Huffing with displeasure, Zian sneered as Rain shuffled through the door with a covered box in hand. With his plain, unadorned coat and unkempt hair, Rain looked like a random peasant picked off the street. His shuffling gait and slumped posture belied of a lack of confidence and courage, but Zian knew this man was more arrogant than most. It was a quiet arrogance, a conceit deeply intertwined with the core of his personality. He didn’t act high and mighty, he merely presumed himself to be better than his peers, oozing disdain for his betters as he spoke of charity and advancing humanity through change and innovation.
It was easy enough to ignore his senseless drivel. Any advancement made without enough strength to back it would be crushed out of hand. Giving a voice to commoners, pei. They lived and died on the mercy of their betters, what point was there in giving ants a say? Unlearned and unwashed, commoners were too small-minded to be trusted with such power, likely to waste time whining about matters of no consequence like uneven roads or inclement weather. No, what truly irked Zian was when Rain offered unsolicited advice in matters of combat.
Not that his advice was poor. Despite his dismal showing in their spars, Zian found Rain exceedingly perceptive at spotting flaws or openings, though he rarely took advantage of this during a match. Overthinking things in combat most likely, slowing his reactions and causing him to hesitate, but Zian would rather eat a live rat than help Rain overcome his shortcomings. No, the damned savage offered sage advice, but Zian found his way of speaking most vexing.
‘Why are you doing that when this is so much easier?’
‘You haven’t heard of this obscure yet innovative and ingenious method? Well let me explain in near expert detail’.
Hateful, arrogant, amber-eyed bastard.
Rain had a knack for analysis and clarification, often breaking things down to their most basic components to study the how and why. His work with BoShui was nothing short of extraordinary, turning a man who stood at the higher end of mediocre into a true talent with but a single phrase. “He who rules with his left, rules the world” said the scruffy barbarian, flashing his pompous, narcissistic grin before continuing. “Jab and block, parry and measure, the left is both sword and shield. The right is your lance, your thrust, and though it is powerful, using it opens you up to a counter. Set the stage with your left and close the curtains with your right. Then, when you get better, you switch it up and use them interchangably, but that's for later.”
It pained Zian to concede Rain's words held profound truth. Though he would never admit this out loud, the sight of Rain before a spar often sent a chill down Zian’s spine, a trauma from his most disastrous defeat. With sword in hand, the runtish barbarian became a changed man, head held high and shoulders back as his piercing eyes filled with hunger and determination. An attitude befitting a warrior of his reputation instead of the slack-jawed, lackadaisical, underachiever he showed the world, as if to say ‘Situ Jia Zian isn’t worth much, even this worthless barbarian defeated him’.
Illogical and irrational to believe Rain was doing it on purpose, but Zian hated him for it nonetheless.
Even after months of interaction, Zian still wasn’t sure which version was the real Rain, but it mattered little. These spars were a farce and Zian hadn’t the faintest clue why he continued to take part. The only reason for sparring with his ‘peers’ was so he could improve his skills, but ever since Sumila stopped coming, only the slave girl offered him a proper challenge. The others were improving steadily thanks to his efforts while Zian’s time could be better spent, but Jukai insisted they continue coming here day after day. ‘Flowers grown in gardens are pretty to look at, but lacking compared to weeds in the wild’ was his reasoning, but these spars were hardly ‘the wilds’.
Seeing no fiery-haired maiden following in Rain’s wake, Zian swallowed his disappointment. An entire month since Sumila joined them, thirty full days since he’d last seen her. Annoyed at his childish thoughts, he fixed Rain with a glare and said, “So glad you could find time out of your busy schedule to join us. I heard you went on a pleasure hunt and had a family lunch, it sounds so exhausting I don’t know how you have the energy to still spar.”
With an apologetic smile, Rain slouched even further and picked up his pace. “Sorry, had important matters to attend to.” By the Mother, he sounded like he was about to cry over Zian’s sarcastic jab. You defeated Situ Jia Zian in single combat, at least have the decency to rise into the heavens like a dragon among men. The worst part of these spars were seeing just how little Falling Rain had improved, definitive proof that Zian’s loss was a fluke. Jukai once said Zian would have won nine out of ten matches against Falling Rain, but months of sparring proved it was more accurate to say 9999 matches out of 10,000. While others might find relief at this news, knowing he’d lost such an important match to such an unskilled duellist tormented Zian to no end. If only he’d won on that fateful day, his life would have turned out so differently.
With Rain dead, the Bekhai would have been found guilty of assault against the Society and suitably punished for their infraction. Under those circumstances, Nian Zu would never have had the gall to promote Baatar as his second and the honour instead would have fallen to Uncle Yang. Having taught their enemies a lesson, the Society would still be the number one faction in the north and undivided by the Bekhai. Without a disastrous loss hanging over his head, Zian wouldn’t have gone to Sanshu in search of redemption on that disastrous ‘bandit hunting’ exercise, instead remaining here at the Bridge. True, he gained much from his time around Sanshu but he would’ve learned so much more here battling the millions-strong horde of Defiled. Instead of sparring with these ‘peers’, he would have lorded over them as the undisputed number one talent of the north before casually stepping into the ranks of Experts with much celebration and aplomb.
If only... were there ever two more depressing words in all of history?
Disgusted by Rain’s attitude, Zian dropped Rain’s tardiness. At least he was still here, useless though he might be. Besides, it was fun beating the runt day in and day out, a stress relieving exercise. “This match was to be the last, with all other pairings concluded. Your matches will be fought consecutively, but it shouldn’t be a problem for the ‘undying’ Falling Rain.”
“Sure.” Placing the box down, Rain lifted the covers to check on its contents, revealing a colony of sleeping bicorn rabbits, fifteen kits and their mother. Ridiculous. Now he was raising vermin? These were his important matters? Hopeless. Enough was enough. No matter what Jukai said, Zian decided this would be his last day with these worthless idiots. On stage, Fung and BoShui traded ineffective blows, each testing the other and searching for an opening, but their dancing about was pointless in Zian’s eyes, with more gaps to exploit than he cared to name. Though both had formed their Natal Palace, it did little to improve their mediocre martial skills. If they had difficulties understanding the intricacies of the Eight Forms then how successful could they be at parsing the mysteries of Chi?
Leaving his rabbits with the slave girl, Rain returned to Zian’s side and whispered, “Can I ask you a question?”
Biting back his sarcastic retort, Zian inwardly rolled his eyes. “Ask it, but I make no promises to answer.”
“Er, through Sending.”
Ugh. “Fine.” Flicking his sleeve, Zian offered Rain his forearm, knowing from experience if he offered a hand, the ignorant savage would use the opportunity to interlock their fingers. Holding another man’s hand was not an enjoyable experience for Zian, but neither of them were capable enough to Send without skin contact. For Rain to Send at all was a testament to his talent, talent which he squandered away with his frivolous pets, business dealings, and ‘charitable’ acts, the height of foolishness.
“During the Purge, you told me the villagers were doomed regardless of my actions.” Oh Mother Above, was this idiot still fixated on the Purge? Holding his tongue, Zian waited for Rain to finish his question as the savage hesitated to voice the next part. After a prolonged silence, Zian discovered why Rain insisted on a Sending. “During that time, if you had the personal power to save those villagers, would you?”
Studying his one-time rival, Zian answered Rain’s question with a question of his own. “Why?”
“Why save them? Or why do I want to know?”
“Both.”
With a tired shrug, Rain Sent, “Why save them? Is basic human decency not enough? Did you not empathize with their plight? Did seeing them suffer not pain your heart?”
Hmph. Such arrogance, acting like he was the only person in the world who understood empathy. Of course it hurt seeing them suffer, which was why Zian didn’t stay behind to watch like an idiot. “And why do you ask?”
“Call it... academic curiosity. I wanna know how someone who isn’t me would have reacted if things were different. I can guess how Dastan and BoShui would answer, but I want to know your opinion.”
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Soft-hearted fool, still agonizing over the deaths of strangers. No wonder Rain’s skills failed to improve, the Purge ruined him like it’d ruined so many others. Haunted by his inability to act, the memory acted as a deterrent on his Martial Path, hindering him from progressing until it could be resolved. Unlikely it ever would be, the Purge would not disappear in their lifetime and Rain would forever be helpless before it.
This new revelation filled Zian with bitter disappointment, knowing his greatest foe was now doomed to wallow in mediocrity. There was no joy in defeating a man like this, no accomplishment in Zian’s victory, so he answered Rain’s question out of sympathy. “Even if I were an expert on the level of Nian Zu himself, I would still have stepped back and allowed the Shrike to carry out her duty.” Seeing Rain’s disappointment, Zian felt he need to defend his position and continued. “You’re a fool who doesn't understand the implications of your actions. As a representative of your people, your actions put the Bekhai in direct opposition to the Purge. Had she not acted irrationally and abducted you, the Shrike would have brought word of your actions to her master, a man who makes the Shrike seem kind and lenient by comparison. The Confessor needs only point a finger to raise a formal investigation against the Bekhai, backing you into a corner as his Aspirants comb through your lands in search of corruption. Even if they find nothing, which is highly unlikely, mere suspicion is enough to turn public opinion against you. All your allies will cut ties in fear of being implicated while commoners curse your names and refuse to do business with your representatives. No amount of charitable acts would win you enough goodwill to change their minds. You hoped to save lives but in doing so you put your kin at risk of Purge and worse, in direct opposition with the Empire. All this for strangers who will never thank you. Madness.”
Seeing Rain crumble with every word, Zian marvelled at the Bekhai’s idiotic way of doing things. Had none of them realized the gravity of Rain’s actions? Or had they merely kept quiet out of misguided concern? Having built him up to be an impressive elite, Zian had overlooked the obvious and forgotten the Bekhai were mere tribal savages, strong and domineering, but ultimately ignorant of the ways of the world. The Society had nothing to fear from them, given time, the Bekhai would be their own doom.
Lost in his thoughts, Rain’s fingers remained tightly wrapped around Zian’s wrist, leading to an awkward situation as Fung and BoShui’s match came to a conclusion. Beaming in delight at the rare victory, BoShui was first to notice Zian’s predicament, eyebrow raising in question at the entrapped pair. Ignoring him, Zian calmly wrenched his wrist out of Rain’s steely grip before saying, “Their match has ended. It’s your turn now. Make the most of today, for I will not be joining you all tomorrow or any day after.”
Mute indifference followed his declaration, an unsatisfactory and disappointing reaction. Without him, how were these lesser talents to measure themselves? He saw the joy and satisfaction in their eyes on the rare occasions he erred and lost a match, yet now he denied them from experiencing such a thing ever again and they responded to the sombre news with callous apathy. Zian didn’t expect them to beg him to stay, they weren’t friends or bosom buddies, but with all the time they’d spent together, he’d expected them to at least ask him why. He had an entire speech ready to give, outlining how their limited value was all but spent and their skills too inferior to offer him significant challenge.
...
It was possible they knew him too well and refused to step into his trap. They weren’t all idiots, only most of them.
Maddeningly enough, it was Rain who spoke first, but even he didn’t ask why. “Sorry to hear it. Anything I can do to convince you otherwise?”
Studying the runt closely, Zian was annoyed to see nothing but genuine honesty and eager anticipation reflected in his eyes. Not surprising Rain wanted to keep Zian around, his pristine sparring record probably kept the worthless savage awake at night, unable to eke out a single victory in all these months. Seizing the opportunity, Zian wore a mocking smile and replied, “With Lady Sumila’s absence, these sparring matches offer me little challenge.” The cat slave ignored the proceedings, enamoured by the sleeping rabbits, and Rain had the gall to chuckle while the others treated Zian with glares of contempt, but they knew their place and held their tongues. Basking in their anger, Zian continued, “I could be persuaded to stay however, if suitable challenge were found.” Bring back Sumila, for her skills matched her beauty, defeating him with sublime grace and overwhelming power.
“Mm, so if I win today’s match, will you stay?”
Caught off-guard by Rain’s question, Zian barked with laughter. “Sure. Defeat me today, and I’ll stay.”
“For how long?”
Catching himself before he answered, Zian narrowed his eyes in thought. Why did this arrogant fool seem so sure of himself? How many times had Rain suffered defeat on this stage? Forget Zian, the runt struggled to win against BoShui and was evenly matched with Fung, barely standing third from last in rankings. Rain was a hard-headed fool who fell for every trick and stratagem in the book. The most basic of feints was enough to trick him into over-extending, and while he never fell for the same trick twice, even a minor variation was enough to secure victory. How Rain stayed alive this long was a mystery, one Zian cared little to solve, but even arrogance had its limits.
Had Rain been purposely losing for months on end? To what purpose? Still, as the fool once said, better to err on the side of caution. “I’ll stay until I secure three victories in a row against you.” If Rain was losing on purpose, then this would ensure his full cooperation in future matches. Though Zian took great joy in defeating the little savage, he would much prefer Falling Rain to live up to expectations as the man who defeated Situ Jia Zian. Only then could Zian salvage his pride and walk with head held high once more.
“Okay. We’ll leave your match for last then, it’s only fair.” Retrieving his practice weapons, Rain ambled on stage and waved Dastan over. As the runt took his stance, Zian fixated on the inconsistencies in today’s Falling Rain. There was no hunger or determination, only a careless impatience reflected in his eyes as if he wanted to get things over with. Calm and collected, he seemed like a different warrior today, cold and analytical instead of the wild and impassioned youth of yesterday. This was the Falling Rain Zian wanted to defeat, a fearless, undaunted rising dragon who was his equal, his rival. This was the Falling Rain who dared to humiliate the Society in front of the whole province and possessed the skills and backing to escape retribution.
Axe in both hands, Dastan also sensed the change in his master and approached with caution, staying just out of range. Though faced against the fourth strongest of their group of seven, Rain’s body was completely at ease as his twin-bladed practice shield pointed at his foe. Rooted in place like an immovable mountain standing on stage, he stood ready to weather the storm of Dastan’s attacks. Strong of arm and bold of heart, the common-born warrior from Sanshu wasn’t an opponent Zian could effortlessly dominate and if not for his status as a slave, Dastan Zhandos would have made for a suitable rival.
How was today’s Falling Rain going to deal with him?
So preoccupied with his thoughts, Zian almost missed the match. Moving without warning, Rain struck out the moment Dastan hefted his axe for a probing strike. A single movement, both parry and slash, and Rain’s victory was assured, his shield blades breaking through Dastan’s hasty defence to rest against his throat. Replaying the brief match in his mind, Zian marvelled at the sheer genius of Rain’s movements, the sole reason for his absolute domination. Having seen it from the side, Zian broke the movement down into four components, toe, heel, slide, and step, the shield remaining locked in place until the moment he was ready to strike. From the front, he imagined it looked like Rain shifted diagonally in the blink of an eye, an illusion which took advantage of the narrow focus many warriors adopted during a duel.
So Rain was hiding his strength all this time, but the why would have to wait. Without a thought for Dastan’s pride, Rain shooed the defeated man off stage and pointed at the other slave. Springing on stage, she showed a rare hint of enthusiasm for today’s match, her warrior’s instincts sensing a challenge in today’s Falling Rain. This time, Zian banished all errant thoughts and focused on the match itself, intent on committing the battle to memory for future review.
Opening with the same step, Rain won the advantage in the first exchange and used his twin weapons to press her back. With the slave as his opponent, Rain demonstrated the versatility of this step, able to use the same strange movement to shift in all directions and confound the slave. When he looked to move left, he moved back, when he appeared ready to charge, he glided aside, all while striking out in a myriad of expert combinations. Swiping the Rushes melded seamlessly into Gliding Wing, Raising the Winds concealed Darting Fang, and Uplifts the Sequoia united with Twitching Tail so well it appeared to be a single move.
Thus, in a dozen heartbeats and five exchanges, Falling Rain emerged victorious against Li Song, a warrior almost Zian’s equal. From start to finish Rain set the pace and had the slave dancing in the palm of his hand, guiding her along as he sealed all paths leading to her victory.
A worthy foe indeed.
Fung and BoShui suffered similar defeats without offering new insight on Rain's strength, and then it was Zian’s turn. Ignoring the all-too familiar chill making its way down his spine, he strode onto the stage and faced his opponent. Taking no satisfaction or pride from his victories, Rain stood in the same initial stance, shield arm outstretched with blades pointed at his opponent, his sword positioned just short of the shield. A hyper-aggressive posture to mask his preference for defence, Zian refused to approach and play his game, gesturing for the runt to come to him.
Even if Zian won today, he intended to return on the morrow, for this was a Falling Rain worth sparring against.
Knowing exactly what to look for, Zian spotted the telltale signs of Rain’s charge and prepared accordingly. Sidestepping left to avoid the inevitable charge, Zian thrust at the area Rain’s chest would appear, waiting for the fool to impale himself on the blunted tip. A powerful move, Balance on Windy Leaf into Pierce the Horizon, but Rain was a fool to think no one would ever develop countermeasures. Victory today belonged to Situ Jia Zian and he ached to know what face Rain would make once he realized he was no match even when giving it his all.
Time slowed as Rain charged across the gap and Zian committed the next moments to memory, watching in excruciating detail as Rain’s twin shield blades smashed the thrusting saber aside with a flick of the wrist. The sword, waiting close behind, slashed out at Zian’s neck and met his second sabre, the left always covering for the right. Using the impact to make distance, Zian stepped aside as the shield chopped into his shoulder and sent him tumbling head over heels across the stage. When the world stopped spinning, Rain’s knee was pressed on Zian’s chest and weapons at his throat.
This match ended with a single exchange, Falling Rain’s indisputable victory over Situ Jia Zian. Ignoring the outrage and indignity, Zian stared in disbelief for several seconds before finding his voice. “Explain.”
“The step was something Du Min Gyu helped me with way back when, but I’m finally getting the hang of it. As for this, I figured someone would notice I use the same charge all the time, so I devised a handful of countermeasures to common counters. A counter-counter if you will. That one was a variation on Mantis Form, Twin Blades, but I have others up my sleeve.” Chuckling, he added, “Just be glad you didn’t step back. I can’t really control that move yet. Broke my ankle and Gerel’s ribs last time I tried it.”
“No you idiot!” Zian snapped. “Why have you been wasting my time and holding back during our spars?”
Withdrawing his weapons and offering a hand to help Zian up, Rain gave a sheepish grin. “I haven’t been holding back, not exactly. In Sanshu, I realized my passive, reactive style wasn’t suitable for the battlefield. To make up for shortcomings,I’ve been trying to be more aggressive. It’s... going okay.”
So startled by the idiotic answer, Zian forgot himself and accepted Rain’s proffered hand. “You’re not making any sense. Why are you using duels to hone a style you developed for the battlefield?”
Wincing, Rain shrugged and changed the subject. “So... see you tomorrow then?” After helping Zian up, he refused to let go and Sent. “How strong would you have to be?”
So worked up over the sheer madness of it all, Zian replied out loud. “What?”
Unperturbed, Rain Sent, “You said you wouldn’t help those people even if you were as strong as Nian Zu. How strong would you have to be?”
Gaping like a fish, Zian had no words for his foolish, indecipherable rival. This was lunacy, sheer insanity. How could he not understand what was being asked? Wrenching his hand away with too much strength, Zian spun a half-circle before catching himself and hurried out the door without looking back. Better to cut all ties now and never return but Zian was a man of his word. He would keep his mouth shut and continue sparring until he won three matches in a row against his rival, but Rain was mad if he thought Zian would have anything to do with his delusions.
Truly arrogant beyond all belief, it appeared Falling Rain harboured intentions to rebel and challenge the Emperor himself.
Utter madness.
Chapter Meme