“Bow.”

With a single word, the arena became silent. All around me, leaning out from the balcony above or pressing in from the raised walkway, spectators dressed in pale grey instantly stopped their gossip and gambling as the elderly figure at the very centre of the space commanded their attention.

But the black-robed Elder did not even glance towards the onlookers, instead crossing his wiry arms as his eyes focused entirely on me.

I pressed my right hand to my chest against the necklace of strung bronze coins and bowed. For once, long practice at debasing myself to others came in handy; I managed to keep the trembling entirely in my left hand, hidden behind my back and out of sight of the elder.

Or maybe not quite out of sight, considering the quiet tsk I heard, but by the time I lifted my gaze, the Elder was already looking the other way, towards the only other figure in the ring.

In comparison, my opponent’s bow was perfect. Unlike my own flourish, he kept his hands firmly at his sides as he ever so slightly leaned in my direction, only even detectable as a motion by its sudden halt and reversal. It would have been an insult if he had been the same rank as me, but there were no illusions that this man was my equal. If it weren’t for his own noble features and bearing, his blue robes would have made that clear. Throughout it all, he kept his own eyes firmly fixed upon me, his mouth set in a slight frown.

“This is a supervised exchange of pointers between Brother Ryan, no family name, of the Outer Sect, and Brother Wenhua Gareth, of the Inner Sect. May you both bring forth your whole might, speak clearly in your hearts, and walk away enlightened. Ready yourselves.”

At the elder’s words, I brought both of my fists up, keeping the left forward as I tucked my chin in and bent my legs, allowing my feet to shift slightly in the sand until I was in a comfortable stance. I took a deep breath, taking hold of all of my fear and frustration and anger and letting it slowly fade away into the background. Right now, none of that mattered.

My opponent took a breath of his own, and other than that did not move. With my eyes up this time I caught another tut from the elder, as he threw a fleeting glance in my direction. Maybe there was some encouragement in there, some faint sympathy, but I was good enough to understand what the Elder really thought.

It seemed we were both in complete agreement about my chances.

Not that it would change anything. The Elder stepped back from the centre of the arena, again ignoring the spectators even as they shifted to allow him a bubble of open space on the raised walkway. Once he was satisfied with his position, he turned again to look at the both of us, before nodding.

“Begin.”

There is a strange sort of realisation one has when they are about to die.

Or so the manuscripts claim. Who this ‘one’ is, and what that one may see, seems to differ from page to page. The priests claim that someone sufficiently religious will experience a holy revelation that will whet their faith and buoy their spirits, should they survive the experience. Artists that have been on the boundary say that they saw impossible colours, scenes that go beyond mere mortal understanding that nevertheless remain in their minds, directing their brush forevermore. Warriors, who tend to have the most experience in the matter of being on the verge of death, claim that they feel the Reaper itself standing above them, weighing down on their souls, leaving their body cold wherever its shadow falls. To survive the touch of the Reaper, they say, leaves one with a stronger constitution, better able to resist it the next time they come into contact with that representative of the afterlife.

So I suppose I felt cheated when all I saw was a girl.

She sat on the edge of the gallery surrounding the arena, her back resting against a wooden post that supported the balcony above. I was familiar enough to the casual air sometimes carried by the higher-ranked disciples and Elders, but rarely had I ever seen anyone be so lackadaisical; one of her legs stretched out over the path, where any of the spectators could trip over it, and her other swung aimlessly off the edge of the walkway, kicking at the sand below.

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Her manner of dress was also irreverent. Even the highest of the sect’s members were required to wear the clothes and colours of the sect, with only the smallest variations allowed for trim to show favour. She did not even possess the white flannel of the sect servants, instead wearing clothes more suitable for the workmen and farmers of my home. I could only imagine the village mothers crying at the shame of the cut-off trousers and loose shirt on one of their own daughters.

In the privacy of my own mind, I could admit that I quite liked the look. Her bare arms and legs were muscled in a way that spoke to a strength cultivated through hard work and physical discipline, instead of rare pills and heavenly treasures. She couldn’t have been more different than the delicate flowers or noble beauties that populated the sect, and I greatly preferred it. I could have been slightly biased however, considering that one such ‘noble beauty’ was currently right in front of me, his fist easily evading my guard as it embedded itself in my chest.

A mutilated scream tore itself from my throat as I was sent flying backwards by the bone-shattering impact of the punch, the sound soon enough joined by an awful snapping noise as I collided with the walkway that had been behind me. The onlookers roared in approval of the violence, those nearest to me already exchanging coins and tokens as they collected on their bets. Not one of them offered me a second glance, even as I felt my ribs and spine meet in the middle, and as the front of my robes turned from pale grey to deep red, my lifeblood dripping to the sand below.

Which just brought me back to the girl. All it would take is a glance to know that the girl wasn’t meant to be here. The only people permitted to attend this so-called ‘exchange of pointers’ were those in the Outer Sect; my opponent couldn’t even bring his own friends to watch my execution, such were the limitations. Supposedly not even other Elders could intrude upon these matters, let alone a stranger like this.

But, I couldn’t say that I was necessarily embarrassed that this ‘exchange of pointers’ had been witnessed by someone from outside the sect. A glance might only inform the viewer that the girl didn’t belong here, but with my spine crushed, I had time to do much more than glance. That is what clued me in to the fact that the girl was more qualified to be here than one might think.

After all, there were few better qualifications to be at someone’s death than a massive scythe like the one resting across the girl’s lap.

“Honourable Elder, this Disciple asks that you consider Brother Ryan. Is he still in a suitable condition to exchange further pointers?”

I’m sure I’d be spitting blood if viscera weren’t already dripping from my lips.

As it is, I am entirely silent as the Elder clicks his tongue once more, tugging at his own black sleeves. “This Elder finds Brother Ryan of the Outer Sect in no condition to continue. May the both of you walk away enlightened.”

I could see the girl sigh at those words, her swinging leg pausing to lever her up onto her feet, easily spinning her scythe up to land on her shoulder. It really did remind me of those old days, walking to the fields with a sickle in one hand, basket in the other, and a whistle on my lips.

That me would have laughed at the idea that I could have been a cultivator. He would have laughed harder, to hear his future self regret it so much.

I blink, and for some reason the arena is much emptier. The audience is long gone, as is my opponent. All that’s left now is the girl herself, standing above me, her scythe now hefted in both hands.

“Fucking cultivators,” she muttered.

I chuckled at her words. Even if I had been a cultivator, I was more than happy to laugh at them now. They really are the worst, aren’t they?

“What?”

I blinked again, and looked back up to the girl’s face, now staring down at me with surprise. Which was fair, I hadn’t thought I was particularly in a position to speak either. Guess I still had some of my lungs left.

Still, if there’s any way to go out, I’d do it my way. I lifted my right arm up, fingers stretching out-

And then closed them, leaving only my index finger pointing towards her, thumb raised slightly above it. The gesture felt natural.

I winked. So, did it hurt? When you fell from Heaven?

And then I died.

What a way to go.