“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 opening 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.