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.
“Begin.”
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.
“I’m not afraid of a commoner like you. You only got the Sense of your sword recently. Even with your vaunted heritage,” Yin Xue said with a sneer as he tapped his arm, sealing off some of the blood vessels with chi and acupressure points.
Wu Ying blinked, surprised at Yin Xue’s unexpected knowledge, but then double-checked the distance between the two of them. Just in case. Acupoint knowledge meant that Yin Xue might be able to deal out acupoint attacks. Dangerous—since such an attack could freeze and block movement. But using it on oneself for such a minor wound… it was foolish. An overreaction.
“Yes, you are,” Wu Ying said, his voice growing in confidence. “Because you only have one chance. And I’m winning.” A reaction at that, but not a huge one. So. Not that. “You don’t want to get hurt again. You don’t like the pain.” A twitch, just the smallest dip in the tip of the sword before it sprung back up immediately. Yin Xue was shaking his head, denying Wu Ying’s words, but Wu Ying had seen the dip. “You’re afraid of the pain.”
“No!” Yin Xue roared, his face flushed as he threw himself forward, desperately rushing to cover the ground, to hack and slash and cut.
But the Long family style was all about staying at a distance, fighting at the outer ranges with reverse lunges and quick circles. A rushing opponent was exactly the kind Wu Ying had trained for all his life.
Dragon steps first, to circle and turn. Covering the clouds with the tail to attack while retreating. And then, as the wounds from the cuts and stabs blossomed, when Yin Xue’s desperate rush failed, as fear took control again, the Sword’s Truth. A single lunge that covered more ground than any single attack should—that focused all the intent, all the knowledge and force of an individual’s chi-empowered body into one attack. In a second, that moment of eternity that is combat time, Wu Ying saw his sword fly forward past the ineffective, waving defenses of his opponent. Ready to end this. End all the taunting, all the anger, all the doubt.
A last-second twitch of his sword shifted the blade from Yin Xue’s heart to his shoulder, and the blade stabbed deep within, carrying the cultivator back. Wu Ying’s blade erupted from Yin Xue’s back. When his momentum finally finished, Wu Ying stopped, straightening and drawing his sword back out with a jerk and a flick of his wrist. Quick steps to move out of reach of his opponent’s weapon, though only then did Wu Ying realize it had been dropped.
Then sound returned. Or perhaps, more specifically, his recognition of the noises around him. The gasps, the shouts of dismay and surprise, the screaming and crying from Yin Xue. The thundering beat of his heart in his ears. Wu Ying turned and stared at the referee, whose mouth snapped shut before he shouted for medical aid.
“Junior Long, you purposely injured your opponent!” the referee scolded Wu Ying, pointing at Yin Xue being led off the stage. “You heard the Elder. Injuries should not be inflicted on fellow sect members. That attack could have crippled Lord Wei! I will register your offense immediately!”
Wu Ying blinked slowly as his adrenaline-fueled mind slowly cooled. He found himself baring his teeth, stepping toward the referee even as his hand clenched around his blood-stained sword. “Go ahead. And while you do that, I’ll register my complaint about how you interrupted our fight to allow him to heal. The fight would have been over earlier, with fewer injuries, if you had not done so.”
“You dare threaten your Senior! You have no respect for the proper order of things!”
“Wrong. I have great respect for the rules and morals of our society. When they’re broken, I have no respect for those who break them,” Wu Ying replied, his lips pulling into a wolfish grin. Pain and adrenaline rode his sense, robbing him of his usual caution. Even now, he weaved from side to side while standing still.