Something about the dull steel felt cold, against all logic. Her clothing should have been more than enough insulation against whatever lingering chill could have clung to the blade, and even that chill should have been nonexistent.

But still, there it was, pressing into her breast, the very tip of the sword, dulled though it may be; a spike of ice that threatened to pierce soft flesh at any moment. Mei Jian didn’t notice the moment in which her chest grew tight, or her throat hard, but somewhere in the blink between the sword first pressing its point into her and the moment it was lowered, that had happened nonetheless.

Another match? What a joke.

She forced the chuckle that came to mind from that out, trying her best to make it sound less like bitter pettiness and more like true mirth. “I don’t suppose you’re willing to offer the same terms again, Senior Sister? Give me a chance to restore my name?”

“Now, now, Mei-Mei. If I let you try as many times as you want, it won’t really have any meaning, will it? Although…”

Her tongue moistened red lips, before they stretched open just barely enough to show the pearly white teeth behind them. “I won’t deny that I love that look on my junior’s face when she’s trying to process what just happened, or the cute way she holds her chest out to accept the blade even as the rest of her body tries to pull away…”

Ming Yue slid the blade back into its garish sheath, letting the gentle snick punctuate her words as she watched her conversation partner for a reaction. As soon as the blush she had baited appeared, she continued.

“I’ll give you one more chance then, to win me over and do with me whatever you may please. But not today. When you’ve grown strong enough to think you really stand a chance, this senior sister will be waiting to show you where you belong, below her, again.”

Before Mei Jian could respond, she continued, cutting straight to the question about to be voiced as though it had been written on the younger girl’s face. “With the same terms on your part, of course. Although, this time the stakes will be the same for us both….”

A wink, followed by her hiding her coquettish grin behind a hand once more. “Well, what do you say~?”

“I’ll make you regret saying those words so casually.”

An arrogant statement on her part, certainly. One that would be difficult to live up to, without a doubt. But she was already in far too deep to let something like that stop her. After all, couldn’t the debt that she had taken on, on this same woman’s behalf, be said to be much the same?

So even as her own audacity shocked her, Mei Jian matched the grin stretched before her, forcing her own mouth open into one even wider. “Bide your time, Ming Yue. I’ll show you exactly how talented this junior of yours is.”

Without allowing for the absurdity of her statements to sink in, without responding the sweet laugh that rang out in the air, as much as it she felt it ring through her, Mei Jian spun on the spot and walked away, the added power of her newfound Qi giving the almost comical impression of rushing for the first few steps, until she gained control of it.

How on earth do I beat a move like that? It wasn’t as though she could go back and ask Ming Yue to explain her technique now, not that she would have been shameless enough to do so in the first place. No, rather than trying to pick it apart for a weakness, she would be better served by developing her own ability.

When compared to this morning alone, her path forwards was shockingly clear, the gathering and use of Qi already a whole new world to master and refine. But what good was that when it came to striving against the woman who had taught it to her? No, she needed something else. Something that her senior sister wouldn’t have already raced ahead of her on, something where she had an advantage.

An advantage? Even saying as much felt laughable.

She hadn’t even come up with a skill she could try and use to win the favor of an elder at the tournaments, after all that Yi Ping had done in guiding her to them. Now she was already thinking about another impossible goal, when she hadn’t made the first step towards paying off her debt….

Her breath started to slow, taking her heartbeat with it. It shouldn’t have, even her brisk walk enough to keep at least that slight level of strain. Why was she more relaxed than she would normally be when standing still?

Before the answer welled up in her mind, something reached out to snag her foot, sending her hurling towards the stones of the road. Her hands quickly shot out to break her fall. Too quickly. Instead they only succeeded at scraping a layer of skin from themselves while she planted her face into the ground.

For a second, then a few more, then a minute in full, she just lay there, waiting for the pain to hit. Then it did, a dull discomforting feeling, flowing throughout her face and drawing a sharper spike from her lip. Licking it rewarded her with a salty taste and another tang of discomfort. Split.

She rolled over onto her back. Perfect, just perfect. Why was she expecting anything else?

A sigh eased out, and it took a surprising amount of effort to keep tears from following it. Brimming up from her eyes just like the excess energy that surged within her, blurring vision and causing a disorienting feeling of unbalance.

That was the cause of her fall, of course. It was a small bonus, that of a fifth again added to her physical abilities at most. So one fifth of a step at a time, her legs moved too fast, until she misstepped completely. Her hands as well, resulting in dragging them across the stones uselessly, still too outstretched to halt her fall.

As soon as she thought of that, skinned flesh on her palms began to sting.

The clouds above, white and fluffy in the blue emptiness, drifted through the skies at a snail's pace. So soft. So slow. Just like her. At least they were free, rather than chained by debts and obligations.

“Why…?”

Her word, a question uttered aloud, cut off midway as she realized its futility. It didn’t matter anyway.

It would be so easy to spring back up. Every muscle was more than eager to respond, after all. Even the pain seemed blunted, less sharp, less distracting than it should have been. Yet a heavy stone had been placed on her chest, no, in her chest, or perhaps somewhere deeper still. It intercepted each signal from her mind, leaving her helpless on the ground, wallowing in the moment even as she cursed it for happening at all.

The sky above seemed to laugh, fluffy whiteness slowly dancing in bright, clear blue, unencumbered by anything. After all, wouldn’t it have the right to laugh? Who was she, to compare herself to the skies above? A nobody.

“Mei Jian?”

It took a moment to register the voice, lovely and kind as it was, as something real. After all, who would be calling out to her at this point in time? And by her actual name, not some mockery or newly and forcibly shouldered title?

A face blocked out a portion of the mocking bright blue and white, one graced with attractiveness that skirted the line between pretty and handsome. A hand reached out to her, one that felt far larger than it was as she allowed herself to be pulled up.

“Are you alright?” Yi Ping asked, a furrow of concern marring his forehead between soft eyes.

Her knees locked, her back went straight, and her head defaulted to a bow. “My apologies.”

It was like the moment of waking from a dream, when suddenly the world around her became so much more vivid. Only in this case, it had been vivid, too vivid, from the start. Instead, it was her place inside it that changed, mind snapping back to reality and dragging the rest of her with it the moment he asked the question.

“Eh?” His hand shot halfway out to straighten her, only to stop short. “What? No! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” His gaze remained skeptical, unswayed by her rote response. “I just had a minor training accident.”

“One that left you on the ground for long enough that I could round the corner, walk all the way to you, greet you, and pull you up without a reaction?” An expression not quite a smile was on the edge of his lips, maybe something more akin to disbelief. “Are you sure that really counts as minor?”

“I was just…” She paused. “I was lost in thought, I suppose. I’m all right now. I shouldn’t keep you any longer.”

“Where are you headed?” Something told her he already knew what she would say. Her hesitation confirmed it before she spoke.

“I’m not sure.”

“Good thing I already know, then. You’re going to go get medical attention.”

Her hands came up, trying to wave away the notion. “There’s really no need!”

His eyes fixed onto the raw skin on them, visible for a second and then for another before she traced the path of his gaze to them and then jerked them back down. “Really?”

“It’s just a few scrapes and bruises.” She shook her head, and with it a few errant drops of blood flew from her face, agitated by her speaking. “I promise, it just looks worse than it is!”

He let out a sound that was half sigh, half concerned chuckle. “Mei Jian…”

“I’m going to…” A swallow, trying to buy enough time. “I’m going to the baths to go clean up?”

“Good. I’ll go with you.”

“No, no, there isn’t any need for that.” Her mind went blank.

Go with her? As in walk her there? That couldn’t be all he meant, right? She didn’t look so infirm that she needed help with even that, right? After all, they were individual stalls. Surely he couldn’t mean that he wanted to accompany her inside of one…

Hopefully it would just look like her face had been reddened by the fall. She was still standing there, mouth slightly agape as the blush surfaced, when his gentle hand landed on her shoulder and guided her along.

Her first instinct was to shake him off, to insist that she could walk on her own, unaided. The moment she started though, his fingers loosened and his grip slid down. Her hand opened on its own to receive his, but instead it latched onto her wrist. Oh, right. Skinned palms.

His skin was warm, and smoother than she would have expected. None of the concealed strength that it held within it was applied, leaving only the slight sense of being held, rather than gripped. The hold was both tight and soft at the same time. No, it was firm, yet it never allowed for opposition, moving seamlessly with her, up and down with each step, pulling her along in a way that made it feel almost as though he was guiding her entire body through it, adjusting each step from the moment it began.

“You’re kind of aglow today, you know? Despite the dirt and blood.”

A dull sound came out of her mouth, something that wasn’t quite words. She tried again. “Thank you?”

“Is it a question? I know I said ‘despite’, but it was still a compliment, wasn’t it?”

“Well, I, uh,” Why did I say it like that? “Thank you.”

That earned her another giggle. “I can give you a different one, if you’d prefer. Maybe one not based on current looks?”

She shook her head, catching the moment he looked back to her. Thankfully, that was response enough as they pulled free of the trees and into the clearing beside the river. She became suddenly conscious of the skin-on-skin contact again, and of all the people watching. They were watching, weren’t they?

Her eyes flicked through all the sect members, one by one, counting each and noting each glance she received in response. They aren’t looking.

She fought down the urge to look through all of them again. Nobody wanted to be ogled at the baths, after all, even if they were all fully clothed. Although, given the state of changing, ‘fully’ may have been an exaggeration for some of them. Certainly, no one would be entirely nude, not outside the wooden stalls built along the river, but plenty of them neglected to wear anything but the basics, keeping their outfits outside to avoid getting them wet or dirty.

Wait….

She didn’t have any clothes of her own to change into. What was she supposed to do, again? Was she even taking a bath, or just washing her newly injured face and hands clean? That would make more sense, after all. Although, it wasn’t as though the fall had left the rest of her devoid of dirt and filth either.

“Yi Ping—” She started to say, only to cut herself off. Was I about to ask him how to bathe myself? What is wrong with me?

Mei Jian shook her head, another action that came out far more vigorous than intended. “I’ll wash up, then. Make sure my wounds are clean.”

“Good. They have spare towels, just over there. I’ll fetch you one. You don’t need bandages, do you?” He let go of her wrist, and for a moment it hung suspended in the air, as though it had forgotten how to behave without his touch.

Her head shook again, this time slower than it should have been, and still just as awkward and unnatural. “Ah, thank you.”

Of course, even just for washing off her face, she needed to disrobe, right? That much was obvious. She couldn’t exactly go dumping buckets over her head, still fully clothed, even if it was warmer today than it had been.

The robe was already halfway open, top untied with stinging hands, when another pair clamped onto them, keeping it closed by force. Yi Ping. When had he returned, again? Or no, he hadn’t left yet, had barely even turned to leave. “Inside the stall first, okay, Mei Jian? I’ll be waiting right outside.”

Blush colored her cheeks, too late. Her hand pulled the robe tighter as he let go. One stammered explanation after another failed to get from her brain to her mouth, until she eventually just nodded.

The rest of her clothing came off just as easily, though she fumbled a bit with the knots that somehow grew tighter the more she tried to untie them, taking a second to realize she was pulling on the wrong strings. Just fold them up, no, just bundle them close enough together, and place them in the basket outside.

Reassuring hands met hers the moment they passed back out the curtain, taking the poorly arranged articles and replacing them with something soft and fluffy. A towel, she realized, pulling it back into the stall with her. How had he brought it back already? Hadn’t he only left a second ago?

It didn’t matter. Just pick up the bucket, and pour it over your head. It was that easy.

Cold.

The water was still just as cold as last time. Her face went numb, the sole other sensation remaining a new stinging from her lip. She rubbed the towel on it, and was rewarded with the fluffy brown staining itself red. Again, to the same result. Though maybe red wasn’t the right color. Red on brown? Did that make dark red? Or dark brown? Maroon, maybe?

She wasn’t sure the exact shade of the last one, but it was a fusion of the two, was it not?

Ah.

She should have dried her hair first, before messing around with dirtying the towel. Really, she shouldn’t have done that at all. Now the water had run down her neck, over her shoulders, cold rivets running over the curves and divots of her chest and back, and then further down still, like a frozen lover’s hands eager to explore.

That thought sparked something else inside her, as the water slowly traced its way down to her hips, to her thighs. Yi Ping was still waiting for her outside, wasn’t he? Something about her current state seemed to suddenly become embarrassing. He wasn’t waiting for too long, right? He hadn’t been?

He wouldn’t decide that she’d collapsed or something, and decide to check on her, right? Now that was a thought that created a new surge of heat, one not contained just to her face, and one more than strong enough to contest the chill of the water.

Somehow, she managed to dry herself, and to reach back out for her clothes. They had been neatly folded. Or, replaced with a new set? Retrieving them, she traced a finger down the front of the robe, finding the tear Wei Feng’s dull strike had created on the first day.

Still the same set then.

Surely that same strike wouldn’t reach her now though, with her newly discovered Qi. After all, she had spent the entire fight just trying to catch up to his raw physical prowess. Without that gap, the blow wouldn’t have come so close to landing. No, he would have never had the chance to throw it in the first place. She would have taken a victory right in the first exchange, just as she had initially planned.

The rest of the robes had already started to show some weathering, slight traces of damage caused by the past week. Had it even been a week, yet? Since she had joined? Her mind flicked through the days, counting them off one by one.

Not until tomorrow, then.

Ah…. She was supposed to be getting dressed. Yi Ping was still waiting on her….

Rushing through the process, she stepped out, catching her foot on the low frame at the ground as she swept the curtain aside, and falling into waiting arms. She braced herself for a laugh that never came as he propped her back up.

“I’m sorry for showing you something so shameful.” Mei Jian’s eyes flicked to the bucket in her hands, unable to meet his gaze. Another pang of pain as she spoke, drawing a new wetness to the corner of her mouth.

They were forced back up when he drew a finger across her lip, wiping away the newly welled blood. “I think it’s rather cute, in a way.”

He withdrew a square of silken cloth, a handkerchief perhaps, from his robe, wiping his hand clean. “Isn’t it a nice feeling to be able to see someone else’s clumsy side, and to have them rely on you?”

The same cloth was applied to her face. Definitely silk, judging by the texture. Not that she had any kind of familiarity with it, only having had the passing brushes on rare occasion. It was cool, somehow, and soft beyond words. She felt bad, staining it over something like this.

A calming scent clung to it. Not flowers, nor fruits. Lavender, maybe? Perfume was another area in which she was woefully ignorant. Whatever it was, something about it felt like a balm applied directly to her brain, one that lasted only a painfully brief instant as the hand retreated.

It gave her just enough clarity to reply.

“I can’t help but to feel that recently…. No, for all my life, I’ve been only showing my shameful side and leaning on those better than me.”

A bitter laugh punctuated her words. “Even though you told me the key to paying off my debt, I still haven’t come any closer to even figuring out where to start, much less began to put work into it. No matter what I do, I just dig myself deeper and deeper with no way out.”

Yi Ping replied with a laugh of his own, this one far less bitter. In fact, it carried a tone of mirth over into his next words.

“Wanna go watch a tournament with me?”

“Eh?” Her head tilted. “Pardon?”

“A tournament. Swords and spears and exciting action and drama? One winner takes all?” He waved a hand in front of her. “You sure you didn’t bang your head too badly?”

“No, I remember what a tournament is. I thought the first one wasn’t for a few weeks yet though….”

“Officially, sure.” He leaned in close, putting his hand up to shield his words from nonexistent eavesdroppers. “I’m talking about a secret tournament.”

“A…A secret tournament?” Something about the words didn’t want to stick in her brain.

“You’ll come watch it with me, right?” The boy’s voice held a note of excitement, one that seemed equal parts genuine and coaxing.

“Sure…”

His hand had already clasped around her wrist again, pulling her along. “This is a perfect chance, honestly. I was hoping we could do this. It’s going to be ideal for preparation.”

“Preparation. For the real tournament?” Her head tilted. “It’s some type of practice round?”

“Not exactly.” He giggled. “But I suppose that isn’t entirely wrong either.”

They had come to a stop, barely having taken a dozen steps. Right back in front of the stall that she had just emerged from. Her head tilted farther, looking at him in confusion. “It’s in a bath stall?”

Yi Ping pointed to her free hand. “Well, I assumed you might want to put the bucket back first? So that the next person can use it?”

"Right, right.” She let her other arm slip free of his fingers, stepping back in briefly and depositing it on the shelf inside once more.

He didn’t stop speaking for a moment as he pulled her along. “Say, I don’t think I’ve had the chance to ask. Do you prefer sweet or savory foods?”

Now that was an interesting question, certainly. If she were to list them out, plenty of her favorites would be on both lists. She had more fond memories of savory dishes, probably, merely because sweet things were harder to come by when fruits were out of season. But at the same time, perhaps it was the scarcity of those moments that gave them metaphorical sweetness to rival the physical.

A hot soup or plate of freshly fried food after a hard day's labor was difficult to beat. Just something about feeling the energy come flowing back into her, filling the void of spent calories and lost sweat, was what had been one of the greatest comforts of her past life.

Although, the first harvest of fruits, the special occasions that called for breaking out preserves, the fleeting moments at festivals, searching for the merchant who had the best deal on something normally well outside her humble budget…

Her train of thought was broken when Yi Ping stopped in front of one of the buildings. He looked back at her, flashing a smile as sweet as the treats that had danced behind her eyes. “Well, if you can’t pick, then it will have to be one of each.”

Mei Jian didn’t register that until the man at the window handed Yi Ping a shallow wooden tray, and he held it out to her, revealing a pair of skewers that held candied fruits and, placed beneath them, two soft steamed buns, vapor still rising from them into the barely chilly air.

“No, I can’t afford to—”

Her mouth cut off her words on its own as he waved a bun before her nose, less than a finger away. Drool filled it instead, which she swallowed down. “I insist, there’s really no need for—”

He stuffed it in mid-sentence, and the flavors filled her mouth with an experience more myriad than the stars in the sky, the soft bun itself giving way to vegetables that themselves gave way to a whole range of sauces and spices, some familiar, others foreign, or perhaps merely foreign combinations of familiar tastes. It was good.

Maintaining her glare proved impossible after the first second, not that there was ever any true intention behind it in the first place. After all, how could she really get mad at him for trying to treat her, even if it hadn’t been the most delicious steamed bun to ever grace the face of the earth?

“Well? Isn’t that worth giving up a little bit of pride for?”

The need to swallow delayed her answer, though it would seem he hadn’t needed anything so verbal. “Besides, we’re going to a tournament! Who’s ever heard of not having something to eat at a tournament? It’s not even like a festival, where you can make the excuse of not wanting to spill it as you walk about.”

There was a sense of reason to his logic, though she wasn’t about to disclose that her sole experience with tournaments thus far lay in village boys with poorly carved swords and even more poorly planned out rules deciding to host their own, the type of affair where being fun to play was far more pressing a demand than actually deciding the strongest. Mei Jian had declined to participate, not that it had been something for which she was sought out.

Not before that day, and certainly not after it. Not even the ignorance of youth was foolish enough to play around with that level of disrespect, not when it had been so very close to home for all of them.

They stopped before another building, this one tall and broad, one of the largest in the sect. Yi Ping pulled her hand again, pointing with his other arm, still grasping the tray of food. “Look, look! They even got permission from an elder to use the official stage, the one for holding real matches!”

Before she could ask who ‘they’ were, or how exactly this tournament was supposed to be ‘secret’ if it was held in the middle of the sect, on a public stage, with an elder’s express permission, he had already made his way inside, and somehow her feet followed him on their own, making their way into the wide-open space where wooden bleachers stretched up into the sky all around them.

The lowest ring was nearly filled, with several dozen outer disciples and initiates, and even a few of the more refined pink robes that marked an inner disciple, worn by those either given a clear berth or hosting a small crowd around them on their own, regardless of the position of said seats.

Nearly, but not entirely, as the two of them were able to find a seat in only a handful of seconds, and soon it became apparent that some of those here had intentions other than entertainment. Those in the gap between the stage and the audience, testing out weapons with swings in the air, stretching out limbs and warming up muscles, radiating a curious mix of nervousness and excitement, one that she could almost taste in the air.

After a minute, they all gathered together, speaking in hushed tones. One took out parchment and a quill, and in front of him another pulled free some small object. A die? A coin? Either way, it soon became clear even from outside the reach of their voices that they were deciding the opponents, and that not everyone was happy with the manner.

Gather as they were, it took them a minute to register something clear to the observers, a fact which caused a faint smile to creep onto Mei Jian’s face, one that slowly grew with each second that she was ahead of the aspiring competitors in this realization.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

It spread to Yi Ping as well, she noticed, and with each glace they took at one another and then back at the stage, their matching expressions grew wider and wider, until her own laughter and his beautiful voice together were barely restrained, giggles under their breath just loud enough that those sitting on either side could have heard, should they not have been distracted by the voices before them that grew louder.

Eventually though, the moment broke, and someone became aware that one challenger had already climbed upon the stage, wearing a look a blend of arrogance, boredom, and pride so obviously sculpted to be provocative that the clear facsimile it was by nature of its creation did nothing to dissuade the impact it evoked.

A red tassel fluttered from her spear, drawing a contrast with the wood of the shaft that seemed dark enough to drink up the light, and the polished, paler wood of the head, white and gleaming enough to almost reflect the sun just like the steel that it was meant to emulate.

“Li Biyu,” one of them called out, the same man who had drawn out the paper. “We’re still in the process of deciding the order and opponents. Could you be so kind as to step down please?”

“There’s no need for that. I’m going first.”

He sighed, and the patient smile on his face was surprisingly clear, even from a dozen paces. “You can’t choose that on your own, you understand? There are rules in place for a reason.”

“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine.” She pointed a finger to each of the initiates around the stage, starting with herself and ending with him. “That’s not even numbers. Someone is going to have to go twice, you understand? It’s not a problem for me, so just send up the first loser.”

The man didn’t get a chance to reply, not before someone else jumped up onto the stage.

“I would be more than happy to teach her a lesson.” A man with a shaven head, and a long scar down one side of his face. He flourished his blade as he stepped forwards.

It was a weapon Mei Jian wasn’t familiar with. A wooden shaft, about the length of an arm and a half, and an uneven protrusion on the side. Almost like a fusion of an axe and a scythe, with one side blunter and heavier, and the other long and sharp.

How was such a thing used?

She didn’t get the chance to see. The pseudo-scribe called the match into action, and the challenger hefted his weapon and made to advance. The spear was already darting under it. He brought it back down, but the lighter pole circled back up, probing at his face.

He leaned back, unable to pull up his defense in time. That was his first mistake, and his last one. Li Biyu stepped in again, extended her arms out fully, and jammed the tip of her wooden blade into his neck. Mei Jian could see the pain etched into his face, the basic, animalistic fear as he suddenly lost the ability to breath, and dropped his sole line of attack to grasp at his throat with both hands.

He never saw the swing coming, not until it cracked into his skull with a sound graphic enough to make her wince and strong enough to send his body sliding along the stage to the edge. She didn’t even notice Yi Ping offering her the stick of candied fruits, or realize that she had absentmindedly finished the last of her bun.

She was not the only one to suffer such effects. A cry of outrage, one tinged with fear, went up from several of those waiting their own turn, and one of the inner disciples even stood and dashed to the prone man, placing a pair of fingers to his neck to check for a pulse, and then to his skull, from where they returned red.

He shot a line that seemed to be scolding, judging from the tone, to the smirking victor, and then another, an admonishment of some kind, to the organizer with parchment. He bowed, a serious look on his face, promising to prevent it, or something along those lines.

The injury only seemed to dissuade the next pair for a second, both barely waiting for Li Biyu to step down before they jumped up. Both were swordsmen, both wielding the standard, slender blades of the Plum Blossom sect, made light as a one handed sword with a handle long enough for two to easily fit.

One took advantage of that, the same one who had served as scribe, and the other, yet unknown, didn’t. Neither moved at first, then both began to slowly circle from well out of range. The stage was easily two dozen strides across, and at no point did they keep less than half of it between them.

Forget being right outside a dedicated lunge, they were more likely to launch any type of surprise attack by manner of a sprint.

Yi Ping nudged her arm. “Mei Jian, the fruits. You’re not going to eat them?”

She didn’t fully comprehend his words until he brought them up to her mouth, and the slightly tangy coating and fresh, juicy fruit beneath gave Mei Jian her secondary culinary shock of the day.

Fruit was fruit, right? It was supposed to be a complete flavor all on its own, without needing spices and sweeteners and accompaniments and the like. That was what she had always thought, at least. Adding more on top would be just diluting the perfection of nature.

But somehow, this dish of candied fruits, this one stick, overturned all of her expectations. It didn’t dilute the flavor, but enhanced it, drawing each aspect, the sweetness, the tanginess, the sourness, out in high detail, painted out into a tapestry of wonder on her tongue.

Her eyes took a second to refocus, falling first on her companion’s cheeky grin, and then on the two figures atop the stage, still yet to engage. Murmurs of dissatisfaction had started to float around. It wasn’t merely the lack of an attack, of a first move, but neither even stepping into one another’s space? Not even feints, changing stances, or presenting false openings as temptations?

“Watch carefully~” Yi Ping whispered, leaning in close enough that her ear could feel his warm breath brush along it gently.

One of them finally took a step in the forward direction, breaking the stalemate. The other stepped back, and that triggered a dash. Two more steps back brought the retreater to the edge, and then by the time he had looked back they were already clashing steel.

Clashing being a generous term, she realized, each strike landing most of the way through its arc, the passive defense barely halting it for a fraction of a heartbeat before it smashed into the next one. The difference in speed, in power, was so great that it looked more like the aggressive man was merely practicing strikes on a wooden dummy than like he was engaged in a match against a resisting opponent.

With one more strike, he batted the sword of his opponent free, and by the time it landed at the feet of the spectators, the loser was already crouched down, hands over his head in an attempt to ward off a finishing blow that never came as he babbled forfeits.

The next pair was different, one man instead bearing a shallowly curved blade, held in only a single hand. His opponent, a girl of slender build, still kept to the traditional straight blade, but matched his method of holding, both extending their blades out, tips just barely apart and aimed at one another’s throats.

There was something off about it though, something that Mei Jian noticed even before her companion started to count slowly.

“It will be her victory, in 5 ....4....3....2….” The man sprung forward at that number, although it would have been impossible for him to hear Yi Ping’s whisper from the crowd.

It was a level of force from his foot that could only be Qi enhanced, creating a faint ripple in the air, more a stomping kick that threw him by sheer force of recoil than a proper step. It didn’t stop his sword from being swept aside as the two blades connected, and may well have spelled his defeat when it sent his face running into a palm thrust out at the apex of his lunge.

A phantom pain stung Mei Jian’s nose as she heard his break, and she winced as he hit the ground like a sack of rice, exactly at the moment the count concluded.

“…1.”

She turned her head, still keeping half her view on the stage, where the victor was now offering a helping hand to her victim, drawing him back to his feet with a kind phrase of encouragement.

“Did you know that would happen?” Was he familiar with them? How could he have predicted the sudden end, with the winner and second planned out exactly?

“I’ll answer that with another question. Why did the last man lose?”

Because he was disarmed? The simple answer sprung unbidden, for that surely wasn’t what he meant. Because he got outmatched in terms of blows? Because he never mounted a counterattack, only defending up until, like water slowly washing away footprints on the riverbed, his chances slowly vanished with each passing second?

“He didn’t do anything?” She ventured.

“Exactly, but why?” Yi Ping raised a hand, miming a sword slash. “He had a technique of some kind prepared, but he never threw it out. He never had the chance to, rather. Because he based his whole strategy around using that technique, when his opponent dominated him through sheer skill there was no opportunity for him to do anything at all. He lacked flexibility.”

The jump from there was easy. “The second match, the loser was worried about it. He too was someone with a technique but not a high base level, so he used it right at the start, trying for a quick win before he could be overwhelmed.”

“Exactly!” He pulled another fruit free from his skewer before continuing. “She took advantage of that, discarding both swords and beating him on physicality. With a gap like that, there’s no chance of it lasting after the initial counter.”

The difference between Qi in a technique and general Qi is large indeed... A principle she had only learned earlier that day, but one that these two matches had made stunningly clear through practice. No, perhaps it harkened back to the very day she entered the sect, with her match against that arrogant young master.

Despite exploiting the terrain, having the better setup, and taking him by surprise, she had only just barely managed to draw out a win. What would have been a win, had Master Chen not interfered. Hopefully, at least.

If she had lost to Wei Feng there, after putting up such a challenge, he would surely have never let her live it down. He was already insufferable, a bush of thorny statements and perverted flirtations that seemed to twist around every little word and action she made in his presence. With a history of victory to back him up, Mei Jian somehow knew she would be suffering even worse.

Although, he did step up when she needed help the most. And not in a simple way, either. He’d taken on a proportionally massive debt with no guarantees that she could pay it back for him, and without a moment's hesitation.

The faint sensation of an elbow in her side snapped her mind back from the smirking face in her head to the smiling one beside her, and then a slight tilt of the latter sent it back to the stage. A spearman, one who seemed to be built to twice the normal thickness in each part of his body, loomed over his opponent. In his hands, the standard shaft seemed less like a robust weapon and more like a fragile reed used by a child playing pretend as soldier.

The man across from him never got close, the range proving impossible to cross without being able to bind the spear with the shorter weapon or beat it aside to step into the gap, and the equally large distance in muscle making that a futile route to take.

Instead, the swordsman hovered on defense, parrying once, twice, and then failing to redirect the third thrust fully, instead sending it from his chest down into his hip. Not fatal, even with a real blade, but if the tip had been steel, would it have hampered his ability to stand? How was the tournament decided, anyways?

“The first solid hit from a weapon grants victory. That, or a forfeit for other reasons.”

Did I say that aloud? She hadn’t, the fruit still in her mouth more than enough to confirm that. The boy had somehow merely picked the query from her brain, or more likely, from the quizzical expression that was on her face. At least, that she assumed was on her face.

Her free hand reached up to feel it, checking. It felt normal, not like a look of confusion, but then again, what exactly did a ‘quizzical face’ look like? Raised eyebrows? She tried doing as much, to no change in the feeling of the skin beneath her palm. Of course I wouldn’t be able to feel it here…

There was an issue with the final match of the first round. Li Biyu’s second, and while the woman herself had already entered, her unfortunate opponent seemed less enthusiastic.

“She needs to be disqualified! She nearly killed him, even after it was clearly already over!”

He made no attempt to mask his complaint, or to lower his voice so as to keep it secret from those watching in the rows.

“She promised not to do as much again. It was a simple mishap, one that could have been avoided, certainly, but it was only the first match, and the strike was already in motion.” The scribe, already victorious in his own bout.

“Easy for you to say, Lu Ran.” The complainer waved his hand over to the subject of his ire. “You’re not the one fighting her, after all.”

“If you have that much confidence in your victory, there should be nothing to be afraid of.” A steely tone had entered Lu Ran’s words, one tinged by barely concealed contempt. “Unless you’re trying to claim that my defeat is certain, instead?”

In the span it took for the next words to leave him, the man let a dozen emotions flash across his face, before he finally hefted his practice sword and threw it to the ground. “Fine, I forfeit. I don’t need to risk my life with crazy people like you and her, in what was supposed to be a casual affair.”

“An unfortunate display of cowardice, but that is your right.” He didn’t allow time for a response, bending to pick up the discarded weapon and turning back to the paper to cross off the name. “I believe everyone is decided for the second round, then?”

His own match was the first of those, pairing him against the girl with the iron palm. Both swordsmen, both wielding the same style of weapon. The other semi-final would be a pair of spears, Mei Jian realized. Was that something that they’d taken into account, when creating the brackets? Or a simple coincidence?

There was no stalemate, this time, nor was there a frantic rush at the start. Instead, both calmly walked forwards until they were in one another’s range, and then, from crossed blades, they began to fence. Yi Ping let out a quiet noise of approval as they traded blows, the first few giving no apparent edge.

Then, the tide began to shift when footwork came into play. Back and forth, left and right, they danced across the stage, taking turns leading and following. The woman who had started with one hand drawn back, ready to strike or grapple with a gap appeared, slowly began to use it more and more on her sword, while her opponent did the opposite.

There was no regular pattern to Lu Ran’s movement, apart from the fact that he was always in the ideal position to attack or defend, never too close or too far. His irregular movements didn’t just affect his feet. His blade as well, one moment fluttering through the air like a freshly fallen flower petal in the wind, the next instant as rigid and solid as the trunk of the tree it had fallen from.

One hand came off it regularly, the other guiding it out in farther reaching strikes whenever his body moved away, ensuring that the flow of constant aggression never wavered. It was flawless, Mei Jian realized, as though each and every move had been rehearsed, and he was already well aware of what the next one would be.

His victory came the same way, a strike just a little too fast that slipped through, the edge of his sword gently kissing his opponent's neck as she aimed to parry where it would have been a moment ago. There was surprise in her face, as though she’d never noticed it pass. Then disappointment, matched by the look of one resolved, as though she had already, in some part, accepted this.

It was the first match to conclude with a salute of palm in fist, something that only stood out as missing from the previous ones in retrospect.

Mei Jian brought her mouth to the skewer again in the gap between matches, only to find it empty, the last bite having been her final one. The juices and sauce still left on the wood were flavorful on their own though, and the wood itself was surprisingly deep in terms of taste. Was it really just wood? Fruity, wooden, for sure, but with an underlying note of almost sweetness? Floral, perhaps?

It was harder than it seemed as well, as her teeth found out when she started to absentmindedly chew on it. Perhaps absentmindedly was the wrong word, since at that moment all her focus was drawn to the textures and flavors in her mouth. Instinctually? Subconsciously?

Yi Ping guided her hand down, pulling away the skewer. “Look, the next fight round is starting.”

This match was even more tilted in the favor of the strapping spearman. He was at least twice his opponent’s weight, and had a full head on her, at the very least. Yet still, a hint of hesitation filled his steps as they began, moving hesitantly towards Li Biyu, walking on metaphorical tiptoes even as he kept his actual feet solidly planted.

The two spearheads hadn’t yet crossed when she made the first move, a harsh strike halfway between a thrust and a jerk that clipped his spear, barely budging it. There was something strange about the movement, practiced and familiar, but at the same time awkward, akin to a skilled cook using a frying pan as a hammer.

Both of them neglected to ever throw a direct attack, battling over the position in the middle with smacks of shafts and short, harsh circles in the air, trying to take the top position, or failing that, to displace to the side the weapon arrayed against them.

It was familiar. It was something that she had seen before.

It tickled at the back of Mei Jian’s head, each part hovering just out of reach, the pieces of the puzzle stubbornly refusing to reveal themselves even as they were assembled before her.

Then the first real offensive maneuver came, Li Biyu thrusting up to try and catch her opponent’s hand, and they all clicked into place. It wasn’t one thing that she had seen before, but several.

Pitchfork, hoe, spade. All were poles, held firmly with two hands, just like a spear. All were items it would be common for one of the lower classes, a farmer or peasant, to grow up wielding each day in place of training with weapons. The spearwoman had taken those movements, drilled into her body through days of hard labor, and combined them into a new form of martial art.

That was what gave her the edge, that sense of practiced familiarity, while at the same time making her movements seem off, awkward and unplanned. It was an incomplete style, one not yet fully suited nor adapted to being used in this manner.

Still, it was enough to give her the edge. At each moment of impact, her strikes drove in more weight, her hands shifted into a better position, her stance was firmer and more resolute. It was undisputable to all those watching that Li Biyu had the advantage.

In technique, that was.

It wasn’t nearly enough to overcome the wall of muscle before her, barely shaken by her strongest strikes, hardly daunted by the solidity of her stance when he struck back, and utterly unmoved by the ferocity of her assault when she pressed the attack. If anything, it seemed the opposite. With each passing moment of the battle, his fear looked to melt away, the presence of his enemy shrinking in his mind from the terror of her first match to the reality of the woman before him.

That was what led him to step forwards, shoving into her spear and displacing her footing in by far the most aggressive movement yet, and then to replicate the movement in the opposite direction, opening up his own stance to rotate his full body into it and knocking her not just out of her stance, but off her feet.

A pair of strikes kissed the ground as she scrambled across it, and the wooden tip of his spear chipped from the force as it impacted the stones of the stage. By the time she was able to rise even partway, one foot on the ground and the other still bent at the knee, he had already cued up both thrust and swing, prepped to split the air where her head was and where her heart would be, should she continue to rise.

Li Biyu fell instead, diving, throwing her body forwards to make the attack miss, and lashing out with her spear in a single hand as she did so, before crashing into the ground.

The hulking man slowly returned to his stance, and then put a hand to his thigh. Mei Jian could hear his teeth grind together, up until his jaw loosened and he let out a dull, sullen sigh. “It is my defeat.”

The winner bounded up at those words, posing triumphantly and letting out a yell. The man didn’t look at her, but the bulging muscles and veins in his neck and face made it blatantly clear to the audience just what he thought about that.

“He did well,” Yi Ping said.

She nodded, eyes still fixed on the moment of victory, replaying the final blow. “Even with a real spear, I don’t think that would have done much. A slash with a single hand, against a thigh that thick, and from that stance? He would have walked it off.”

From there it would have been easy. A turn that followed his current momentum, bringing the attack down and around, crashing it into her as she struggled to regain her feet for the second time. With that much force at his disposal, he wouldn’t even have needed to use the blade, or to aim for a vital spot. Wherever he struck would break bone.

“That as well, but also in terms of character. Not everyone would have accepted a loss that like, much less called it out of their own volition.”

That was a strange thought. This was the Plum Blossom Sect, with a reputation built on being masters of the martial way, and as she had recently been forced to accept, the aesthetic and beautiful as well. So even if just initiates, even if not yet true members, why did proper behavior seem to be so rare? Did that not spit in the face of both beauty and a warrior’s honor?

Ignorance was one excuse, one that made sense at first. After all, she herself had been ignorant of half the sect’s reputation before joining. But why was that allowed to happen? Why did they offer no instruction, no guidance to those who made up the newest layer, and the potential future, of the sect?

She had found out from rumors, from teasing, and from general happenstance and chance. Not once had someone in a position of authority or experience sat her down to tell her of proper conduct, and even here, at an event like this in front of inner sect members, something that had been orchestrated, or at least approved, by the elders, there was no semblance of a consistent standard.

It was more like they wanted to see what would happen….

No, that’s exactly what it was like. Hadn’t they even told her as much? That it wasn’t merely results that would be watched, but how one performed?

Not just how well as a warrior, but how honorably, how aesthetically, how beautifully. The initiation, their whole state of existence here in the sect at this level. It was all a test. Everything was under view, each key moment broken apart and scrutinized to get a sense of not merely their skills, but their underlying character.

It made too much sense.

Her head swiveled to the boy beside her, question rising. He shook his head, pointing to the stage with his nose. “The final match is starting.”

Starting it was, Lu Ran and Li Biyu, both somehow sneering in a different fashion, had matched up upon the stage, both holding themselves in the same proud, almost arrogant manner. He wore a look of disdain, of a man forced into an unpleasant task, one that was easy to accomplish yet that would leave his clothes stained and a foul scent clinging to him.

She wore the face of a woman angered, as though she had read just as much from him, and it had ignited a massive pile of smoldering spite inside her. The smoke from it trickled out into her hands that shook just a hair on her spear from barely constrained emotion, and from how her casual smirk had been pulled so tight at the edges it looked like a cord drawn to its snapping point.

That point came the moment the match began, with her taking the lead in furious, heavy thrusts and short, harsh sweeps of her spear. Lu Ran met the former low on his sword, held in both hands, taking each one as a chance to step in, forcing her back each time. The latter he reached out to, guiding them aside as soon as they began, dispersing their force harmlessly into empty air.

He couldn’t reach her directly, polearm granting her an extra step’s worth of reach, but it was only a single step. Each time he parried, each time he blocked, she was forced to step back or circle to the side to maintain the gap, and each time she left an opening he slid his blade up, slashing at her hands that were already exposed.

Each time she was forced to cancel an attack, yanking them back. Each time her motion grew smoother, as though she had become accustomed to it. The next time, his blade didn’t even come close, bouncing off the wooden shaft with a dull thud, well away from her hands as they slid smoothly down it.

His other hand reached out to grasp the gap left, just below the head. Li Biyu jumped back, staggering into two more reversed steps as she opened up a space between them that would be hard to close even with a throw of her spear.

Her opponent clicked his tongue, then lowered his sword and beckoned her forward. “Are you planning on running away forever? I’ll confess, I’ve never heard of such a strategy. Is it an original invention?”

What came from her mouth was something that Mei Jian could only call a grimace, or perhaps a growl. It was a sound that up until then she had only associated with wild animals, not with young women. Although, something about her gave off that impression. Not a wild animal, those of the forests or the mountains, but perhaps a hunting dog trapped in a corner, or a rabid beast.

Li Biyu charged, leading with the tip of her weapon held out as far as she could, and dedicating everything she had into the sprint. It was swept aside, and the moment her spear made contact with his blade, she dropped to her knees and slid.

She swung at him, a double handed blow aimed for the waist, and it whistled through empty air as he stepped back.

His own blade, held at the very end of the handle in a single, extended hand, neatly snapped across her jaw. She slumped to the ground, for half a second balanced on her knees, a puppet hanging from loose strings, until they were cut and her body impacted the ground with a sound that was far too silent for the weight it held.

It took several seconds for her to stir again, starting with her body shifting, and then her head raising up on its own. One arm pushed herself up, while the other gave a cursory feel to her jaw, wincing from the result. Then her eyes refocused on the man standing above her at last, who gave a salute as he met her gaze, before turning heel.

“It was all an act,” Yi Ping said. “His contempt, his taunting. She had a bad temper, and he played it like a musician with a flute to goad her into recklessness.”

“She tried to use the same strategy for the second match in a row. That’s nothing someone with a calm head would have done.”

He shook his head. “It might be, if it was one that worked because it was good or skillfully applied, rather than through a quirk of luck. He knew as much, though. That’s why he mentioned running away to bait her in, and mentioned strategies when that was the only one she had shown. Of course she’d think of it, in some part.”

“But how could he know that she would act that predictably? He read ahead like she had told him in advance. Wasn’t that careless on his own part, that type of assumption?”

He took the wrapper of the steamed bun from her hand, placing it back into the box with the other refuse as he answered. “He didn’t need to predict her motions. She oversold them physically every time she deviated from what she had training in. With movements like those, it was easy.”

His hand took her wrist again, pulling her along as the spectators started to disperse. Half flocked to the winner, while the others streamed into the exit along with them, depositing food trash of their own into a bin that seemed to have been placed there just for that purpose. Yi Ping tossed his own in as they passed, before leading her down the pathway that led out of the main sect buildings and into one of the groves.

A thicker one, with roads of packed dirt and cherry trees that mixed with the plum blossoms, giving the fading light various faint shades of red and pink as it reflected off them to illuminate the path below. The smell in the air was equally charming, a faint floral one that mixed both trees and the various other plants throughout, creating something greater as a whole than the sum of the parts.

Someone had already been through, lighting enclosed torches along the path that slowly replaced that light with a faint yellow and orange one, which flickered in the gaps between the trunks as they walked with leisure. It was silent, the birds having bedded down in their nests and the bats and other nighttime creatures not yet a flight, with all the sect-goers on the more populous routes.

The only sound was her feet, Yi Ping’s still as quiet as ever as he led her along. She stopped, and he turned to face her as she asked the question that was suddenly jumping, fully formed, into her mind.

“Sorry, but what exactly are we doing again? We’ve just been walking around without a destination for quite a while.”

He let go of her hand, stepping closer.

“Ah, you’re finally starting to come down?” He poked her cheek. No, he wiped it, cleaning away something. Food? Another drop of blood? Wait, what had he said again?

“Come down? From where?”

His smile suddenly stopped reaching his eyes. The boy leaned forward, looking her in the eyes, as though making sure she processed the next statement in its entirety as he spoke in a slow, clear voice.

“You’ve been, and still are, high. High as a kite, drugged out of your mind. I’m sure some part of you realizes that your actions haven’t exactly been in line with your, or anyone’s, normal behavior.”

“I haven’t been experimenting with drugs! I swear!” Her hands came up, as though trying to brush the possibility out of the air.

“Not drugs.” A slight shake of his head.

“Eh? But you said… But then what…?” She could already hear an answer, swimming somewhere inside the depths of her head, just always tantalizingly out of reach.

“Qi, of course.”

“That can’t be right.” Qi wasn’t a drug. It was closer to medicine, if anything. She’d heard countless stories about how it increased one’s resistance to poison, in fact, which was just about as far as possible from acting like a form of it.

“Let me put it like this,” he said. “When it comes to swordplay, why not just put all your force, everything you can muster from your entire body, behind each strike? That would make it faster, make it hit harder, right?”

Mei Jian frowned, hand falling down to trace the sword at her waist. Its hilt was somehow both soothing and jarring, though it sparked the answer she had been looking for. “Because you wouldn’t be able to control it as well? It would get too locked into strikes?”

His hands came together in a clap. “Exactly!”

She looked dully at him. He smiled back in response.

“It’s all about control. If you don’t have a good grasp on the power, you’re going to lose control. It’s not just true for swords either. I bet how you got those injuries, the reason I saw you lying on the ground, was because you stepped wrong, right?”

Yi Ping didn’t wait for a confirmation to continue, although he received one a heartbeat after he did as much. “You pushed off the ground too hard, stepped too far, something along those lines. You’re in a state where your body doesn’t synchronize up with your expectations.”

“But what does that have to do with it?”

“How do you think everyone else can control their movements, can react properly, even with a much stronger concentration of Qi than you have? If all their muscles have been powered up to an even greater extent?”

His finger reached out to tap on her forehead. “Because it affects the brain as well.”

“So what you’re trying to say is that…” Suddenly, everything made sense. Suddenly, nothing did.

“I’m saying that inside your head, your brain is pumping way too much freshly Qi augmented power into random errant thoughts, and while one part moves, the other parts struggle to keep up. You haven’t adapted yet, so it’s in a constant state of unbalance and flux, in which you can’t actually process anything effectively.”

“Instead, you hyper-fixate on everything, your thoughts overcommitting just as much as your actions, only to suddenly snap to the next topic when something outside your head prompts you.”

That jogged something, perhaps being cognizant of the cause alleviating the symptoms, perhaps a recovery that merely happened to begin at the same time, or perhaps one of the errant lines of thought that received the power just happening to line up perfectly with her needed train of thought.

“That’s why you wouldn’t let me go off on my own, and why you’ve been pulling me around all afternoon like a dog on a leash.” She paused. “You kept telling me things as well, every second, apart from when I was in the bath, trying to keep me occupied? Even this tournament?”

A slight frown crossed her face. “I do appreciate the help, but—”

“Well, can you imagine if I hadn’t?” Yi Ping made sure to eat the last bite of whatever was in his hand before continuing. “You tried to eat a stick.”

“That doesn’t mean that—”

He slashed a hand through the air. “All it took was me saying that you should wash your face for you to start stripping in front of a crowd. Can you imagine, for just a moment, what you could have been talked into doing by someone with more malicious intentions?”

A cold fist of fear snuffed out the spark of irritation within her. “Oh.”

“Or even someone without them, who happens to make a normally harmless statement or joke? For example, a certain young master who seems to lack any and all respect for decent speech and conduct regarding his sect sisters?”

“Wei Feng isn’t that bad…He wouldn’t….” Her eyes shut for a long second before opening again. “He might end up doing something along those lines, not realizing the state of things.”

Concern marred Yi Ping’s normally charming features. “I know it isn’t my place, but I do hear things, as a senior of yours. About this Wei Feng, and his relationship with you…”

“It’s all nonsense!”

Concern only deepened. “You say that now, but have you not been spending many hours at his private cabin every day? I’ve heard how he talks, and it’s far from chaste when regarding his female companions, you least of all. Can you honestly say that he wouldn’t have talked you into something regrettable?”

She neglected to answer that directly. “So instead you, what, walked me through the day like a small child?”

“I made sure you didn’t get yourself injured while you adapted. First, you bathed, something that should have helped you get a better sense of your own body. Then food, something that would let you adapt other senses like taste being increased.”

The explosions of flavor in her mouth made more sense, described like that. The Plum Blossom Sect had good food, great food, even, but the cheapest and fastest options shouldn’t have been enough to blow her away like that, tasty as they may have been. She shook that thought away.

“And the tournament? It had a purpose as well, I presume?”

He nodded. “To help you adapt those senses to combat. Ideally, it would be with a match of your own, but this time, I thought that would be asking way too much of you. It would be more than enough if you could get used to watching and listening at this level, breaking down the fights.”

She returned the gesture. “I owe you, then. Again. You guided me through everything, preventing anyone from taking advantage of my vulnerability as well.”

It all made perfect sense, from a logical perspective. It was a normal, helpful thing for him to do. A typical ‘Yi Ping’ act of kindness. Emotionally, though, something about it wasn’t quite right. A sour aftertaste to the act, developing from spoiled expectations.

So it was all just for training… That was logical, after all. It wasn't as though they really knew one another well enough for anything else, she was forced to admit. Still…

In the entirety of that day, it was probably the first time that his eyes hadn’t picked up her thoughts, the normal sharpness that read people like books diverted to the side as he blushed. “About that…”

He took a long, painful pause before continuing. “I suppose what I did could also be called taking advantage of you, a little bit. I dragged you with me to have fun when normal, more standard training might have benefited you more.”

“I’m sorry.” His back straightened into a bow, gaze now downcast while he awaited a response.

Laughter. It welled out of her like a freshly struck spring, pouring out without restraint as all the mixing emotions inside her burst their limits. When it finally came to a stop, her cheeks were stretched painfully wide from a smile, and an ache had appeared in her side.

“I’m sorry, it’s just—” She doubled over, seized by another fit of mirth. “It’s just, I wasn’t expecting that! You were looking all concerned and guilty and worried, over something like that?”

Yi Ping blushed harder, but a hint of a matching smile ruined the effect as he raised his head. “Well, you know. Better safe than sorry?”

The two of them met eyes, and both started to chuckle again. It was only when they stopped that Mei Jian realized a third voice had joined them, a deeper, more masculine one, with a tone equal parts true humor and mockery.

“You aren’t going to tell her the most important thing? Afraid it will ruin her mood?”

Words directed at Yi Ping, from just under the sarcastic glare of a pair of eyes that she had come to associate with such tones. Wei Feng, the young master incapable of basic common courtesy. He didn’t wait for a response.

“If she was that badly messed up from Qi, there’s no way she gathered it on her own. And anyone who can not only draw in that much Qi, but draw it into another person, would be more than aware of the effects.”

His lips curled up, bearing teeth and mirroring the snarl of a wild beast in a mocking smile that was clearly far from natural.

“In other words, someone drugged you on purpose.”