The crazed student careened upward towards the sky, propelled by his powerful legs at a great speed. He reached the apex of his ascent and jack-knifed, scrunching his body and then straightening it out. Like a javelin, he fell, feet-first towards Wanxi’s head. The Wudang swordsman looked on with horror, adrenaline coursing through his body as he attempted to do something, anything.
The best he could manage was a pathetic roll at the last minute. There was no grace or composure to the movement, just desperation and pain as he flopped atop Great Compassion’s crumpled body. They both grunted as they connected. Chi Shao slammed into the earth where Wanxi was laying an instant ago. Soil and grass showered them as the ground erupted from the extreme force of the impact. Wanxi continued to roll to the other side of the Shaolin monk, landing on his stomach. Great Compassion grabbed his broken arm and hissed in pain.
Wanxi looked up to see Chi Shao posed for another attack. It was like he was a monster. The veins in his face were swollen and visible, giving him an inhuman quality. It was as if every muscle in his body was being used at the same time. His cheeks, normally plump and cheery, were pulled tight by his skin, giving him a ghastly visage, a visage not helped by the reddened eyes. His hair waved wildly upwards and the toad symbol on his forehead throbbed. His animalistic stance completed the appearance of a crazed beast.
He hopped up into the air again. Wanxi grabbed Great Compassion by his good arm, then pushed as hard as he could off the ground. The both tumbled awkwardly away, Great Compassion tucking into a roll while Wanxi ended up seated. Again, the toad struck the earth. Had they not moved, they both would have been crushed by the impact.
The pair scrambled to their feet, Great Compassion gingerly holding his tender arm against his body while Wanxi swayed. They looked at each other. The blood was still flowing from the monk’s nose, painting the bottom half of his face in crimson gore. Their conflict was not over but the glances exchanged bore more meaning than could be conveyed in words. In an instant they both knew that they needed to set aside their differences to handle the beast set upon them. The Wudang fighter raised his fist toward the Shaolin monk, and was met with the touch of his functioning hand. Together they looked back to Chi Shao.
“Shaolin shadowboxing…” Wanxi assumed a low stance, his jian pointed at the toad.
“And the Wudang sword style.” Great Compassion raised his open hand.
“Let us put this ‘invincible toad style’ to the test!” Wanxi shouted, lunging forward with his blade.
Chi Shao hopped into the air, contorting his body to roll away from the blade. He bounced onto the ground and back up again, kicking and pushing outwards with his arms. The strange attack dodged another swipe by Wanxi, while Great Compassion intercepted with his open hand technique. The two bounced off each other, causing the toad to flip backwards. He landed on his feet and then cartwheeled around.
Wanxi did not wish to inflict a mortal wound on Chi Shao, so he chose to strike with the flat of his blade, using his winding arm movements and poses to transfer as much energy as he could into the weapon. He brought it down in a quick snap, landing a clean blow on the acrobat’s shoulder. The strike should have been enough to dislocate it, but instead, the blade ricocheted off, causing no apparent damage. Wanxi followed the sword upwards, using the momentum to twirl and leap foot over foot. Great Compassion filled the void, valiantly applying a series of strikes with his open palm, chanting out numbers with each one. None of this had any apparent effect on the gymnastic toad fighter, who seemed to ignore the strikes completely.
Chi Shao finally stopped on a dime, in a handstand position. He walked with his hands, backwards, kicking in a wheel-pedaling motion. Great Compassion intercepted the strikes, weaving between the kicks when he could and deflecting them with his hand, continuing to count whenever he made contact. Wanxi completed his twirl and brought the full arc of his rotation into the side of the toad. The blade was caught mid-swing by the monstrous student, who was now standing on a single hand, effortlessly continuing his kicking assault on the bloodied monk. Wanxi kicked at the clenched fist in a one-two strike, managing to wrench the gripped sword blade out with a twist.
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Wanxi fully expected there to be gore and missing fingers. He had seen fights before where desperate swordsmen had grasped their opponents blades in an effort to buy time or avoid a mortal strike. The results when the sword was unsheathed were always brutal to witness. Yet, despite this, Chi Shao remained entirely uninjured.
The beastly student bent at the elbows and shot off the ground, kicking with both legs at Great Compassion. The Wudang sword rose to obstruct. The monk’s Skanda palm struck the blade at the same time as the feet. There was a beat and then all three fighters were sent reeling back, sliding against the ground by several meters, leaving skid marks in their wake.
“I’m up to 34. I need an opening.” Great Compassion said.
The swordsman scanned the yard. The most notable feature was the tulip poplar behind them, its leaves half-changed into their golden form, waiting for the opportunity to drop with proper dramatic flair. Chi Shao was on the ground, pounding against the earth as if it had wronged him. He paused and began to suck in air, his throat swelling in a grotesque mimicry of an amphibian.
“Get him as close as you can to the tree!” Wanxi cried.
Wanxi sprung upward, gliding to the tulip poplar’s lowest branch. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the low croaking coming from his classmate. He breathed in. He breathed out. He visualized the flow of qi within his body as he balanced on the branch. He shut out the world around him. It existed, but it did not exist. There was nothing except for the inner view of his qi as it thudded against his extremities and then back inward. It was like an ocean wave crashing against the beach. The tide coming in and then retreating, just in time for another wave to crest and fall. He paid attention to the speed. The tempo. Mitugwa had been right. There was a speed inherent to it all. He breathed in. He counted the beats. He heard the eruption of soil and exhaled, opening his eyes.
The wave was cresting at his fingertips. With a deft motion, Wanxi sliced his sword into the trunk of the tree. It was as if the tree was not even there. It felt clean, it felt right in his hands. The grip had just the barest hint of reverberation. It was the most satisfying piece of swordsmanship he had ever performed.
“35!!” He looked down to catch Great Compassion rolling on the ground, having ducked under the toad’s rocket dash. Chi Shao landed right beside the tulip poplar, somehow having reversed himself midair, scraping into the ground to regain his traction. Wanxi brought his shoulder against the tree, slamming into it with the full force of his body. The limbs shook, the yellowed leaves began to dislodge, beginning a colorful storm in the courtyard, and the whole thing began to topple in an appropriately dramatic fashion.
The monster looked up at the tree trunk as it fell upon him. He reared up onto his feet, catching the log with his bare hands. The terrible cry he let out as he struggled to maintain his hold and not be crushed would haunt Wanxi’s dreams for weeks to come.
The monk darted in, stopping in a refined stance arms-length away as he made gestures with his good hand.
“One soul. Two forces. Five elements. Eight trigrams. Thirty-six chambers,” He brought his palm out, “of Shaolin!”
He slammed the base of his palm against Chi Shao’s forehead, right on the character. There was a pause as Wanxi wondered if this could possibly work. Then their classmate collapsed in a heap, bringing the full weight of a treetop on top of his arms, which became pinned.
Wanxi hopped down, panting. He was feeling the injury that Great Compassion had inflicted on him and he grasped at his chest. He looked to the monk, grinning with his missing tooth, who simply raised his hand and bowed.
The sounds of conflict across the way forced them both to turn, as they witnessed Mitugwa and Tianzheng locked in combat. Two of his spears were held aloft as if being juggled while he held a third in one hand. Meanwhile the princess was dancing between the prodding attacks, raising her legs and bringing her arms down to narrowly deflect and dodge the tasseled weapons. It was an incredible sight to see the two completely dissimilar styles intersect.
Wanxi would have rushed to help were it not for the sudden and intense inversion of the entire world. He took a single step and found himself crashing down, much like the tulip poplar.