Master, I'll Go

Zhao Yan suppressed the chill rising within him, his gaze sweeping over the faces before him.

Yet wherever his eyes fell, the face there lowered. Some had gone pale, some flushed red, some were blank and expressionless—yet not a single pair of eyes dared meet his.

His gaze darkened inch by inch.

He stood there with his back still ramrod straight, but there was now a kind of... weariness in that straightness.

The weariness of being shoved from behind, yet finding no one to lean on.

If they could not even scrape together three disciples for the Laba Meeting, the Zhao Family Martial Hall would become the laughingstock of all Qinghe County.

As the hall master, how would he still have the face to meet the county magistrate, or the townsfolk still willing to send their children here?

He looked around once more. Still no one stepped forward.

The disciples lowered their heads one after another, as though they wished they could bury them in the snow. Someone's lips moved, but in the end, he only swallowed. Someone clenched his fists, then let them go.

Zhao Yan slowly lowered his eyes. His shoulders sagged slightly, and he seemed to have shrunk by an inch.

Just then, a voice sounded from behind and to the side.

"Master, I'll take Senior Brother Guo Huan's place."

Zhao Yan's body stiffened. He turned around.

Xu Qing stepped forward, walking from behind his master, one step at a time, until he reached the very front of the crowd.

Today, he wore a blue-gray training outfit, tied at the waist with a black cloth belt. His hair was neatly bound behind his head. There was little expression on his face, but his eyes shone brightly, like the morning sun.

"Master, I'll take Senior Brother Guo Huan's place at the Laba Meeting." He stopped before Zhao Yan and repeated himself.

Zhao Yan looked at him with a complicated expression. Gratification, worry, and a trace of... bitterness.

He did not agree. He merely shook his head.

He would not let Xu Qing go. The disciples sent by the various martial halls to the Laba Meeting were almost all at the peak of Manifest Force. Xu Qing had only just reached minor achievement in Manifest Force; if he went up there, he would suffer badly.

Yu Tai's disciples might hold back somewhat against the Zhao Family Martial Hall's ordinary disciples, but they would never show Xu Qing mercy.

Ning Yun's leg was a warning written in blood. Zhao Yan would rather lose face, rather be mocked for failing to gather three people, than let Xu Qing take such a risk.

"No." Zhao Yan's voice was somewhat hoarse. "You've only reached minor achievement in Manifest Force. You won't be a match for them. If something happens—"

"Master." Xu Qing interrupted him. His tone was not harsh, but it was unwavering. "This disciple is your personal disciple. At a time like this, if I don't step forward, who will?"

Zhao Yan opened his mouth, but Xu Qing gave him no chance to speak.

"For these past two months, you've given this disciple meat to eat, medicinal soup to drink, Blood and Qi Pills, taught me stance training hand in hand, fed me moves, and broke down techniques for me." His voice was not loud, but every word was like a stake hammered into the ground, impossible to pull free. "This disciple remembers your kindness. Now that the martial hall needs someone, I cannot hide in the back like a turtle pulling its head into its shell."

He paused, and his voice grew heavier. "This disciple also does not want to be raised in a greenhouse. If a martial artist does not even dare step onto the stage, then what martial arts is he training for?"

"Master, let this disciple go. This disciple is not afraid," Xu Qing said again.

Zhao Yan looked at him for a long time. Those old eyes grew clouded, as something hidden within them surged violently.

He opened his mouth, wanting to refuse, but when he saw Xu Qing's clear and resolute eyes, the words lodged in his throat.

In the end, he nodded. He reached out and gave Xu Qing's shoulder a heavy pat.

"Good. Go." His voice trembled slightly, but his hand was steady. "Remember: if you are outmatched, concede at once. I do not need you to defeat anyone. I only need you to come back down safe and sound. Do you hear me?"

"I hear you." Xu Qing smiled, as brightly and cleanly as when he had first stood at the entrance of the martial hall.

Among the crowd, Wu Mingyuan was the first to react.

Standing at Xu Qing's side, the corner of his mouth curled into a nearly imperceptible arc. He had been waiting for Xu Qing to play the hero and speak up, and Xu Qing had not disappointed him.

He was certain that Xu Qing would only disgrace himself if he went.

He had seen the Laba Meeting before. Last year, he had gone along to watch. Everyone on the stage had been at the peak of Manifest Force, their fists and kicks swift and vicious. Xu Qing was only at minor achievement in Manifest Force. How many moves could he last? Three? Five?

Fine if he lost face. Once he had disgraced himself, Master would finally see who was truly worth cultivating.

His talent was far better than Xu Qing's. He had been at the martial hall for a year and a half, had already reached the peak of Manifest Force, built a solid foundation, and trained his fighting methods to proficiency. In what way was he inferior to that fisher boy with mediocre talent? Why could Xu Qing become a personal disciple while he could not?

Today, he would prove that Master had chosen the wrong person. He, Wu Mingyuan, was the martial hall's future. He was stronger than Xu Qing—far stronger!

He lowered his eyelids, hiding the resentment in his eyes. He said nothing, but the fingers clutching his sleeve tightened.

Ning Yun stood behind and to the side of Zhao Yan, silent from beginning to end.

When he heard Xu Qing say, "This disciple is not afraid," his eyes suddenly stung.

He remembered himself three years ago, standing before his master in just the same way and saying, "Master, in this martial examination, I'll definitely win honor for you."

Back then, his leg had still been fine. He could stand atop the Plum Blossom Stakes for six hours without so much as wavering.

Later, he went onto the stage. He lost, and then someone broke the tendons in his foot. He had never regretted it. Not once. But he also knew that some people stepped onto the stage and never came back down.

He looked at Xu Qing, his feelings tangled and overflowing. Gratification, emotion, reassurance... It was as if he had seen his younger self again, ignorant of the height of heaven and depth of earth. The road he had failed to finish was finally being continued by someone else.

Limping, he walked up to Xu Qing and gently patted him on the shoulder. Once. It was not hard, but that single pat carried a thousand unspoken words.

Chen Wang grinned, flashing two rows of white teeth. He did not say any pointless words like "Be careful." He simply gave Xu Qing's other shoulder a heavy pat.

"Good man." He said only three words, but they carried more weight than anything else.

When Sun Ping heard that Xu Qing intended to go on stage, he was startled. He thought Xu Qing had lost his mind.

Qin Liang stood beside Sun Ping, both hands clenched into fists, his face flushed red. He wanted to speak up like Xu Qing, but his strength was not enough.

The crowd's reactions varied.

Zhou Wen kept his head lowered, the corners of his mouth turned down and his eyes half-lidded, wearing the expression of someone enjoying a good show. He nudged Xu Qing with his shoulder and lowered his voice. "Your cousin really dares to go up there." His tone brimmed with gloating.

Xu Qing stood beside him, his face livid, his lips pressed into a thin line. He did not say a word. His heart was churning like storm-tossed seas. He hated Xu Qing, yet he could not deny that he fell short of Xu Qing in every way. Just like now: Xu Qing dared to step forward, while he did not even dare entertain the thought.

Some shook their heads. Some sighed. Some remained expressionless. They did not care who went or who did not; they only cared that their own names were not called.

But some were different.

A short, sturdy senior brother stepped out from the crowd and cupped his fists toward Xu Qing. He said nothing, then stepped back again. That salute was deeper than usual.

A tall, thin fellow who normally had barely exchanged a few words with Xu Qing nodded to him from afar, his gaze carrying a measure of respect.

Xu Qing stood at the front of the crowd, feeling the gazes thrown at him from every direction. Admiration, mockery, concern, indifference, expectation, disdain...

He neither turned back nor lowered his head. He simply stood there, his back as straight as a mountain peak.

Wind blew in from beneath the corridor, whipping up powdery snow from the ground and striking his face with an icy sting. He did not move.

Zhao Yan gave him one last look, then turned around. His voice regained its usual steadiness. "Chen Wang, prepare the carriages. We're going to the county yamen's martial arena."

Chen Wang answered and jogged away.

The carriages were already prepared—two of them, parked at the entrance to the martial hall.

Zhao Yan and Ning Yun boarded the first.

Xu Qing, Wu Mingyuan, and Chen Wang boarded the second.

The driver snapped his whip, and the horses' hooves crunched through the snow.

The two carriages traveled one behind the other along the snow-cleared main street, heading toward the county yamen.