One Punch

Han Bao turned around, his gaze settling on Xu Qing. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly in a half-smile.

"Zhao Family Martial Hall?" He gave a soft laugh and shook his head, his tone dripping with contempt. "My master always says that the Zhao Family Martial Hall has been living more and more backward these past years. The disciples they teach are becoming more and more worthless. Each generation is worse than the last."

He bit down hard on the words "each generation is worse than the last," as though grinding them across his tongue.

Then he flicked at dust that did not exist on his sleeve and said airily, "With the scraps from your martial hall, you want to take a post at the yamen? You'll only make yourselves a laughingstock."

He paused, lifted his eyelids, and gave Xu Qing a teasing glance. "Will you admit defeat yourself, or shall I make a move? Fists and feet have no eyes. If I hurt you, word will get out that our Rushing Thunder Martial Academy bullies people. That wouldn't sound very nice."

When Xu Qing showed no reaction, he added, still looking down his nose at him, "Go back and train properly for a few years. Come compete for these things once you have real skill. Right now... you aren't qualified."

Xu Qing did not respond.

He merely rose slowly to his feet, walked into the middle of the grounds, and stopped facing Han Bao.

Han Bao froze for a moment, then laughed.

There was surprise in that smile, amusement, and a trace of anger at being offended. Like a cat provoked by a mouse, he found it laughable, yet also felt the mouse deserved a vicious lesson.

"Fine." He rolled his neck, and his cervical vertebrae gave a crisp crack.

His gaze abruptly changed. Gone was the effortless contempt he had shown Deng Yue earlier; in its place was the viciousness of a predator eyeing its prey. "Since you insist on asking for trouble, I'll grant your wish!"

"Please." Xu Qing's voice was calm. Just one word.

Being ignored so completely by Xu Qing, Han Bao finally snapped.

His pupils contracted slightly, and his eyes nearly spat fire. He stopped wasting words. With a stomp, his foot struck the blue bricks with a muffled boom, and his entire body shot forward like an arrow loosed from the string, so fast that the air tore at the hems of his clothes with a fierce flutter.

His right fist, wrapped in a shrill gust of wind, shot straight for Xu Qing's chest.

Before the fist arrived, its wind had already reached him, stabbing in like an invisible awl.

This punch was fast and vicious, carrying the distinctive trembling force of the Rushing Thunder Fist. It was like the humming vibration in the air before a thunderstorm—a thing the eye could not see, yet one that made the skin tingle. It was precisely the killing move that had left Deng Yue powerless to fight back—Thunder-Shaking Mountain.

The fist wind rushed at his face, blowing Xu Qing's fringe back.

He moved.

He neither dodged nor blocked. He simply took one step forward. One step, and only one—like it had been measured beforehand—placing him perfectly in the blind angle of Han Bao's punching line. His right fist shot fiercely from his waist, its knuckles drawing a straight line through the air.

Five Elements Fist, Crushing Fist.

There were no flashy changes in this punch, no feints, no probing, not even any gathering of force. It simply blasted straight out! Fast, precise, ruthless—like an arrow released from the bowstring, with no path of return.

Han Bao had no time to react before Xu Qing's fist smashed solidly into his chest.

The instant those knuckles touched him, Han Bao's pupils shrank sharply. He had not even had time to feel pain before his whole body was sent flying.

Bang—

It was as though Han Bao had been struck head-on by a charging wild bull. Blood sprayed violently from his mouth as his body lifted into the air, flying backward more than ten feet before crashing heavily to the ground. His back slammed into the blue bricks with a dull, thunderous sound, and dust burst upward like exploded smoke, shrouding half his body.

He lay flat on his back, mouth hanging open, eyes wide. A stabbing pain tore through his chest, as though he had been struck by an iron hammer and pinned beneath a thousand-pound boulder. He could not catch his breath, nor could he move.

He tried to struggle to his feet, but his entire body felt as though it had fallen apart. Every bone screamed in pain, every inch of muscle trembled.

He propped himself up with his arms, but they went limp, and with a smack, he collapsed again. The back of his head struck the ground, and darkness swam before his eyes.

Han Bao lay on the ground, his face white as paper. The streak of blood at the corner of his mouth stood out harshly against that pallor.

The arrogance on his face had vanished without a trace, replaced by an incredulous blankness. His eyes were hollow, like two bottomless holes.

He had lost?

In one punch?

He had not even seen clearly how that punch had come. He only remembered a shadow flickering past, and then his chest had felt as though lightning had struck it.

The tea bowl in Constable Qi's hand nearly slipped from his grasp. Tea sloshed out and splashed over his hand, scalding the back of it until it twitched, yet he did not notice at all. He only stared wide-eyed at Xu Qing in the middle of the grounds, his mouth slightly open as though he had seen a ghost.

Xu Qing's punch had been so fast, so precise, so ruthless! Fast as a snake's tongue, precise as a tailor's needle, ruthless as a blacksmith's hammer.

Constable Qi had seen Han Bao's strength for himself. Though this young man had only recently broken through to Bright Force, his strength was more substantial than that of ordinary Bright Force veterans. His timing, angles, and force in throwing punches were all exceptionally seasoned.

Yet he could not even withstand a single punch from Xu Qing? One punch had sent him flying?

The two yamen runners beside him were stunned as well. One still held a teapot, its spout pointed at the ground as tea gurgled out, pooling over the blue bricks. He did not even notice.

The other leaned against the wall, the saber at his waist hanging crookedly, its scabbard poking into the ground. He did not think to straighten it.

Deng Yue of the Longwind Martial Hall had forgotten the pain in his body. He stood with his mouth open, staring blankly at Xu Qing in the middle of the grounds, frozen as though someone had tapped his acupoints.

The punch Han Bao had dealt him earlier still left a faint pain in his lower abdomen. Han Bao, like that, could not even receive one punch from Xu Qing? Just how strong was Xu Qing?

Xu Qing withdrew his fist and stood still. His knuckles slowly relaxed as his hand fell to his side. He looked down at Han Bao on the ground, his face showing neither triumph nor mockery, not even a superfluous expression. He remained as placid as an ancient well.

"Thank you for letting me win." His tone was equally calm.

Han Bao lay on the ground, unable even to speak. He could only glare at Xu Qing, his eyes filled with shame, fury, and a trace of... fear he himself was unwilling to acknowledge.

He had vaguely felt it. Xu Qing had held back that punch. At the instant that force struck his chest, he had felt a brief pause. The fist had already touched his flesh, yet its force had been forcibly reined in by a measure.

If Xu Qing had not held back... Han Bao could not help wondering whether he would already be a corpse.

Constable Qi finally came back to his senses. He set down his tea bowl and stood, the expression on his face changing again and again. From shock to disbelief, from disbelief to appreciation, until at last it became a laugh tinged with emotion.

"Good." He clapped, the sound of his palms striking together especially crisp in the silent training ground. He looked at Xu Qing with newfound gravity in his eyes. "A hero indeed rises from youth. What a fast punch. The Zhao Family Martial Hall truly hides crouching tigers and coiling dragons. It looks like another Chu Sheng is about to emerge..."

Halfway through, he suddenly realized his words were inappropriate. He hastily changed course, gave an awkward smile, and said stiffly, "This vacant post is yours."

Chu Sheng had once been the genius of the Zhao Family Martial Hall, but he had also been a rebellious disciple who injured his master. Comparing Xu Qing to him was clearly inappropriate.

Xu Qing did not know of Chu Sheng's history with the Zhao Family Martial Hall, so he noticed nothing. He cupped his fist toward Constable Qi in a proper salute. "Thank you, Constable Qi."

Constable Qi nodded and waved a hand. The two yamen runners stepped forward and hauled Han Bao up from the ground, one on each side. Han Bao's legs were still weak, his toes dragging over the blue bricks and plowing two shallow furrows.

"Take him back to the Rushing Thunder Martial Academy," Constable Qi said flatly, neither harsh nor gentle. Han Bao had been inferior in skill and gotten injured; the Rushing Thunder Martial Academy had nothing to say about it. In sparring, fists and feet had no eyes. Injuries and bloodshed were commonplace, not to mention that Xu Qing had already shown mercy.

Han Bao was helped away. He kept his head lowered and looked at no one. His face alternated between green and white, his lips pressed tightly together without a word. His back resembled a drowned dog with its tail tucked between its legs, soaked through, even its spine bent.

Deng Yue withdrew as well. His lower abdomen still ached faintly, and he walked with a slight bend at the waist, each step measured with care.

As he left, he deliberately turned back to look at Xu Qing.

That look held admiration, shock, and a measure of self-mockery.

He had thought he had merely lost to Han Bao. Now it seemed he was not even qualified to lose to Xu Qing. Han Bao had at least forced Xu Qing to throw one punch, while he himself had not even earned the right to make Xu Qing move.

The training ground fell quiet.

Constable Qi looked at Xu Qing and said with a smile, "That punch of yours has really won great honor for your Zhao Family Martial Hall. You've only just broken through to Bright Force, yet you already possess such strength. If you ask me, you're nearly qualified to take part in this year's Laba Meeting. If you had trained a few months earlier, you would surely have shone brilliantly at the Laba Meeting."

Xu Qing raised his head, a hint of confusion in his eyes.

"You don't know?" Constable Qi was taken aback, then smiled again. "The Laba Meeting is also called the Golden Scale Gathering. It is held at the county yamen every year on the eighth day of the twelfth lunar month. The county magistrate personally hosts a banquet, inviting the county's distinguished guests to drink Laba porridge and eat Golden Scale fish."

He paused and stepped half a pace closer to Xu Qing. "The true stars of the banquet are your six martial halls. At the feast, the county magistrate gives the martial hall disciples a chance to show their faces. Each of the county's six martial halls sends three Bright Force disciples to spar and compare fists."

He paused again before saying, "To put it plainly, they compete for the honor of their respective martial halls."

"If the disciples fight well, their martial halls gain glory. If they fight poorly, their martial halls are embarrassed. On a deeper level, it concerns potential and the future. Whichever hall has strong disciples can recruit good seedlings. If a hall has weak disciples, the good seedlings will not want to go there. That is why every hall goes all out. They would love to dig out every last skill hidden at the bottom of their chests."

Xu Qing listened, and though something stirred faintly in his heart, his expression remained calm. He did not reply.

Seeing that he was listening attentively, Constable Qi smiled and patted him on the shoulder again. The pat was neither heavy nor light, carrying the warmth of an elder's familiarity. "There's only a little over a month until Laba. In past years, the ones competing at the Laba Meeting were all experts at the peak of Bright Force, so you won't make it in time. Come, let's handle the important business first."

He turned and strode toward the records office, his steps much lighter than when he had arrived. His boots tapped across the blue bricks.

"From today onward, you're one of us at the yamen!" Constable Qi's voice drifted back from ahead, carrying a little more enthusiasm.

Constable Qi took Xu Qing back inside, completed the procedures, filled out the registers, had him press his handprint, and then gave him a bundle.

Inside the bundle were a constable's uniform, a waist saber, and a brass waist token.

Xu Qing accepted the bundle, his five fingers tightening around its cloth strap. The bundle was not heavy, yet his heart felt weighed down.

From this day forth, he had half an official status.

Not a true official. He had no rank, no official seal, no ceremonial hat with plume. But with a token hanging at his waist, everyone would have to regard him more highly when he went out.

The iron rice bowl he had failed to secure in his previous life had finally been placed in his hands in this one.

He lowered his head to look at the bundle, his heart filled with a jumble of emotions. He could not tell whether it was sentimentality, or something else.