He Yu unlimbered his guandao and fell into the ready stance he’d practiced with Fang Yingjie. Despite their difference in cultivation, he should have the advantage when it came to weapons. He had longer reach, and the sheer weight of the guandao should make it difficult for Cui Bao to effectively block with his hatchets, even if he used them both.
Much like during the tournament in Shulin, He Yu’s world narrowed down to a single point. His focus pinned onto Cui Bao. The stories always spoke of skilled or clever cultivators beating foes with higher advancement. Now was his chance to do the same.
He Yu stepped into a wide, sweeping swing. The gathering of wind qi along the leading edge of the guandao caused mist to curl in a trail behind his attack. Cui Bao ducked under the blade and darted inside He Yu’s guard. It was a smart move, but He Yu had trained for this. Even without a proper body technique, he’d still learned to cycle qi to his muscles and bones, and the training with his tutor had taught him what to do when an opponent ultimately tried this very tactic.
Stepping back as though Cui Bao’s move had caught him off-guard, He Yu pulled the guandao in close, holding the haft across his body. When Cui Bao pushed his advance, He Yu was ready. Qi pulsed along the length of his weapon’s haft, and he pushed off with his back foot. Cui Bao’s eyes widened fractionally when He Yu shifted back to the offense.
He thrust out with both hands, shoving the guandao’s weight at his advancing opponent. The impact sent shocks up He Yu’s arms, and he staggered half a step back. He hadn’t expected to meet such resistance, but he had managed to stop Cui Bao’s advance. It was only through the hours of training under Fang Yingjie that He Yu managed to execute his follow-up.
He drove the butt of his guandao at Cui Bao’s midsection. Much to his surprise, he scored a decent hit. He felt the slight give of the other disciple’s flesh and heard the rush of air escaping his lungs. This was his moment. He brought the blade down in an overhand strike, activating the Crashing Wind as he did. The blade howled like a summer storm as it fell, the currents of wind qi tugging at He Yu’s robes.
Cui Bao stepped into the attack. His hatchet moved with blinding speed as it arced up and around the guandao, just behind the blade. He hooked He Yu’s weapon and wrenched it downwards. With the additional force of a Foundation Stage cultivator—doubtless with a proper body art as well—there was no chance He Yu could have diverted the strike. The guandao crashed to the ground, burying the blade into the dirt. Cui Bao slammed one foot down on the haft and locked eyes with He Yu.
“My turn,” he said. All the danger He Yu had felt radiating off Cui Bao that first week in Elder Wen’s lecture returned. Even inexperienced as he was, He Yu knew he was in trouble.
Cui Bao moved far faster than anyone He Yu had ever trained against. His hatchets trailed embers as they cut fiery arcs through the air. It was only the nascent spiritual perception he’d gained from his months cultivating the White Mountain technique that allowed him to track Cui Bao’s attack.
He let go of his guandao and stumbled back—away from the onslaught and his only weapon. He instantly realized his mistake. The other disciple advanced, positioning himself between He Yu and the abandoned polearm. Any advantage He Yu might have once been able to leverage now lay on the other side of a cultivator with a full realm’s advancement on him.
“Empty your storage treasure and I’ll go easy on you,” Cui Bao said, every word soaked in smug satisfaction.
“I don’t have one.” He Yu was so shocked that Cui Bao would even assume so, let alone demand its contents, that he didn’t even think to try and dissemble.
“You—what?” Cui Bao’s disbelief would have been comical if it weren’t for the sudden spike of danger from his spirit that accompanied it.
Rather than answer, He Yu rushed past Cui Bao, making a gambit for the guandao. At least, he tried to.
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Cui Bao reached out and grabbed him by the collar of his sect uniform, tossing him to the ground as easily as he would a child’s toy. The Second Realm cultivator raised his hatchet. It was just like he’d been back at the tournament in Shulin—powerless and at the mercy of someone stronger than himself.
The hatchet fell, nascent fire qi trailing its arc.
There was the brief flicker of an impression of moonlight shining down on fresh snow. He’s sparred with Li Heng enough to know the noble’s spiritual presence. He opened his eyes, and gratitude warred with shame when he saw exactly what he’d expected.
Li Heng stood over him, his eyes hardened to iron, and a shimmer of silver light gathered around the edge of his jian. Someone else had stepped in to save him when he’d been under threat.
Again. He Yu stared up at the sky. He may as well just leave the sect. If this was how his life was going to be, he should probably just go back home.
“Get up,” Li Heng snapped.
Without thinking, He Yu obeyed.
“I’m going to need your help.” With a kick so effortless it almost looked careless, Li Heng pitched the guandao in He Yu’s direction. “I can’t fight them both alone.”
That was enough to shock him back to the moment. Somebody needed him—his friend needed him. Weak as he may be, that meant he wasn’t worthless. That meant he needed to rise to the moment.
He took stock of the situation. While Li Heng’s sudden appearance had certainly stopped Cui Bao in his tracks, he’d since been joined by Sha Xiang. She’d gotten a bit worse than she’d given in her initial clash with Li Heng, by the look of things. More than a few flyaway strands of hair had escaped her braid, and her sect uniform had suffered several cuts. But other than that, she appeared to still be in good fighting shape.
Li Heng, on the other hand, looked more or less the way he always did. Self-assured and impeccably put together. His silver and jade crown hairpin glinted in the diffuse light that filtered through the mist, as a fitting counterpoint to the shimmer around his blade. He was, by He Yu’s estimation, the picture of what a cultivator should be. Refined. Noble. And most importantly, just. It was hard not to feel small and insignificant by comparison.
Cui Bao spat. “Figures you’d need help.”
He’d locked eyes with Li Heng before he spoke, but it was Sha Xiang who answered. “Says the idiot who couldn’t handle a First Realm by himself. You’re going to owe me, Bao.”
Cui Bao grinned in a manner that confirmed any doubts as to why Sha Xiang had twice referred to him so informally. “Looking forward to it,” he said.
“Later. We’ve got a job to do,” Sha Xiang snapped.
He Yu frowned at that. A job? He’d thought this was just an extension of her incredibly one-sided grudge against him. That could only mean Xiao Jun was behind their ambush. What motivation could he possibly have, then, for interfering in a contest between first-year disciples?
“Whatever you bandits intend, I won’t permit it,” Li Heng said. “Allow me to offer some pointers.”
“I’d like to see you try,” Sha Xiang sneered.
“As you wish, Lady Sha,” Li Heng said.
An arc of silver light sailed through the air trailing a single pure tone. Again, the sensation of moonlight and winter’s chill filled He Yu’s spiritual awareness. Cui Bao’s eyes widened, and it was only Sha Xiang’s shove that sent him out of harm’s way. In the moment that followed, He Yu almost couldn’t believe it—the idea that Sha Xiang would put herself at risk for someone else seemed absurd on its face. As it turned out, she hadn’t put herself at risk in the slightest.
Instead, she raised her gloved fist. She punched into the arc of sword light, activating a technique as she did. Golden-brown earth qi wreathed her hand, giving the impression of a mass of solid stone. It was, thankfully, a weaker and far less distinct impression than that of Li Heng’s spirit. Despite that, it was enough. Li Heng’s technique shattered under the impact—but Sha Xiang’s technique didn’t survive the contact either.
“You’ve improved measurably, Sect Sister,” Li Heng said, giving her a slight nod.
“Glad you’ve noticed,” she said, shaking out her hand and still sounding for all the world like an arrogant child.
“It won’t be enough,” he said, his stance shifting for a strike in a way He Yu only noticed due to their months of practice together.
“Doesn’t have to be.” As she spoke, Cui Bao launched himself at Li Heng from the side opposite He Yu.
Li Heng redirected his attention and shifted his half-formed strike into a block. But Cui Bao adapted just as easily, twisting around Li Heng’s waiting jian like a tongue of flame. His hatchet sang as it struck out, now inside Li Heng’s guard.
He caught Li Heng across the ribs. Red bloomed on his robe. Cui Bao hooked his other hatchet around Li Heng’s wrist. For an instant, it looked as though Cui Bao had the upper hand, but then Li Heng was several steps away. The only indication that he’d used a technique was the faint impression of drifting snow. Cui Bao wasn’t about to let Li Heng off easily, however, and pressed his attack.
Much to his dismay, this left He Yu staring down a very satisfied-looking Sha Xiang.