The first few matches passed quickly while He Yu waited for the announcement of his turn on the stage. Practiced, if not particularly skillful, displays of martial prowess went on for several minutes at a time. When it became apparent who the victor was, the defeated party would yield, the two combatants would salute one another, and the crowd would celebrate with polite cheers. It was all fairly standard, so far as tournaments in Shulin went.
When it finally came to his turn, He Yu stepped onto the arena platform and pressed his fist into his open palm in the traditional salute. His opponent was another of the town youth, a boy named Bao Wen, just old enough to compete at fifteen. As the son of a wealthier family, Bao Wen had no doubt benefited from training and medicines that He Yu hadn’t ever been able to access. He was bigger, too. Steeling himself, He Yu remembered Zhang Lifen’s words. He would acquit himself well. His future as a real cultivator depended on it.
Drawing his focus down to a single point, He Yu’s qi rotated in his dantian. He was so intent on being ready that he almost missed the gong that signaled the start of the match. In that brief moment when he scrambled to adjust, Bao Wen rushed him, and He Yu immediately found himself on the back foot.
Bao Wen’s first blow was a quick strike aimed at He Yu’s head. He only managed to avoid it because of the instinct to not take a punch to the face. It was a clumsy, graceless stumble back and away—not the artful dodge he’d always imagined himself using in a fight among cultivators. That thought, more than the narrowly missed attack, drained him of any semblance of confidence he had left.
For the first time since the tournament had been announced, He Yu grasped the reality that he’d never actually been in a fight before. At least not with anything larger than a squirrel. Sure, he’d practiced his forms behind his home and out in the forest, but this was different. Tournament or not, this was real. This was an opponent who was trying to hurt him and would likely succeed. To beat him. Panic welled up in He Yu’s chest and froze him in place. Bao Wen drove a fist into his gut, forcing the breath out of him. He Yu pitched over, gasping for air.
“Yield,” Bao Wen said, just loud enough for He Yu to hear over the pounding of blood in his ears. “I’ll not dishonor myself by beating a weakling like you half to death.”
He Yu squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth to prevent himself from doing just that. His opponent hadn’t even used qi to strengthen his blows, so far as he could tell. Bao Wen might just be so far beyond him that he couldn’t sense it, though. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t yield. He couldn’t just give up. Not now, not ever. His Way was long—so much longer than this. If it weren’t, why would a disciple from the Shrouded Peaks Sect take any interest in him at all?
His eyes were still shut, so he didn’t so much as see the kick coming for his face as he felt it. His qi stirred, pushing him to move. He Yu’s eyes snapped open just in time to see Bao Wen’s foot sail a hair’s breadth from his nose. Then, He Yu lashed out with a clumsy kick of his own. It was enough. Bao Wen was off balance from his own graceless attack, and when He Yu struck his ankle, the other boy tumbled to the ground.
To his credit, Bao Wen was back on his feet only a heartbeat after He Yu. But a single heartbeat was enough. Somewhere between having the wind knocked out of him, and realizing he’d only one choice before him, He Yu’s world had collapsed to a single point with a single goal. Nothing existed but the two fighters and nothing mattered except that he won.
As Bao Wen rolled to his feet with an ease that suggested countless hours of practice, He Yu had already begun cycling qi into his limbs. When he struck at Bao Wen, the explosive power of the blow surprised him nearly as much as it did Bao Wen.
His opponent managed to bring his arms up into a guard, but it wasn’t enough. Either he didn’t expect the force of the attack or wasn’t skilled enough to cycle qi on instinct. Whatever the reason, He Yu’s straight punch broke through Bao Wen’s guard and sent the other boy staggering. Although Bao Wen had kept his feet, he was clearly off balance.
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He Yu wouldn’t get another chance like that. He’d no doubt that by this point Bao Wen had taken his measure, and would use every bit of his superior training and size to punish He Yu for having the audacity to fight back.
Before Bao Wen could regain his balance, He Yu set his shoulder and charged. Unsure of how exactly to follow up the surprise strike, and make Bao Wen yield, He Yu could only see one option before him. Force his opponent out of the arena. Cycling qi to his legs, he barreled down on the other boy. He drove his shoulder into Bao Wen. Several staggering steps later, Bao Wen’s back foot landed on nothing but air and he tumbled off the raised arena platform, crashing down to the flagstones of the town square.
Other than the gong signaling the end of the match, He Yu’s victory was met with silence.
Chest heaving, he faced the onlookers. Dong Wei’s face was the color of He Gang’s forge, and the old cultivator looked as though he barely had a handle on his temper. Most of the others gathered wore expressions of either disbelief or disgust. True, it had been a clumsy victory, but it had been a victory nonetheless. He Yu didn’t care what they thought, anyway. There was only one person in the audience whose opinion mattered so far as he was concerned.
Zhang Lifen’s expression was thoughtful. Gone was the same half-amused partial smirk that she’d affected from the moment he’d met her. She looked at him with an intensity he hadn’t noticed from her before, and her attention pressed down on his shoulders like a sack of rice. She clearly thought the victory was clumsy, and he couldn’t deny that she was right. Nobody else had won by any method other than forcing a yield, just as Bao Wen had demanded of him.
Nobody except He Yu. His heart plunged, and all the ways that he’d failed in her esteem started to spiral in his thoughts, a dozen different manifestations of inadequacy playing out all at once.
He should have known better. Shouldn’t have fooled himself. What actual reason had she ever given him to believe that she’d any interest in him as a possible disciple for the Shrouded Peaks Sect? He’d simply assumed. Like as not she would have told anyone to “acquit themselves well” in a tournament. He’d never been special, and that sure wasn’t about to change now. Head heavy and hanging low, he walked off the stage, his victory souring only moments after he’d grasped it.
The remainder of the first round passed in a dull haze. Fists connected to flesh, and the townsfolk who’d gathered to watch cheered as the fighters displayed their martial skill. Nobody else won in the same clumsy manner He Yu had. It was all practiced strikes and blocks and counters and throws. And each winner left the stage with their head held high to the acclaim of the onlookers.
It was enough to make him sick. Not with the shame he’d felt just after his win, but with resentment. It shouldn’t matter—he’d won. If this were a real fight, with real stakes, would anyone begrudge him a victory at any cost? He could worry about “honorable combat” later. Once he’d the strength to do so. And if Zhang Lifen wasn’t impressed, well there wasn’t anything stopping him from heading to the Shrouded Peaks Sect on his own, was there? If they wouldn’t take him, he’d just keep looking until he found someone who would.
He Yu kept telling himself as much while the match-ups for the second round were drawn, and through the first few fights of the same. By the time his name was called to take the tournament stage again, he’d even managed to convince himself that it didn’t matter if he lost here. Shulin could rot, and if Zhang Lifen and the Shrouded Peaks Sect wouldn’t have him, they could rot, too. He’d follow his Way to its very end—no matter where it took him, and if only to show them all that he could.
He Yu gathered his resolve and stepped onto the tournament stage. So lost to his determination, that he’d not paid attention to his opponent. When he took the stage a second time, he came face-to-face with Sha Xiang. She was dressed in the school’s uniform and appeared more than ready for the coming match. Her hair was pulled back into a short braid, and her eyes were hard as she sized him up. She’d been studying with Dong Wei since the day she’d turned fifteen, which meant she’d be a far more formidable opponent than Bao Wen. When He Yu met her gaze, she pressed her fist into her palm.
“It will be an honor,” she said, voice spiked with condescension.
He Yu returned the salute, and said, “Likewise.”
Sha Xiang gave a smile that held no warmth, and her eyes gleamed. She was obviously looking forward to beating him into the dirt. He Yu had no doubt that the round had been rigged and that Sha Xiang had specific instructions from Dong Wei to humiliate him. No matter. If there was a way to win, he would find it. His future as a cultivator depended on it.