The Nameless

By 8:30 the next morning, the venue for the 21st World Martial Arts Tournament was already packed with people.

A faded yellow rope had been strung across the entrance, with a wooden sign beside it painted in red: "Contestant Entrance." Several uniformed staff members stood on either side, registration books in hand, checking the names of everyone who entered. One man was stopped and loudly insisted that he had registered. After flipping through two pages, a staff member put a check beside another name and let him through.

Lin Chen stood near the back of the line, while those ahead of him crowded around the entrance to confirm their names. He carried nothing extra, and his martial arts uniform was already tied neatly, its cuffs fastened around his wrists. Behind him stood a lean young man nervously readjusting his belt over and over.

About ten minutes later, Lin Chen reached the entrance.

A staff member looked up at him. "Name."

"Lin Chen."

The staff member found his name in the register and checked the box beside it. "Ring Three. Go straight to the end, then turn left."

Lin Chen nodded and passed through the entrance corridor. The walls on both sides were covered with posters from past martial arts tournaments. Some had curled at the corners, exposing the yellowed walls beneath. The crowd ahead split into two streams, one heading left and the other right, while the arrows on the signs had been worn too badly to make out.

He followed the left corridor to its end, where an outdoor ring area came into view. Ring Three stood at the farthest point on the left. Its platform was assembled from thick wooden boards, with several cracks already running along the edges, dry dark stains lingering within them. The railings around the ring were nothing more than crude ropes, their surfaces frayed, each end tied to a wooden post bleached pale by the sun. The spectator area had only a dozen or so rows of benches, sparsely occupied by seventy or eighty people. Most of them were focused on the central main ring, where the host's voice could faintly be heard.

Lin Chen took his place in the contestant waiting area beside the ring. It was a patch of ground enclosed by wooden railings, where three or four people were already waiting, each leaning against the fence in silence.

As the sun climbed higher, the wooden platform grew faintly hot, and he could feel the heat even through the soles of his shoes. On the other side of the ring, someone was stretching with broad, exaggerated movements. Every time he bent over, the muscles along his back bulged. His skin was dark, his shoulders noticeably broader than an ordinary person's. He wore black shorts and a white tank top, his hair shaved very short, revealing an old scar on his scalp.

After finishing his stretches, the man straightened and glanced toward the waiting area. His gaze paused on Lin Chen for a moment before moving away.

A host in a gray suit walked to the edge of the ring and cleared his throat. The microphone in his hand let out a piercing screech, and several people in the stands covered their ears. "Ladies and gentlemen, the first preliminary match at Ring Three is about to begin! Iwata Go versus Lin Chen!"

Iwata Go climbed onto the ring from the other side. The whole platform shook when he stepped on the wooden stairs. Standing in the center of the ring with his hands on his hips, he swept his eyes over the stands. "Why am I stuck with this crappy ring again? The main ring has so many people, while we've got barely anyone over here."

The host gave an awkward smile. "Contestant Iwata, the assignments are random..."

"Enough. Let's get this over with." Iwata Go turned toward the waiting area. "Hey, Lin Chen, get up here."

Lin Chen stepped out of the waiting area and paused below the ring, glancing at its height. He planted a hand on the edge and jumped up. The boards gave a soft sound beneath his landing.

Iwata Go looked at him. "Which martial arts school are you from? I noticed you when we registered yesterday. You think someone built like you can fight in the martial arts tournament?"

Lin Chen adjusted his stance, placing his feet shoulder-width apart and letting his hands hang naturally at his sides. "I'll give it a try."

Iwata Go grinned, baring his teeth. "Try? I'll let you try."

The referee walked to the center of the ring and raised his right hand. "The rules are simple. Surrender, fall out of the ring, or lose consciousness, and you lose. Weapons are prohibited. Are you ready?"

Iwata Go nodded and rolled his neck, his joints cracking. Lin Chen tucked his chin slightly and lowered his stance, his waist and back bending forward a little.

The referee chopped his hand downward. "Begin!"

Iwata Go stamped hard against the platform, making the boards boom. Like a moving hill, he bore down on Lin Chen. His right fist shot straight for Lin Chen's face with the whistle of wind behind it, faster than Lin Chen had expected. As it closed in, the fist nearly filled his entire vision.

Lin Chen twisted aside, avoiding the punch. The wind kicked up by Iwata Go's fist brushed past his ear and stirred his hair. Iwata Go did not pause. His left elbow swept across, and Lin Chen leaned back to evade the point of it. It passed almost against the tip of his nose, bringing a chill of air with it.

"You're pretty quick at dodging!" Iwata Go pulled back his elbow and switched to a knee strike, driving his right knee upward. Lin Chen pressed both arms down to block it, but the force shoved him back two steps, his heel striking the boards at the edge of the ring.

Someone in the stands whistled.

Iwata Go immediately followed with another punch, this one coming from a trickier angle, aimed straight at his abdomen. Lin Chen shifted aside, but Iwata Go's fist changed direction midway and grazed his ribs. A dull pain spread through him, like he had been scraped by a thick wooden stick.

Iwata Go stopped. "Is that all you've got? Don't tell me you think you can win just by dodging?"

Lin Chen lowered the arm he had raised to guard. The pain in his ribs was fading. He exhaled and adjusted the rhythm of his breathing.

Iwata Go charged again. This time, he switched to a combination attack—fist, fist, elbow, knee—pressing forward in rapid succession, a notch faster than before. Lin Chen blocked and evaded continuously, every step landing near the edge of the wooden platform. His heels hung over empty air several times before he pulled himself back.

"How long can you keep dodging?" Iwata Go threw a heavy punch, putting his full strength into it. The muscles in his shoulder tightened completely, and the force of the punch pressed Lin Chen's bangs flat against his forehead. As the fist came down, the compressed air hissed, like a thick iron plate slamming down.

Lin Chen did not dodge.

He crossed his arms before him. At the instant the fist struck, he sank slightly, channeling the impact through his knees, waist, and abdomen into the platform. The fist crashed against his crossed forearms with a heavy boom. The boards beneath his feet creaked as if they were about to split.

Iwata Go's fist hung there, stopped by Lin Chen's guard. His expression changed slightly, as if he had not expected those slender arms to actually withstand the blow.

Lin Chen pushed his right arm forward half an inch, forcing Iwata Go's fist away from his face. He straightened, planting both feet firmly on the ground again.

Iwata Go pulled back his fist and shook it out. "...That was kind of interesting."

Lin Chen readjusted his stance. The red mark on the side of his face had not fully faded, but his breathing had already returned to steady. He said nothing.

The referee watched the two of them, confirming that both were still able to continue. "The match continues!"

Iwata Go snorted and assumed his stance once more.