. His opponent might not be able to release large waves of sword intent, but the intent he infused into his weapon made it difficult to block his attacks. In the meantime, he used his technical swordsmanship skills to find gaps in Wu Ying’s defenses, leaving thin cuts across Wu Ying’s arms and chest.
Of course, it was not entirely one-sided. In a high-speed battle like this, where both opponents flipped, ducked, and slashed, wounds accumulated on both sides. Wu Ying had the advantage of a form that took full use of his Energy Storage channels, allowing him to expand and divert energy into his sword at regular intervals. His opponent, on the other hand, was limited to a more mundane style.
A cut, high then low, Greeting the Sunrise before Claws across Water and then Stroking the Painting. Each blow followed by a surge of chi or a retraction, making the size of Wu Ying’s weapon unpredictable, its length dangerous. His opponent took injuries, but more importantly, was forced to widen his motions, expend more energy in defense.
“Beating the broken Forge!” A shout, punctuated by a cut downward.
Wu Ying took the attack on his raised jian, stepping sideways as he did so and angling his weapon to slide the attack off the blade. A chip caught, his opponent’s weapon dipped, and suddenly, Wu Ying was missing two feet of his sword.
Acting on instinct, Wu Ying moved inward. Northern Shen Wind Steps combined with the qinggong Twelve Gale exercise had Wu Ying slide into his opponent’s blind spot. A roundhouse kick sent him stumbling back as his opponent recovered from his sudden success. An extended chi blade cut at the raised weapon arm as his opponent brought his own weapon back in guard. A surge of will made the chi blade blunt as he struck, bruising but not incapacitating his opponent.
Wu Ying fell back, drawing his chi into his body, circulating his energy. Bleeding from wounds on his thigh—how did that happen?—and his chest and arms. Old wounds, opened. He eyed his opponent, curious if he would acknowledge the attack.
“You won,” his opponent spoke, clasping his hands together. “Thank you for the pointers.”
“And thank you for yours,” Wu Ying replied. He had learned a lot, watching his opponent. Grasped at another piece of the puzzle about what sharpness was. How to utilize it.
Wu Ying returned to his corner, struggling to control his breathing, knowing he would fail to get it under control before the next fight. He tossed the remainder of his weapon down the steps, calling forth another jian from his spirit ring.
Four.
***
Polearms were Wu
Ying’s bane. The extended reach meant that he constantly had to work his way inward, going from the edge of his opponent’s full measure to the edge of his own. It was part of the reason why he focused so often on his footwork, to cross that deadly distance.
Polearm flails were the worst. The weapon was exactly what its name implied—a flail attached by a metal chain to the end of a long polearm. To wield the weapon, all you needed to do was swing the weapon around, allowing the flail to speed up and strike. The entire weapon was all about momentum—but when it gained enough speed, the flail’s attack could shatter any defense Wu Ying chose to put up.
So he didn’t.
He ducked and dodged, leaned from side to side to avoid the swinging end of the polearm. Each attack, Wu Ying grew to learn the pattern of the attacks. A weapon like this had one major disadvantage—the momentum it built also meant that attacks could only follow specific patterns. You could not suddenly stop and swing it back, not without forcing a significant pause. Once Wu Ying understood those patterns and the most likely response by his opponent, he could work his way in.
So he ducked and dodged, on occasion deflecting the weapon when he had no choice. Each deflection cost him, making his fingers tremble, wrist hurt, and shoulders ache as he blocked the attacks. He did not face them directly, instead cutting at the weapon at angles or blocking with a twist, just to ensure the attacks did not impact directly. And even then, his fingers were growing numb.
But he was learning patterns. Movements at specific timings, the tells his opponent exhibited before he completed the next change in trajectory. Each pass, Wu Ying ascertained his opponent’s patterns. A retraction of the polearm as Wu Ying shed the attack made the flail swing backward. It struck his back, earth chi giving weight to the flail end, imparting greater momentum and force to the flail end. It forced him to roll on the ground after being struck, roll and rise to his feet as the scent of baked clay filled his nose.