The words didn’t register.
“I’m sorry, but could you repeat that, please?”
Perhaps they did register, and that was why her question came out so politely. Even Wei Feng seemed taken aback by it, his eyes switching to her for half a second, smile half fading. “I said, farmgirl, that someone did this on purpose. Pumped you full of an intoxicating amount of Qi, and then let you wander around like a headless chicken.”
She didn’t want to believe it. After all, coming from him, it was hard to believe. Every other sentence out of his mouth was a lie, and most of them seemed designed specifically, especially, for just how much they could bite into his partner in conversation. She turned back to Yi Ping. He didn’t meet her gaze.
Ming Yue wouldn’t—
Why wouldn’t she? Why wouldn’t a woman that she had known for all of a single day, that had first come cloaked in blood and death and danger, be willing to do something less than morally bright and outstanding? For all she knew, that was the older woman’s idea of a funny prank, or of a harsh lesson.
She shook her head back and forth until the vision vanished from behind her eyes, leaving her slightly dizzy and drawing the gazes of both her companions. “I see. Thank you for telling me, Wei Feng.”
He gave her a look of pain. “I’m a little shocked you believe me, just like that.”
“I know Yi Ping would have said something if it wasn’t true, and besides…” She gave him a bright smile. “I know you’re not the type to lie when it matters, right?”
For a moment, she could swear that he shuddered, like a cat caught in the rain trying to rid itself of an unwanted soaking, before his face snapped back to its usual leer. “A man could take advantage of that, you know?”
Yi Ping leaned in closer to her. “This is Wei Feng. The Wei Feng?”
“I’m afraid so. Not so scary after all, right?”
“I thought he was supposed to be a playboy. Where is all his charm?”
The young master cleared his throat, a sound painfully loud. “I can hear what you’re whispering, you know. Jealousy isn’t a good look on you, boy. And farmgirl, your denial has stretched to new heights.”
“Denial? Weren’t you just praising me on being able to believe?” She shook her head in false shame. “To think, I’ve fallen from the right path so quickly.”
“Chastising, not praising, and besides, my charisma has a tendency to cause such an effect in beautiful girls. I fear you’re not the first, nor shall you be the last to fall in instants before it.” He responded to her act with an even more exaggerated one, swooning against a tree with his hand to his chest. “The chains that bind your heart to me, already stronger even than the debt that binds us on paper. A tragedy that unfolds before this young master’s eyes, for such a delicate maiden to be so enraptured so hopelessly.”
“Debt?” Yi Ping cut in. “You’re in the same situation as she is, when it comes to owing the sect?”
He snorted, then the snort gave way to a laugh in truth. “Hardly the same. After all, this young master has the skills to pay it off, rather than needing to gamble on a long shot in the tournament. I’m sure any day now, the masters will be fighting to take me in as their own.”
“I was just about to offer this to Mei Jian, but I should share it with you as well, if you’re both equally bound. I can teach you two the basics of the Plum Blossom Sect styles, from footwork to swords to Qi.”
Wei Feng’s eyes narrowed. “Weren’t you listening to me? I just said I wasn’t in need of help. You should offer your time to her alone instead.”
"I'll show you." He grinned, spinning on one foot and turning to face the other man. "Care to have a little wager? If I can touch your chest, right above your heart, then you'll do the training with us. If you touch mine instead, I'll put in a word for you with one of the elders."
His hand waggled. "Come on, what do you say?"
Wei Feng flexed his own fingers, eyes looking on. "No complaints, no matter how I win, right?"
Something flashed over Yi Ping's eyes. "I won't protest, no matter what you attempt."
The words didn't have the time to rest in the air before the young master pounced, throwing his arm out in a lunge that was guided to the side by Yi Ping's, still outstretched.
Wei Feng spun as they passed, lashing out with his other hand, only to jerk both arms back the moment his head followed through with the motion. In the same breath, the boy's right hand landed on them, right above the heart.
"You didn't say just blocking the area off entirely was against the rule-."
Yi Ping slapped him with his other palm, a sound that echoed in the trees all around, loud enough to disturb the birds.
“You dare, you little-”
The young master looked down, eyes landing on the hand that the other man had placed on his chest when he reacted to the strike. The victor smiled.
“If it’s anything goes, then that would be for both of us, right?”
That made him let out a sound that started more like a growl and ended more akin to a sigh. “You’re stronger than you look, you know?”
“And you could be as well, if you would heed my advice.” That same sweet, enduring smile from Yi Ping, as though he hadn’t just struck the person he was talking with seconds before.
Mei Jian felt a smile creep onto her face. Wei Feng, speechless!
Yi Ping beckoned for her to join the two of them. “That’s how we’ll start. Consider it like normal sparring, but that ends the moment the place is touched, no matter the type or power of blow.”
The heart…
Her mind shot back to the assassin, and then to the feeling of Qi circulating through her, all milling and surging around certain points of the body, gates through which the channels of energy flowed. Mei Jian raised a hand to her chest, letting her eyes fall shut for half a second as she tried to recapture that sensation, letting the pulsing waves of Qi that still stood out throughout her torso occupy her mind.
Exactly right; it was the heart. The highest of those points, the one that Qi was drawn up into with each movement before it was redirected into her arms.
Her eyes shot open again, and this time the connection stayed, hovering in the back of her mind, marking plainly within her subconscious where her heart hung within space.
“Then, which of you will be my opponent first?”
Wei Feng snarled as he pushed himself forwards, his partner gracefully ceding the space. His hands contorted once more, half curled into jagged, clawlike shapes. She matched him, lifting her own arms, though with closed fists. Open fingers held too high a risk of breakage, even more with the disparity in size.
Yi Ping smiled, interjecting before they had a chance to begin in truth.
“Don’t get too distracted, okay? Remember, it’s just touching the heart that matters, not the rest of it.”
She nodded, unwilling to take her eyes off the silent young master for even a second to formulate a reply. There was something different about him, something that peeked through whenever he was serious, whenever the veneer of mockery faded away.
His eyes held some sort of hunger.
It wasn’t merely a desire to win, although she could see that, nor was it anger over his humiliation at the hands of Yi Ping. It was deeper, more carnal, more primitive than that. It wasn’t even something lustful, despite what she had been granted predisposition to assume about him.
No, it was hunger. Hunger in truth, like a starving beast set loose amongst a henhouse, drool dripping from its mouth. Teeth on flesh, ripping, and tearing, and consuming.
He was almost unrecognizable.
Mei Jian felt it, her fists slightly trembling in the air between them, as his eyes locked onto her own. Then his face twisted again, into a casual, teasing smirk. “What’s wrong, farmgirl? Scared?”
Don’t mind that. It doesn’t matter.
She reacquired her stance, tightening her fists once more. No, not tight. Not that tight, at least. She needed her arms loose, hands just barely closed, ready to snap into action at any moment and in any direction. His feet inched forwards, and her own hopped back in response.
That was right. She was still enhanced by the Qi, though at this point it had become more natural. Her body and mind were finally starting to catch up enough for normal movement, but that wouldn’t carry over to the timing of combat. Assume that everything will be just a little bit faster. Her movements, and his as well.
That same catlike grace, that same speed of a striking snake. Wei Feng was nothing if not naturally gifted, and his physical ability was even more impressive than his already noteworthy physique would suggest. She’d held every advantage in the last match, and it had taken all of that and the factor of surprise to grant her the most bare of victories at the last possible moment.
No. She couldn’t afford to make that mistake again.
One hand settled back to her chest, palm half open, fingers folded in for the sake of preventing them catching, not for a strike. The other was more firm, stretched out, readied to strike and to make contact with hard flesh.
Just imagining her knuckles smashing into him with full force was enough to make her wince. This wasn’t a contest that would be won by her, one of durability and raw power.
‘Just touch the heart’, the rule went, but in order to force him to expose it, she had to at least carry a threat to the other parts of his body. His face, his throat, the center point of his chest, perhaps. Those were the only targets that she could count on, ones that would incapacitate for the one crucial second that was needed for her to take the winning touch as the young master was sent reeling from the impact and the shock. All high up, and one awfully close to the winning target.
She needed at least one more, something lower. Mei Jian’s eyes flicked over his lower body, noting the power held in his legs, readied to crouch. A strike to the knees, perhaps? Or the groin?
The former would likely only be effective from her own legs, and the latter relied on pain entirely. If his will was strong enough, he would be able to give a return blow from one such as that. No, the kidneys, or liver would be better, if she could pierce through the chiseled abs that protected them.
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That tickled something, deep in the back of her mind. It was—
He pounced, right hand darting out as he threw himself forwards in a leap farther than she would have imagined that even he could do. Her forward hand slapped it aside on instinct, but her backstep was still impacted by it regardless.
His other hand was already coming up, and the failed attack turned into an attempt to sweep both her arms aside. For half a second she resisted, matching two against one, only to realize even that was futile and lean out instead—
No, lean in. A last second instinct screamed at her, and she followed it, only for his hand to impact her shoulder, having already reached out to where she would have been in case of a retreat.
That was the only thing that saved her, the force of a movement that started as strike transitioning into shove, threatening to knock her from her feet and throw her to the ground, forcing her to more skip than step away, like a flat stone thrown to the surface of a pond.
That momentum had no chance to bleed off before he was on her again, this time throwing a high palm to her face. Mei Jian leaned back, lifting both hands to her defense.
Something impacted her leg, with power beyond what she would have thought possible, the kick spinning her forward weight and limb out from under her.
She hit the ground, and desperately rolled.
Dirt splattered her face, flung by a kick that passed through where her head was supposed to be. It dragged through the fallen leaves, kicking up a screen that blocked her vision, a curtain of debris placed between the two combatants for just a fraction of a second.
It still hung at the apex of its summit when a furious claw pierced through it, smashing into the arm raised before her chest as though by sheer chance.
The air vanished from her lungs, her own defense impacting her ribs hard enough she felt lucky another one didn’t snap then and there.
I need space!
Her jump away halted, reversing on its own. No. He pulled her, hand hooked into her sleeve from the moment of the block, turning her robe into a shackle around her wrist, and plucking her from the air like a hawk preying upon a pigeon.
Mei Jian tucked her legs in, and then drove them out, rotating her chest as far away from his hand as she could whilst still in the air, and driving her feet into his hips.
His grip slipped, and she tore her sleeve free, feeling the cloth rip in the same movement.
He stumbled back, and for the first time there was a pause in their rush.
Wei Feng looked at her, matching her own panting mouth with breaths more steady but barely weaker, teeth hanging open and hungry lips raising into a smirk. “You really do enjoy stripping for me, don’t you?”
“You shameless pig!” She forced her face back into neutrality, as best she could. “It’s a sleeve held in a failed grip that slipped away, nothing more. Just like your chances of winning.”
“Are you sure of that?” His finger rose up, tracing an invisible line from her arm to shoulder, where the tear had initiated the sounds that she had heard.
Her sleeve had torn half-free at the shoulder, tracing a jagged line down her chest and, if the breeze tickling bare skin was to be believed, behind her as well. Not a deep tear, one that barely reached past her collarbone, and for that she sent a silent thanks to whomever had fitted the sect uniforms, ensuring that they wouldn’t tear in such a humiliating way.
Still….
She forced the rush of heat from her cheeks out into her breath, hissing it over fists that clenched tighter. “You seemed awfully desperate to win right at the start there, Wei Feng. What’s the matter? You're scared of a fair match, after having just lost so badly to one younger and smaller?”
It took all her will not to shoot a glance of apology to Yi Ping at that, though she hoped the provocation wouldn’t stir him in the slightest. It didn’t stir the young master either, who merely let out a low chuckle. “You seemed awfully eager to get away, for someone who supposedly isn’t afraid of me.”
He paused, some of his mirth fading. “Your robe is splitting further.”
Her eyes didn’t have time to confirm the truth of that before his palm flashed across the clearing in the trees, forcing them back up and closing the gap between them in a blink.
His hand was parried aside, and her counter smacked away by his other one, right before it darted in from below. She twisted, and then threw herself further back out of the way, making sure not even the freshly loosened cloth was still in his path, even as her other arm blocked a second grab from his off hand.
Straight to the point, which she countered with the lower, stronger part of her forearm. A cross from his other hand, aimed at her cheekbone, that slid off to the side. A backhand from the same hand, one that impacted her hand, sending a jolt into her head even through her block; It was almost strong enough to make her miss his other hand reaching back sneakily from outside their clash, the limb moving independent of his body.
Block it!
No, his palm landed harshly on her hip on the inside, and he gripped a handful of her thigh, pulling it up and her leg out from her stance, as his other hand drove the finishing blow in. In desperation, she abandoned all defense, and swung out for his chest.
Her fingers may have grazed the ends of flapping clothes, or it may have been an illusion her mind had conjured, due to the thinnest of margins alone being between them.
As her foot came back down, she grinned. “You aren’t willing to accept a tie this time, after your previous loss to me?”
“I didn’t lose, as you know full well.”
For the first time, her opponent took a step back instead of forwards, and as she made to follow, Mei Jian was likewise for the first time made painfully aware of the state of her body.
Her knee twinged with each step where his kick had landed, and her defensive arm was rapidly becoming number than bare flesh in the middle of winter. Both her other arm and thigh could still feel his grip imprinted into them, claw-like nails having dragged bloody trails through the former's soft skin, and having left what she was sure would be a red mark on the latter, beneath her barely-still-intact pants.
Worst of all, it was making them stiffer, slower to respond. Mei Jian tried to will more blood into her arm, mentally attempting to speed the circulation. Somehow, it tingled in response, as though her thought had manifested. It was a new countercurrent of blood, one that slowly trickled feeling and strength back into the battered limb.
No, not a flow of blood, but one of Qi.
Her fingers sliced in the air, making a looser fist as she stared at him. This would be it, the final encounter. If she took another beating like that, there was no chance of her making a comeback.
It was the exact same as their first fight, in which his abilities had played with her all the way to the end, in which she had been messed with like a cat before a cruel, hungry, and sadistic mouse.
Don’t be reckless. Think about it, think about how you took the victory there.
There was something, something stemming from the passion burning in her, from that memory of their past fight, and even from newfound tingling in her arm and leg where she focused on them.
That was it!
It was Qi, in shape and by nature, and no matter what form it took, the principles should be the same. Just as spear and pitchfork drew their movement from a shaft, and swordplay and chess were both maneuvers of the mind against an opponent, as the lyre and the flute both drew notes from the vibrations in the air, there was no reason these techniques should not also be the same.
If it was one method to be used when empowering a cut thrown with a sword, why not the same when without one?
Her hand shifted positions, slicing through the air, opening up and straightening out like a spade, or like the edge of a sword, drawn tight and readied to strike. Her Qi flowed up, flowed down, and flowed out, cutting through the space between them, and striking his arm in a movement that drew through it, not against it.
She instantly regretted it.
Her hand impacted painfully, drawing out a sound of pain from her mouth in the form of a strangled cry. One that didn’t come from her mouth alone, but from Wei Feng’s as well, yanking his arm back and away from her own, jerking it in a manner that was far from controlled.
That wasn’t it.
No matter how much it may have been derived from the sword strike, this wasn’t a cut. It wasn't meant to cleave, and to part flesh. It was a strike with her hand, and meant to be delivered as such, with brute, blunt force to deal damage through that method and that plain method alone.
Her other hand followed, stepping into the motion, and striving to drive the full weight and force of her body, pulling up as much Qi as she could muster with it, into the center of Wei Feng’s body. It was something that nearly lifted his feet up off the ground, only his toes touching as he leaned back to disperse the impact.
Something in her left arm creaked, the joint under a frightful amount of tension, and she ignored it.
That was a palm strike, not a pseudo-cut as the first one was. But that wasn’t good enough. Even with this technique, she hadn't the slightest chance of beating the man before her in a direct contest of hand to hand, blow to blow.
But then again, she didn’t need to.
One more time, her right hand, still knocked up into the air, changed the form it was held in. Open slightly like the palm, but held looser, rather than cocked back at the wrist. Drawing her hips lower, drawing her back into it, Mei Jian slapped both his arms down.
This time, all the power was placed not into an impact, but into a push. Move the limbs, create an opening, and that would be enough.
His hands flexed meaninglessly in the air, drawn away, and drawn back. They closed on nothing, making a pulling motion in futility.
His other hand closed on her chest. That weight vanished from her hands that were primed to reach out to his exposed winning point, all the force and energy she had gathered fading away like morning mist beneath the midday sun.
She stared in disbelief, body and mind alike struggling to register. Where had… No, what was… How had it…. Was this, this, situation real?
Her mind registered it at the next moment, creating an answer only through starting with reality and working backwards a step at a time.
She was leaning on his hand, his grip on her chest the only thing still holding her up, her ribcage having been pulled into his hand by something, something that felt just like his hand, but that had gripped her without touching, and yanked her into the real article by force.
“How… How did you….?”
The young master pushed her gently back onto her feet, waiting for a moment to reply, savoring the taste of victory. “Perhaps your chest merely longs for my hand? There are many such cases, amongst young women possessed of beauty, you know.”
She stared at him blankly for a second, trying to parse out the meaning. It hit at the exact same time she realized exactly where his hand was, and what it was holding her in place by. Mei Jian let out a noise that she would have been ashamed to admit was her own voice, and one she would have denied could come from her had she heard it under any other circumstances.
He let go; too little, too late, as her hands crossed over her bosom.
“You! You wretched, perverted, foul, twisted, irredeemable, lecherous—”
“You’re the one throwing your breast into my hand and your face into my hips, while your clothing falls away around your shoulders, farmgirl.” He tutted sadly as he shook his head. “There’s no shame in such a common mistake, of course, and there is plenty of precedent, but still, to see a young maiden so lacking in decorum or patience, and to do so in front of an audience as well…”
He trailed off, and threw himself into a duck as Yi Ping’s hand clipped the back of his head.
“What do you think you’re doing?” The young master’s voice carried a tone equal parts restrained anger and mirth, making it impossible to tell which, if either, was the real emotion.
“That’s skirting a line beyond just skirt chasing, Wei Feng,” he chastised.
“Are you telling puns, you bastard? That doesn’t exactly come off as serious, you know.” His head popped back up, twisting on his neck to glare at the boy behind him.
Yi Ping shrugged. “Well, I planned on letting my hand speak for me. It does seem to just love striking you so.”
A grin of gritted teeth met his words. “That’s a pretty poor excuse. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of someone who claims to follow the martial way and can’t even control their own hands’ strikes.”
The boy suddenly collapsed the aforementioned hands together, smiling brightly. “Exactly! With that in mind, would you care to explain your actions here? It looked almost to me like you were trying to escalate training into a deathmatch.”
“No disrespect, sen-” Mei Jian cut herself off. “No disrespect, Yi Ping, but did it not obtain good results irregardless? I feel my understanding of Qi and its applications has been unlocked in a way that I was blind to before.”
He cast his eyes now with a sigh. “That’s fair enough, if I hadn’t been trying to teach footwork. I suppose this is on me, in a way, for trying to use such a roundabout method. Neither of you are amateur enough for workarounds like this to be ideal.”
Yi Ping shrugged, and tilted his head for a second, eyes flicking past her and taking a moment on something before smiling once more, the sweetness returning to his face as though it had never left. “Well, now I know better for next time! It’s getting late, so I’d best be off. You two can practice your new breakthroughs for a while, but try to go to sleep at a normal time, okay?”
He scampered off without awaiting a response, though most likely Mei Jian’s martial salute and the young master’s contemptuous snort were both captured by his perception in that fleeting moment before his nimble feet sent him dashing over rocks and logs like a flower petal caught within a rushing river.
It was the same as his graceful steps she had seen before, but entirely different, this time focused on speed more than stability, but still keeping that floating, errant manner as though each step was entirely unplanned and impulsive.
A pang of envy rose up in her.
Perhaps we should have focused more on footwork after all. Wei Feng, you—
The moment Mei Jian turned back to him, the man had already started to loom over her, his face close enough he could no doubt feel the startled breath that escaped from her mouth. She raised a hand, motioning for him to step back, so that she might ask what he was doing. He grabbed it instead, pulling her closer.
“Mei Jian. It was her, right?”
“Wha-What?” The intensity in his voice was a match for that of his fists a minute before. “What was who?”
“The one who drugged you out of your mind, it was her. Ming Yue, right?”
“Wei Feng, that’s too tight…” She strained against his grip, but it only grew stronger. Is the gap in strength that great, even with Qi?
“Just. Answer.” His eyes threatened to burst forth from their sockets, and drill straight through her skull. “Was. It. Her?”
She nodded, and he lifted his arm up and back, pulling her even closer, so close that his lips nearly brushed her ear with his next question.
“Good, good. Then, let me ask you this.”
He let go, and met her eyes with a smile that was neither fake nor real.
“What are you going to do about it?”