by Wong, Tao
Another injury, added to his others. But he was learning.
On the twelfth pass, Wu Ying made his move.
First, a projection of sword intent. Directed at his opponent, forcing him to block with the weapon. It shifted the polearm shaft to an angle to Wu Ying’s body and his opponent. The swinging flail followed the initial motion. Then a follow-up wrist cut, one aimed at the flail, following the same trajectory of its initial motion. A third cut and projection of energy added speed and momentum to the flail end.
The attack disrupted his opponent’s plans, forced him to readjust his forms as he pulled back. In that time, Wu Ying used Wind Steps to rush in. Past the initial danger zone, inside the polearm flail end. He pushed forward, putting his forearm against the shaft to restrict motion.
A twist at his opponent’s hips, and the shaft smashed into Wu Ying’s arm. It formed a bruise and made his bones creak, his arm throb. A switch in grip, and the opponent began to bring the butt of his weapon into play.
Too little. Too late.
Another step and Wu Ying’s blade was there. At his opponent’s throat.
Breathing ragged, bruises forming on arm and back, Wu Ying saluted his opponent and gave his thanks.
Five.
***
Wu Ying dueled his opponent, their jians dancing in the space between each other. His opponent in grey and red robes, his face pudgy, but arms and legs long like a swordsman’s should be. He was skilled, maybe even better than Wu Ying, with a form that made full use of the chi they both wielded.
Wu Ying danced, flowing between forms, exhaustion edging his consciousness, encroaching on his concentration. Each motion was part of the forms, each breath part of his moving cultivation. Chi flowed as he cultivated, as he swayed and cut, the flow of his chi healing his wounds.
Healing perhaps, but still bleeding. Injuries accumulated across his various duels dripped onto the floor, staining it and bringing wafts of the copper scent to his nose. He had to win this one, so he matched skill and chi directly against his opponent. No longer holding back.
The scent of his own chi filled Wu Ying’s senses. The smell of his own body, of his own energy filled his lungs, leaving a slight taste in his mouth. He felt it thrum through his body, down his arms, along his legs. He felt his sword through the Sense of the Sword, the way he wrapped it up in his own unaspected energy. Sensed his aura flicker and grow and thin as he willed it.
The Sword’s Truth—extended—became Heron stalking the Marshes, flowing to a dropped front foot and a series of quick kicks at his opponent’s ankles. He watched as his opponent backed off, raising his foot as he retreated with each motion.
A crescent kick—the Falling Moon—sent a projection of chi that was blocked by his opponent’s own blade. Another drop, again into Heron stalking the Marshes, and his opponent was on guard, jumping in the air and thrusting with his sword at Wu Ying’s face.
The blade closed in, filling Wu Ying’s vision with each passing moment. He leaned sideways, letting the attack cut his aura, waste its projected chi on the reinforced defense. A hand reached upward, gripped the hilt. Twisted his body and his opponent’s.
Wu Ying threw both of them, wrapping his opponent up in his own body as they flew backward, through the arena. Putting his opponent beneath his body as they landed. An elbow, carefully positioned, slammed into his midriff.
A forced, painful exhalation.
Arm wrapping his opponent’s. Leg twisting as he continued to place weight on his opponent. A quick series of motions, and Wu Ying had the arm gripped between leg and shoulder. A slight twitch of his body, and it would break. Firmly held, he knew he had won. Cheated by grappling when he should be sword fighting.
It was just a question of if his opponent would give up now or after Wu Ying broke his arm.
Wu Ying huffed, feeling the slickness of his opponent’s skin on his, wet with sweat and blood. Smelled a whiff of cooking meat brought from outside the formation as the crowd roared its approval. He was nearly done, even as he pushed against the arm to still his opponent’s struggles and remind him of his place.
Six.
Chapter 22
A familiar face. Well, they had all been familiar. But he had spoken with this one. Lu Ren, the clean-shaven sect cultivator in purple and white robes, stood before Wu Ying. To his chagrin, Lu Ren used a polearm too—a trident. Shorter than the traditional polearms, thankfully, but with its three tines, it could catch and break his weapon if Wu Ying was not careful.
Yet unlike many of the other fights, even before he had made the usual salutations, Lu Ren had started speaking. “Is this all there is? To a Verdant Green Waters cultivator? A martial specialist?” Lu Ren sneered. “Struggling to win through luck and dirty tricks?”
Wu Ying offered a half-smile, his breathing still ragged. He cultivated, trying to slow down the bleeding in the wounds that had reopened through the last fight’s energetic battle. He breathed slowly as chi filled his depleted dantian.
“Do you not have anything to say?” Lu Ren said.
“Is there anything I can say that would convince you otherwise?” Wu Ying said, eyeing the weapon in his opponent’s hand. “It seems my blade must do the talking.”
“You will not beat me. You can barely stand,” Lu Ren scoffed.
Wu Ying shrugged, knowing how much of his statement was true. His opponents were more skilled than the wandering cultivators Tou Hei had faced. They knew how to use their energy properly; they had received the training from multiple teachers to perfect their forms. And just as importantly, they fought with more conviction.
The wandering cultivators had fought Tou Hei for fun. For a little bit of money on the side, but mostly, to learn. It was no life-or-death spar, no great matter of honor when they had battled the ex-monk. They had not taken the matter seriously.
Wu Ying’s opponents all had. He’d had to break his last opponent’s arm to make him declare his loss. Break his arm—for a simple sparring match. That was how far some of them were willing to take it. So his fights had required more chi, expended more of his energy, injured him when Tou Hei was only tired and bruised.
“Maybe. But I am still standing,” Wu Ying said, raising his sword in impatience. He could delay for a few more breaths. but the difference would be negligible. Better to get this over with. “Long Wu Ying, of the Verdant Green Waters Sect.”
“Fu Lu Ren, direct disciple of Elder Yip of the Heavenly Lake Sect,” Lu Ren said. He brought his trident upward, setting his feet apart.
Announcements made, the pair stood in silence. Even the crowd grew silent, watching the two square off. Wu Ying felt his heart rate slow slightly, his breathing calming and regulating. He watched his opponent—not his eyes or his hands, but his body. Letting his peripheral vision take in the rest.
Small twitches, the tightening of a hand, the adjustment of the angle of an elbow, the shifting of weight on the foot. Wu Ying took it all in, the smallest motion alerting him then discarded. Wu Ying shifted in reply, letting his body adjust to the minute motions his opponent made, closing off lines of attack—or leaving them open to invite a response.
Dueling was as much a game of chess, of creating openings for the opponent’s pieces as it was a physical fight. Shift your guard to allow your governor to be attacked in his palace in a certain direction. Leave a space for the chariots to rush but be careful of the knights and cannons[23] that might avoid your trap.
Each motion, each gap, had to be different too, for each piece your opponent used. A trident could attack with any of its three tines. It had more range and could capture blades. A jian was simpler but more agile, able to swiftly change direction and strike at any angle.
A duel was a chess match of bodies and weapons, of forms and physicality. A game of mind and body, and one that Wu Ying had joined tired, aching, his mind fogged while his opponent was fresh, his chi full. No surprise then that the first to move was Lu Ren.
A step to the left, and then aga
in. Wu Ying idly noted his opponent fought with his left hand leading. A left-hander. That would matter to some, like wandering cultivators who had insufficient practice. To someone like Wu Ying, who’d been trained to fight with both hands, who’d faced his father either-handed, who’d met opponents in his Sect who wielded weapons in either hand, it made little difference.
Just a different board setup.
They fought, weapons seeking each other’s throats. Searching for a way to win, to beat their opponent. Wu Ying moved, probing with each motion of his sword, shifting his feet to create new angles, new options. And Lu Ren, for all his mouthiness, followed Wu Ying’s placements, cutting off lines of assault, his heavier weapon aiming to thrust, to cut, to break.
Arm. Leg. Sword. It didn’t matter, not to the trident. Three different tines, easy to catch his weapon, easy to injure or target multiple areas.
A dozen passes, jian flicking forward, cutting, stabbing, chopping. Each attack dodged or, more often, struck aside. His weapon was of decent quality but chipped under the assault. Metal chips flew through the air as the pair dueled.
Dragon blocking the Sunset.
Chip.
Wings splayed for the Mate.
Chip.
Heron stalking the Marsh.
Missed.
Wu Ying’s sword arm sliced across once, a push cut that left a thin line of flesh shaved off the forearm. A twist from the trident nearly tore his weapon out of his hand at the last second.
In turn, he made his opponent bleed too. Just a little. A tip slid across the top of the shoulder, skipping off the trapezius. A retraction after a block, the edge skimming against the extended thigh, damaged edges catching against folds of cloth and skin.
Deep inside, Wu Ying knew he was losing. His reaction times were down, the strikes by the trident making the already tired, slow fingers on his hand less and less responsive. His motions grew larger with each second, more energy used with each motion. His weapon continued to be chipped away, his opponent reinforcing the trident with his own chi. A chi that smelled burnt, slightly rotten. It made Wu Ying’s nose scrunch up even as he fought. Another unneeded distraction.
He was losing, and no matter how much Wu Ying churned his chi, drew upon the energy within his body and the environment, he could not win. The attacks were stronger, harder than he had expected. His opponent, a higher level of cultivation. Faster. Maybe not more skilled, but it was a hair’s difference.
Wu Ying could not get close, could not grapple or use other forms. The trident took away his range advantage, the butt of the weapon threatening, striking him whenever he closed in. Already, Wu Ying’s shin hurt from a shaft that had caught a roundhouse kick. He had to learn a unique weapon, a unique form. And all the while, Lu Ren knew Wu Ying’s tactics, knew what he would do, having studied him for six duels.
A step deep into Wu Ying’s guard and a shoulder shove by Lu Ren sent Wu Ying stumbling. The trident came up within Wu Ying’s guard, swinging cross-body to tear open Wu Ying’s chest. A downward block, an arm reinforced with chi got in the way of the shaft before momentum could be built up.
Too little, too late.
The impact resounded through the stage. It caught the attention of all those watching. It made even the uninitiated wince. Wu Ying’s hand numbed, his fingers falling open as he lost all sensation. The air flooded with the burnt chi smell as his opponent reinforced his attack at the last moment. More, much more than a simple Energy Storage cultivator should have been able to achieve.
Wu Ying retreated, instinct retracting his sword, bringing it to point at his opponent’s face to buy time. His left arm hung by his side. Useless. A change in stances, angling away as he retreated.
His loss, Wu Ying knew, but you never let your guard down until the duel was truly over. He opened his mouth to call out his loss, regret and stubbornness holding his lips closed for a second as he retreated rather than speak immediately.
Too little. Too late.
Wu Ying’s jaw snapped shut, words choked off. A sweeping tine nearly took off his nose. A stab sought his eyes. No taunting, no hesitation. Lu Ren rushed forward, throwing attacks again and again, even as the crowd stirred restlessly. The burnt chi smell grew stronger, choked Wu Ying in its intensity.
A slight haze formed around Lu Ren, the trident stabbing at face, chest, face, leg. Kicks targeted Wu Ying’s damaged hand. Reverse shaft strikes to beat his sword aside.
Wu Ying’s leg reached backward, found nothing behind it, and retracted. He froze, unable to retreat farther. Instinct kept his hands moving, his balance centered over the stage. Seconds had passed from the initial injury to his arm to his retreat. Not enough time for the audience to do much but exclaim, for his friends to move toward the stage.
Caught out, Wu Ying’s sword became predictable. The trident swept in, twisted as it caught the jian, locking the blade in place. A surge of strength ripped it out of Wu Ying’s hand. The tines of the trident raised to the sky. Then, it came down.
A hasty block, reinforced by both hands crossed over one another against the shaft of the weapon. Wu Ying took the attack on the Woo Petal Bracer, guarding himself even as pain from his already injured arm flared. The attack drove Wu Ying to his knees. Lu Ren flared his chi again, driving his strength to a level that Wu Ying could not match. It reminded Wu Ying of the taotai, the strength of a Core level monster. Impossible to handle as an Energy Storage cultivator.
On his knees, Wu Ying saw Lu Ren retract the weapon to thrust forward. There was no hesitation in Lu Ren’s eyes. Blood lust, killing intent flowed from it, that sneer fully capturing his face. He thrust, and Wu Ying copied the action.
No sword, no defense. Instinct and epiphany mixed. Knowledge from the fights before, the manipulation of chi formed and coalesced in Wu Ying’s mind. First, let the chi within his body flow, faster and more fluidly like the water chi opponent. Draw metal chi from the Bracer to form a sword. Wrap the weapon with his own chi like the crossbow bolts, give it weight like the flail, and project the attack through the Dragon’s Breath. Enforce the concept with his understanding of the dao of cutting, of sharpness.
It was a single motion, a thrust with all the chi left in Wu Ying’s body, a pair of fingers leading the way. The chi-created sword struck Lu Ren high in the chest, just below the trachea. The blow was blunted, the moment of enlightenment incomplete.
But sufficient.
It threw his opponent back, made his own attack go off course. A tine tore at Wu Ying’s ear, making it bleed as it passed. The others missed. Lu Ren staggered back, his weapon falling, choking and breathless.
The formation around the arena flickered off. Figures flew down, a hand raised to strike Wu Ying, only to be blocked by Fa Yuan in her familiar green and grey robes. Words shouted at one another even as Wu Ying’s chi-bereft body sagged, his friends clustering around him as they ascended the stage.
Then…
Enlightenment. And darkness.
***
Wu Ying came to hours later in his own room in the inn. Pain radiated from his arm, from his numerous wounds, and took his attention first and foremost. He breathed in, feeling stitches across his bare chest pull, the silk blankets he was laid under shift. Gingerly, Wu Ying clenched his fist, attempting to close it. Pain flared again, making Wu Ying’s breath hitch.
“Stop that,” Lei Hui’s voice came, breaking across Wu Ying’s self-examination. “We just finished cleaning you. If you can move, you should instead drink this.” A hand offered a shallow bowl full of a brownish-grey, foul-smelling concoction.
“What happened?” Wu Ying asked as he levered himself up with his uninjured hand. He felt… good. Better than he should have. Even his arm, which still hurt, seemed to hurt less.
“You beat Lu Ren at the last moment. Do you remember your strike?” Lei Hui pushed the bowl at Wu Ying again.
The cultivator sighed but took it, draining the concoction that smelled like crushed dung ants and rotten lotus roots in one
swift gulp. “Vaguely.” Wu Ying breathed through his nose after pushing the bowl aside. He focused on his arm, flexing it gently rather than his mouth, where the cloying taste, bitter and crunchy, still lingered. Tea helped. A little. “It was a sword strike. Without the sword.”
“You formed a sword with your chi,” Lu Ren agreed. “Impressive. Mostly late Energy or Core stage cultivators can do that. Or, well, will do that. It takes a lot of chi.”
Wu Ying made a face, memory flooding back. How drained he’d felt as he used up every available dreg of chi within his dantian. He still had energy left, of course. There was no way to really use it all—not without burning your life force, the stable reservoir of chi that made up one’s core of their dantian. But he’d used what was available.
“How long was I out?” Wu Ying asked, probing his own energy. To his surprise, he noted the Never Empty Wine Pot cultivation exercise had been running even while he slept. It explained why he was filled, but not fully.
“Just over an hour. You don’t recall what happened after?” At Wu Ying’s shake of his head, Lei Hui continued. “You nearly killed Lu Ren. His Master tried to kill you in retaliation. But Elder Yang stopped him. She and, well, some other Elders blocked his rampage. Lu Ren is healing, though you nearly shattered his trachea with your attack.”
Wu Ying nodded, remembering the attack. And now, glimpses of what Lei Hui said. But his memory was filled with something else. A warm glow, a rush of chi, a sense of peace. A sharp smell, of burning metal and the scent of a freshly oiled sword. Understanding, grasped.
“You remember,” Lei Hui stated.
Wu Ying looked up, hearing the tinge of jealousy in the apothecarist’s voice. “Enlightenment.”
“Yes. What did you—” Lei Hui stopped, shook his head. “Never mind. Forget I asked.”
“No, it’s fine,” Wu Ying said. It was impolite to ask about others’ enlightenment. After all, it was a personal thing. But Wu Ying could understand Lei Hui’s point. Gaining enlightenment always jumped one’s cultivation, made it easier. The more you had, the easier it was to progress. And to step into the final stage, to gain immortality, you needed sufficient enlightenment. “It was about the nature of chi. Of the elements. Of sharpness and cutting. When you put them together when you wield each element…”