Contest

Xu Qing picked up the two letters and lowered his head to scan them.

One handwriting was neat, the other sloppy. Both were letters of recommendation for disciples seeking temporary posts at the yamen.

"To be frank with you." Constable Qi leaned back in his chair and spread his hands. "The letters from Rushing Thunder Martial Academy and Longwind Martial Hall arrived yesterday. Now, all three of your martial halls have disciples who want temporary posts. But there's only one opening left..."

He paused, let out a breath, then added, "You don't understand. We may look impressive, but in truth, we can't afford to offend either side."

He lifted his eyelids to glance at Xu Qing and gave a bitter smile. "The three hall masters are all masters of Transforming Force, the pillars of Qinghe County. Even the county magistrate and deputy magistrate have to give them some face. How would a mere constable like me dare make the decision?"

Xu Qing said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

"So I sought instructions from above." Constable Qi lowered his voice and leaned forward slightly. "Early this morning, word came down. The disciples recommended by the martial halls are to compete. Whoever wins gets the opening."

He leaned back, and the chair gave a soft creak. "I've already sent men to notify the other two halls. They'll be here shortly."

He raised his head to look at Xu Qing, tugging his lips into a smile that carried a hint of probing. "If you want this post, you'll have to beat both of them."

"Fine." Xu Qing gave a one-word reply.

Constable Qi froze for a moment, clearly not expecting such a straightforward answer. He had no idea where Xu Qing got his confidence.

He examined the young man before him. Sixteen or seventeen years old, and not short, but among martial artists, his build was far from sturdy. And while Zhao Family Martial Hall might not have ranked dead last among the city's six martial halls, it was still near the bottom.

In his memory, disciples trained by Zhao Family Martial Hall had always been a clear notch weaker than those from the other two halls.

He also knew that Rushing Thunder Martial Academy and Zhao Family Martial Hall had a grudge between them. It was a knot of hatred that could not be untied. If they fought later, the disciple from Longwind Martial Hall might be one thing, but the disciple from Rushing Thunder Martial Academy certainly would not hold back. He would not be satisfied until he had beaten Xu Qing flat.

Constable Qi looked at Xu Qing again. Seeing that he remained as still as an ancient well, neither nervous nor putting on a brave front, simply standing there quietly, Constable Qi found himself unable to read the young man.

He did not know whether Xu Qing was merely putting on airs or truly had everything under control.

Then he suddenly chuckled. It was a short sound, like a dry cough. "You know your master and Hall Master Yu don't get along, right?"

"I know." Xu Qing nodded.

Chen Wang had told him that Zhao Family Martial Hall and Rushing Thunder Martial Academy had old enmity, and that Yu Tai was his master's sworn rival. He had warned Xu Qing to be more careful around people from Rushing Thunder Martial Academy in the future. As for what grievance lay between the two martial halls, Chen Wang had not said, and Xu Qing had not asked. Some things only needed to be known; there was no need to dig to the roots.

"It's good that you know." Constable Qi smiled again, with a meaningful look in his eyes. "The people from Rushing Thunder Martial Academy won't go easy on you later. If you can't beat him, surrender quickly. There's no shame in it. Young man, the road ahead is long."

"Thank you for the advice, Constable Qi." Xu Qing cupped his hands in thanks.

"Let's go." Constable Qi rose and patted the wrinkles in his robe, making his dark uniform rustle. "Come with me to the training ground first. You'll compete in the yamen's training ground. I'll watch over it myself, fair and impartial."

The yamen's training ground was in the rear courtyard of the county office, a large, square yard.

Two weapon racks stood at the edge of the grounds, lined with sabers, spears, swords, and halberds. The iron gleamed coldly beneath the winter morning light. Several long benches sat against the wall, their paint peeling away to reveal gray-white wood beneath, meant for spectators.

When Xu Qing followed Constable Qi there, the training ground was still empty.

The sun had only just risen. The early winter sunlight held no warmth, and golden-white rays slanted across the bluestone ground, making the entire yard bright without bringing the slightest trace of heat.

Constable Qi took his seat of honor and gestured for Xu Qing to wait to one side. A yamen runner brought tea. Constable Qi lifted the bowl and took a sip, saying nothing as he closed his eyes to rest.

After about the time it took to drink a cup of tea, footsteps sounded from the courtyard gate.

Xu Qing raised his eyes to look—

A young man entered. He was tall and powerfully built, with a broad back and a bear-like waist, his every step carrying the force of a tiger.

"Deng Yue of Longwind Martial Hall," Constable Qi said quietly.

Deng Yue strode over and clasped his fists toward Constable Qi. "Constable Qi, Deng Yue of Longwind Martial Hall has come by my master's order." His voice was booming and full of vigor.

Constable Qi nodded with a smile and gestured for him to sit first.

Before his words had faded, another young man entered through the courtyard gate.

He was lean, but his muscles and bones were sharply defined. His shoulders swayed slightly as he walked, like a leopard poised to pounce. A fierce aura radiated from his entire body.

"Han Bao of Rushing Thunder Martial Academy." Constable Qi turned to Xu Qing and spoke quietly again. "Hall Master Yu's newly accepted prized disciple. I hear his skills are formidable."

Han Bao walked to the edge of the grounds and clasped his fists at Constable Qi. His movements were clean and decisive, and he did not waste words. "Constable Qi, Han Bao is here."

Constable Qi smiled in response. His gaze swept over the three men before he rose and introduced them to one another.

Then he cleared his throat. "I'll state the rules again. There is only one temporary post. Each of your three martial halls has recommended one man, so you'll compete. Whoever wins gets the opening. Stop at the point of contact. No killing."

He paused, his gaze passing over the three young faces one by one. "Who will go first?"

Han Bao and Deng Yue looked at Xu Qing almost simultaneously, then almost simultaneously shifted their eyes away and fixed them on each other.

After Constable Qi told them Xu Qing was a disciple of Zhao Family Martial Hall, neither of them gave him another proper look.

In their eyes, this skinny disciple from Zhao Family Martial Hall was only here to make up the numbers. Zhao Family Martial Hall was far inferior to their own halls. How capable could one of its disciples be? In the end, this contest was a struggle between the two of them. It had nothing to do with the one surnamed Xu.

Deng Yue was the first to stand. He clasped his fists toward Han Bao. "Senior Brother Han, allow me to experience the fine moves of Rushing Thunder Fist first."

Han Bao slightly raised the corner of his mouth and gave a derisive snort through his nose in response. He stood and rolled his wrists, his knuckles crackling sharply.

The two walked to the center of the training ground and stopped three paces apart.

Constable Qi waved a hand. "Begin."

Deng Yue moved first.

He kicked off the ground, charging out like a wild bull. His right fist carried a fierce gust of wind as it smashed straight toward Han Bao's face—the opening stance of Mountain-Splitting Fist, cleaving stone to open a path. Its movements were broad and forceful, centered on one word: ferocity.

The punch was heavy and powerful, its fist wind tightening the skin on one's face. If an ordinary person took that blow, they would break at least two ribs, and their head would buzz for half the day.

Yet Han Bao remained utterly unhurried.

His feet shifted slightly, and his body slid half a step aside like a loach, barely evading the punch. The fist brushed past his ear, its wind sending his hair drifting back, yet he did not even blink.

At the same time, his right fist shot out.

A bolt of thunder burst from flat ground.

True to its name, Rushing Thunder Fist struck like thunder exploding from level earth—swift and violent, without the slightest warning. That punch went straight for Deng Yue's ribs at a tricky angle, as though it had been waiting for Deng Yue to expose an opening.

Deng Yue was startled and hurriedly withdrew his fist to block. His reaction could not have been faster. His arms snapped together before his ribs like two doors slamming shut.

Bang!

Fist and arm collided with a dull boom, like two iron plates smashing together. Deng Yue's body swayed, and he staggered back two steps, his soles scraping out two shrill sounds against the bluestone bricks.

Han Bao pressed his advantage without mercy.

His fists came in a continuous barrage, each punch faster and heavier than the last, raining down like a summer thunderstorm—crackling and pounding, leaving his opponent no chance to catch his breath.

His fist techniques were tricky and vicious, targeting joints and vulnerable spots. Beneath the armpits, the hollow of the waist, the sides of the knees—every punch carried a trembling force. If one landed solidly, it could shake the bones loose.

Deng Yue was driven back again and again, his arms raised before him as he stubbornly endured the blows like a wall. His Mountain-Splitting Fist relied on fierce, direct power, breaking skill with strength, but Han Bao's fists were too fast. They gave him no chance to strike back.

Several times, he tried to counterattack, but the instant his fist rose, Han Bao's fist was already at a vital point, forcing him to keep blocking.

"Is that all you've got?"

Han Bao sneered and slammed a fist into Deng Yue's arm. A dull thud rang out, like a hammer striking wet wood. Deng Yue grunted, taking another step back. Sweat had already appeared on his forehead, beads running down from his temples.

He gritted his teeth and suddenly let out a furious roar. It exploded through the training ground like a thunderclap. Both fists shot out at once. Even if he had to take one of Han Bao's punches, he would force him back.

This was his final move, a desperate all-or-nothing gamble.

A sharp gleam flashed through Han Bao's eyes. Instead of retreating, he advanced. His body dipped low, and Deng Yue's fists howled over his head, striking nothing but air. At the same moment, his right fist drove upward and viciously slammed into Deng Yue's lower abdomen.

The punch was heavy and ruthless, carrying the distinctive trembling force of Rushing Thunder Fist.

Deng Yue gave a muffled groan. It was the kind squeezed from deep in his throat, his breath trapped inside. His face instantly flushed crimson, his legs weakened, and he stumbled back several steps, nearly falling to the ground.

He bent over, clutching his stomach with both hands and gasping in huge breaths. Sweat dripped from his forehead in pattering drops.

"Surrender." Han Bao withdrew his fist and stood still, looking down at him from above. His tone was calm, but every word cut deep.

Deng Yue gritted his teeth so hard they creaked.

He struggled to straighten up, his back arching again and again. But the piercing agony in his lower abdomen left him unable to muster any strength. His abdominal muscles felt as though they had been twisted into a rope, and every breath brought a sour, stabbing pain. His face reddened from holding it in, veins throbbing at his temples.

At last, he lowered his head and said hoarsely, "I surrender."

His voice was not loud, but in the silent training ground, every word was crystal clear.

Constable Qi nodded and signaled for the yamen runners to help him. Two runners hurried forward, supporting Deng Yue by the arms from either side. Deng Yue was helped back to the edge of the grounds and dropped onto a long bench, his face pale and bluish as he took a long time to recover.

He kept his head lowered, hands braced on his knees as he gasped for breath. It was impossible to tell whether the expression on his face was pain or unwillingness.

Or perhaps both.