Sparring

The Prairie Fire Long Spear rested in his hand, its dark-gold shaft gleaming with a cold, dim luster beneath the afternoon sun.

Wang Hanshan looked at the spear, a flicker of approval passing through his eyes.

"Fine spear," he said. "But sparring with spears can easily injure someone. Use your fists instead."

Xu Wuyi froze for a moment.

His fists?

He specialized in spear techniques. Though his unarmed skills were not poor, they still fell short compared to his spearwork.

Wang Hanshan saw his hesitation and smiled.

"What, do you think you can't beat me without your fists?"

"No." Xu Wuyi shook his head. "It is only that this junior's fist techniques are inferior to his spear techniques."

"Then isn't that perfect?" Wang Hanshan said with a smile. "Otherwise, you'd have to hold back, afraid of scattering these old bones of mine."

It was a joke, but it also made his stance clear: go all out. There was no need to hold back.

"Then this junior will offend you." Xu Wuyi took a deep breath and set the Long Spear beside the stone table.

He walked to stand opposite Wang Hanshan, ten meters between them.

There was no wind in the clearing. Sunlight filtered through the treetops, scattering mottled patches of light and shadow. A few birds chirped in the distance, making the mountain forest seem all the quieter.

Wang Hanshan assumed a boxing stance.

It was a very simple opening posture: knees slightly bent, center of gravity lowered, both hands clenched into fists at his waist.

Yet this simple pose made Xu Wuyi feel a heavy pressure.

It was not the oppression of an aura, but genuine, tangible "weight."

It was as though the patch of ground Wang Hanshan stood upon lay several inches lower than everywhere else.

Xu