“We don’t train with practice weapons here,” Chao Kun replied, his voice holding a trace of a sneer. “Those are for children and those who cannot control themselves.”
“That’s not right,” Wu Ying muttered. But the way everyone nodded at Chao Kun’s words told Wu Ying he was not going to convince anyone about the appropriateness of training gear. Instead, he looked between the pair on stage.
Wu Ying extended his senses to their auras to gain a sense of their strength. Both were beginning stage Energy Storage, which made sense as the pair had been training together. One wielded the jian—the straight sword Wu Ying himself preferred—while the other had a dao that was mildly curved. It was almost a jian if not for the curl at the end, which would give the blade more weight. Neither pair had drawn their swords in their practice bout, having been practicing their unarmed martial arts.
“Really? This one?” the dao wielder said with a frown. Under the training clothes the dao wielder wore, Wu Ying saw hints of significant muscle along his arms. “He can’t be more than mid-stage Body Cleansing.”
“Tou He brought him. Stop complaining and fight him, Ah Rong. Or let someone else,” Chao Kun said.
That stopped the dao wielder’s complaints for a moment. “Very well, let us get this over with.”
Jin Rong walked forward from the edge of the stage, unsheathing his dao as he did so. Wu Ying’s eye was drawn to the weapon, and he could not help but marvel at its exquisite beauty. It shone with a luster he had seen only in a few other blades, the edge catching the light with every motion. The way Jin Rong handled the weapon, Wu Ying could immediately tell the other had a decent understanding of it.
“Draw your weapon,” Jin Rong said impatiently.
Wu Ying’s lips pressed tightly in irritation. Because of his irritation, he took his time to continue gauging Jin Rong as he placed his hand on his own jian. Jin Rong probably had the Sense of the Sword like him. The first step, Wu Ying knew, was to see if he had the Heart. If he did, with his higher cultivation unsuppressed, Wu Ying would stand no chance. If not, then so long as this continued to stay as a practice match, he could put on a decent showing. Maybe even learn a little.
“Come on!”
Wu Ying shook his head, pushing aside any thought of stalling further. He could see even Chao Kun looked impatient, while a small idle crowd had gathered. Tou He flashed Wu Ying an encouraging smile as Wu Ying drew his sword and fell into the opening stance of his style.
“Dao users are aggressive. They must close in to attack, for a cut has less reach than a lunge. Those who underestimate you will approach quickly to reach their measure immediately.”
His father’s voice threaded through Wu Ying’s mind before Chao Kun started the match. Primed, Wu Ying saw how Jin Rong leaned a little too far forward, how his knees bent as Chao Kun’s words were ending. Immediately, Wu Ying dropped, his hand extending as he hid his body behind the guard. The motion caught Jin Rong’s explosive surge, forcing the other to stutter his steps or impale himself on the jian. Even as Jin Rong stopped, Wu Ying recovered forward and brought his jian up to beat aside the dao, throwing his opponent even more off balance, before Wu Ying finished with a pair of wrist cuts targeted at his opponent’s neck that never landed.
As suddenly as it began, the match was over. Jin Rong stepped back, a discontented expression on his face, though the dao wielder did mutter a quick congratulations to Wu Ying as he left the stage. Wu Ying straightened, surprised it was over that simply.
The jian wielder walked forward, drawing his sword as he did so. “I won’t underestimate you like Jin Rong. He’s always too quick to judge.” His opponent was even darker than Wu Ying, almost a dusky tan to his skin, which blended with his jet-black hair. “Let us begin.”
Wu Ying raised his weapon to salute the other. The moment his blade dipped, the jian wielder was on him. From the start, Wu Ying felt pressured by his opponent’s jian, his opponent always staying just outside of his measure by inches. It was a goading style of swordplay, one which required his opponent to have complete confidence in his ability to judge Wu Ying’s movements. The style was frustrating, but it was the way that his opponent’s jian moved that sent a shiver through Wu Ying. Each dip, twist, and disengage Wu Ying completed was followed unerringly by his opponent. It was as if every action, every movement in his style was known to the other. No matter what he did, Wu Ying could not free his weapon.
For a tense minute, the pair played at the extreme range of their weapons. In that minute, Wu Ying broke into sweat, his breathing growing short as his mind flashed through the numerous openings he was showing the other. And each time he closed off a line of attack, he would find his opponent had found the next opening already.
His opponent smiled, his sword disengaging from the deadly dance. Wu Ying blinked, falling back at the sudden motion. As he recovered, his mind catching up with his reflexes, the opponent’s jian was headed directly toward his left eye. This time, his opponent’s attack was not a feint as he closed in and covered Wu Ying’s jian with his own, sending Wu Ying’s blade skittering off-line.
Lips drawn tight, Wu Ying gave up his blade. Instead, he dropped low using the Crane stretches over the Water from the Northern Shen Kicking Style to glide past the weapon. Or he tried at least, for his opponent’s sword tracked his motion precisely, the tip moving upward at the last moment. Rather than complete the form, Wu Ying brought his sword to his side, guarding himself as he disengaged.
“My loss,” Wu Ying said. When he was sure his opponent had heard and dropped the tip of his weapon, Wu Ying did the same. “Might I know Senior’s name?”
“We call him Hei Mao[7],” Chao Kun said. “Brother Mao likes to play with his opponents before he finishes them.”
“I told you not to call me that,” Hei Mao said as he sheathed his sword. Yet he did not provide Wu Ying another name. “Don’t worry. Your loss was not bad. You need more time to improve your Sense of your sword. You are still short by a lí[8].”
“Thank you, Senior.” Wu Ying shivered, staring as Hei Mao walked off the stage, headed for Jin Rong.
Before Wu Ying could move off the stage, he found a new opponent on it, smiling at him as she propped a thick staff on her shoulder.
“Where are you going? You don’t get to leave,” the woman said as she brought the quarterstaff off her shoulder to point at Wu Ying. “Come! I want to taste your sword.”
Coughing resounded from around the stage, but Wu Ying did not have time to focus on the amused audience. He barely had time for his sword to come to guard before the staff swung toward his face. Hastily blocking the attack, Wu Ying retreated as he fought to regain the momentum in this match. As he backpedaled, he saw Tou He smiling beatifically by the side, watching contentedly.
Two and a half hours later, Wu Ying was hit by a double-fisted punch that sent him flying off the stage. Wu Ying rolled as he struck the ground but could not recover before he smashed into the edge of another arena stage. Lying on his back, Wu Ying blearily raised his jian, only to realize no one was approaching him. Why would they? He was out of the ring finally.
As his head cleared and the pain in his chest faded, Wu Ying scrabbled to sheath his weapon. He rolled onto his knee, pausing when his head spun from exhaustion. To help, Wu Ying sent a flood of chi through his tired form, his head clearing as the chi refreshed muscles and renewed his energy. Eventually, Wu Ying levered himself upward, tamping down his chi flow as he weaved tiredly toward his friend.
Chao Kun nodded to Wu Ying. “You did well. Your technique is still rough, with too much movement and little integration between the two styles. But there are moments of brilliance in your fighting. You’ve had decent training and good instincts.”