The initial clash between Sha Xiang and Li Heng was brief. After a rapid exchange of blows, they broke off. Li Heng’s jian glinted sliver and He Yu thought the golden shimmer of earth qi around Sha Xiang’s fists seemed to have dimmed. She seemed wary of him, more than she had at the beginning of the afternoon. Despite her apparent caution, none of her arrogance had diminished to match.
“Bao!” Sha Xiang shouted.
A wild laugh escaped Cui Bao’s lips as he flung himself at He Yu. Orange sparks danced around his hatchets and flames licked at his feet. His expression was one of frenzied and reckless enthusiasm as he closed the distance. He Yu knew how this would go—Cui Bao would seek to get inside his guard as quickly as possible, negating He Yu’s advantage in reach.
He had trained for this—and if there was one lesson Fang Yingjie had drilled into him above all others, it was that he was not a swordsman. He was not limited to only his blade. The haft could be used just like a staff, and the metal cap on the butt could be used to bludgeon as effectively as any club or mace. The guandao was a versatile weapon, and while its weight made it difficult to master, that was also one of its strengths.
With a step back, He Yu withdrew his weapon, avoiding Cui Bao’s attempt to hook it with one of his hatchets again. He drew back the blade as though readying one of the wide, sweeping strikes the weapon was known for. Cui Bao reacted as he’d expected. He darted forward, pressing his attack and seeking to get inside the arc of the swing.
He Yu activated the Bracing Wind. Qi churned around the metal cap on the guandao’s end. With a swift jab, he pushed yet more qi through his strained meridians and tired limbs. His strike began from the earth, as he had learned in Senior Brother Ren’s lessons. It gathered power as it moved through his legs, his hips, and finally his arms. Cui Bao had both his hatchets drawn back, readying a strike of his own. He Yu caught him square in the chest.
Qi burst out around him, wind whipping at the hem and sleeves of his sect uniform. Cui Bao staggered back, losing his grip on one of his hatchets. While not as powerful as any of the times Fang Yingjie had used it, the Bracing Wind had done its job. Cui Bao was wide open. He Yu was quite pleased with himself for using it along with a strike like that. If he could take Cui Bao out of the fight now, he could help Li Heng. Surely the two of them would be too much for Sha Xiang to handle by herself.
Just as he was about to follow up with a sweep of his blade, a flicker of movement off to the side caught his attention. Stars exploded in his vision before he could fully react. As he fell he caught a glimpse of Sha Xiang returning to a ready stance, her fist glowing like a golden sun. Cui Bao was already back on his feet and had retrieved his lost hatchet. The two of them wasted no time and advanced on He Yu as he struggled to clear his head.
Sha Xiang reached him first. He’d only managed to push himself to his knees when her second punch cracked against the back of his skull, forcing him back to the ground. He Yu desperately cycled his last meager reserves of qi to try and regain some semblance of control over his body. As Sha Xiang was joined by Cui Bao, she readied a third strike. How could she have beaten Li Heng so quickly?
“Scatter,” came Li Heng’s voice from the other side of the clearing, hard and low.
He Yu let himself fall to the ground, relief flooding every inch of his being. Somewhere close yet impossibly distant, a man screamed. Cui Bao hit the ground inches away. As He Yu pushed himself to his feet once again, he saw a red stain spreading from the rent silk of his uniform back. Sha Xiang had turned her attention to where Li Heng stood. The Li scion’s expression was hard, and He Yu could feel the anger roiling in his spirit.
“Trash,” he spat. “You’ve taken this too far, Sect Sister. Time to end it.”
Sha Xiang’s expression was furious in her own way. Her eyes blazed, and her mouth was set in a snarl. “I mark my grudges, you bastard. You, He Yu, that bitch princess who’s always covering your asses—you’re all mine.” She slammed her fists together, filling the glade with the sound of cracking stone. “And you’re first.”
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Moonlight flashed, and Li Heng was within striking distance. His jian arced towards Sha Xiang. She ducked and moved in, balling a qi-infused fist. From the ground where Cui Bao lay, He Yu heard the faint crunch of a medicinal pill. Cui Bao’s wounds began to close as he pushed himself to his feet. He crackled and sparked as the medicine did its work, each increasingly steady breath bringing new intensity to his restored qi. The time for individual duels was over, it seemed.
Well, that suited He Yu just fine. He’d spent months training with Li Heng. He knew the noble’s style and techniques. He knew how he favored defense and counter-strikes. He knew the speed with which Li Heng could reposition. As Senior Brother Ren Huang had relentlessly drilled into them, training against someone lets you fight alongside them. He Yu turned his attention fully to Cui Bao.
The other disciple wasn’t back in the fight fully, so he’d a few moments of total advantage yet.
He planted his guandao in the ground and used it to launch a flying kick at Cui Bao—attacking and closing the distance at once. Cui Bao reacted faster than he’d anticipated, managing to turn and meet the brunt of the strike with a shoulder tackle. Normally, such a counter from a Foundation stage cultivator would have sent He Yu flying, but Cui Bao hadn’t yet fully managed to recover from Li Heng’s attack. He was rapidly on the mend, however, so He Yu pressed his tiny advantage while he still had it.
He launched into a series of sweeping strikes, wind gathering along his guandao with each pass. Almost immediately he had Cui Bao on the back foot. The other disciple had to spend precious qi to beat back the onslaught, his fires fractionally dimming each time he deflected one of He Yu’s strikes. The exchange wasn’t entirely one-sided, however.
Now that Cui Bao was flagging from the extended fight, and cycling qi to his injuries, it was easier for He Yu to get a sense of the other disciple’s style. Early on it had been evident that he favored quick, aggressive strikes. While He Yu didn’t think he was using a proper movement technique, he was obviously cycling qi to his leg meridians, boosting his speed and maneuverability. His ability to quickly change direction and attack from different angles explained why Li Heng may have had a hard time with him earlier. The noble would be the stronger of the two, He Yu was certain, but Cui Bao’s style was well suited for dealing with someone like Li Heng.
He Yu surprised himself with the assessment. He’d always been quick to pick up on things, especially when he was interested in them. It was probably the only reason he’d been able to teach himself the rudimentary cultivation technique he’d been using when he first caught Zhang Lifen’s attention. Now he’d managed to quickly gain an understanding of his opponent’s fighting style in the heat of battle. Surely if he could develop this, he could turn it to his advantage.
His newfound insight was cut short by a blur of motion, and an impact against his side. He felt, as much as heard, the sharp crack of several of his ribs breaking. Letting out a silent cry, he fell to one knee, dropping his guandao.
Sha Xiang stood over him but was forced to abort any follow-up as Li Heng took advantage of her shift in focus. Cui Bao turned his attention to Li Heng as well, and He Yu began to panic. He was effectively out of the fight. Each breath sent spikes of pain through his chest—there was no way he’d be able to wield his guandao with broken ribs. While he was certain that Li Heng could have eventually prevailed against either of his opponents, He Yu didn’t like the noble’s chances against both at once. After they dealt with Li Heng, they’d be coming for him, and he wasn’t under any impression they would be kind.
Both of them moved to flank Li Heng, making it impossible for him to defend from them both. Cui Bao’s hatchets sparked, and Sha Xiang’s fists gleamed. He Yu resigned himself to his fate at their hands. Not every battle could end in victory, and even the greatest heroes of the stories suffered setbacks. So long as they didn’t kill him, he could exact his revenge later.
All three disciples still in the fight froze, and an instant later He Yu felt it, too. Three more presences had entered the small clearing, two of them familiar. The third could only be Yan Shirong. His presence was that of silence and shadow, reaching out to lightly touch everything around it. It fit, given everything he’d seen of the comital scion.
The other two presences were Chen Fei and Tan Xiaoling—a sturdy mountain and a scorched windblown desert, respectively. Chen Fei had Qiao Xia slung over her shoulder. The girl was bound hand and foot in tendrils of shadow, likely a technique of Yan Shirong’s, and Chen Fei carried the girl’s parasol in her free hand.
“And here I thought my friends were threatened by someone who mattered.” Tan Xiaoling said. She drew her dao and leveled it at Sha Xiang. “Stand down, and I won’t have to remind you of your place.”