"Junior Brother Song's footwork is beautiful."
"Fists, palms, kicks, grappling, footwork—every skill is first-rate. No wonder they call him a master of all eighteen martial arts."
"That kid from Celebration Hall keeps falling back on Tiger-Subduing Fist. Let's see how long he lasts."
Song Que heard them, and the corner of his mouth lifted. His moves grew flashier still.
To anyone watching, Song Que's attacks came without pause. His moves were elegant, flowing through every turn without the slightest hitch, while Deng Qing seemed mired in defense.
The talk on the Golden Saber Sect's side grew more relaxed.
"Junior Brother's showing off again. He loves playing cat and mouse."
"He won't stop until he's shown off all eighteen skills."
"That Offal Martial Saint can take a beating, though. He's still standing."
"..."
On Celebration Hall's side, anxiety had spread across every face.
Anyone could see that Deng Qing was at a disadvantage. If he lost, all their hard work on this trip would be for nothing.
Only Zhang Yan and a scant few others felt the furrows in their brows ease.
To everyone else, Deng Qing was being driven back step by step. To Zhang Yan and the other experts, he was a stone sunk beneath the water: however fiercely the wind whipped up the waves above, the stone below remained unmoving as a mountain.
Thirty moves passed, then forty. Song Que still could not bring Deng Qing down.
The clamor from the Golden Saber Sect dwindled to murmurs.
"Something's wrong."
"What is?"
"Why hasn't Junior Brother Song won yet?"
"Look—is Junior Brother Song sweating?"
Sure enough, a fine sheen of sweat had appeared on Song Que's forehead.
In truth, Song Que had sensed something was wrong long ago. No matter how they fought, Deng Qing kept cycling through the same few moves of Tiger-Subduing Fist.
Yet Deng Qing's Tiger-Subduing Fist was devilishly strange. It always caught Song Que at precisely the most awkward moment.
The longer they fought, the more irritated Song Que became. What the hell is wrong with this brat? I've never heard of anyone turning that lousy Tiger-Subduing Fist into something like this.
Meanwhile, Deng Qing had taken Song Que's measure. He realized that, with his Grand Mastery-level Tiger-Subduing Fist, he could handle the fight at his own pace.
So Deng Qing kept fighting steadily, refusing to rush. Time was on his side.
At last, Song Que lost patience. He changed moves, seemingly reaching to seize Deng Qing's wrist again, but his foot suddenly slipped half a step forward. The instant Deng Qing turned sideways, a faint click of a spring sounded inside Song Que's sleeve.
A short sleeve dart shot out and struck Deng Qing square in the chest with a clang. It pierced only his outer robe before bouncing off his leather armor.
An uproar swept the crowd.
"Despicable!"
"This was supposed to be a match, and he uses a fucking hidden weapon?"
"Is that all the Golden Saber Sect can do?"
The furious shouts nearly reached the clouds. Few on the Golden Saber Sect's side answered back; enemies or not, they still had some shame.
Of course, one man tried to defend Song Que. "A sleeve dart is a weapon. Nobody said weapons weren't allowed."
Deng Qing felt a chill of belated fear. Luckily, he had come prepared. He also resolved never to forget to guard against an enemy's dirty tricks again.
Song Que was already seeing red. He paid none of it any mind.
He slapped a hand to his waist and pulled off his belt.
With a flick of his wrist, the belt unfurled with a swish, becoming a slender soft sword. Its blade was black as pitch and gleamed coldly.
The mountain wind blew, and the blade trembled faintly, like a venomous snake come to life.
"The Blacksteel Soft Sword?"
"The sect master gave Junior Brother Song that precious sword?"
"That sword can go soft or rigid. It can coil around wrists and slash throats—it's the bane of unarmed fighters. Junior Brother Deng, watch out!"
Amid the shouts, Song Que flicked the soft sword and lunged at Deng Qing, its movement like a venomous snake darting its tongue.
At one moment it straightened to stab at his throat; at the next, it bent without warning and curled toward his wrist.
Deng Qing had never faced a weapon like it. He quickly fell behind.
Unarmed, he struggled to close the distance. Each time he tried to press in, the soft sword's ghostly, unpredictable edge forced him back.
Suddenly, the blade grazed his sleeve and sliced it open in an instant.
Song Que pressed his advantage, winding the soft sword around Deng Qing's wrist, almost catching his hand.
Deng Qing knew he could retreat no further. With a grunt, he struck straight at Song Que's face. He had judged the distance: even if the blade cut his hand, he would smash Song Que's face in.
Song Que saw that Deng Qing meant to hurt them both. Unwilling to trade injury for injury, he sprang back a step.
The fight had suddenly risen to another level, and the crowd's clamor swelled louder than ever.
"Junior Brother Song's getting serious!"
"That man's fighting for his life too!"
"So what if he is? The Blacksteel Soft Sword is razor-sharp. How can he catch it with bare hands?"
Wang Wei could not help muttering a curse. "First a hidden weapon, and now a soft sword. He's got no shame."
Fan Sheng looked tense. He was the one who had urged Deng Qing to enter the match, and if Deng Qing lost and got hurt, he would feel he had wronged him.
But he also knew Deng Qing still had a move in reserve. If he used it well, defeat was not certain.
Sure enough, Deng Qing seized the opening created by Song Que's retreat and sprang back more than ten feet.
Song Que gave a cold snort and closed in again. Just as the soft sword thrust toward him, a dark gleam appeared around Deng Qing's hands.
At some point, Deng Qing had slipped on the Silver Crow Handwraps.
"So what if you have the Silver Crow Handwraps? Take this!"
Song Que drove his sword straight forward. With both hands protected, Deng Qing's mind settled.
Before, he had been unable to deal with the soft sword not because his skill was lacking, but because his bare hands could not withstand its blade. Now that the Silver Crow Handwraps were on, he had nothing to fear.
Deng Qing turned his palm and pressed it against the flat of the blade. The edge scraped across the Silver Crow Handwraps with a piercing screech.
The impact numbed Deng Qing's palm, but it steadied his resolve all the more.
Song Que's expression changed drastically. He tried to pull the sword free and withdraw, but Deng Qing gave him no chance. One hand gripped the sword while the other caught Song Que's sword wrist, five fingers closing like iron pincers.
Agony shot through Song Que's wrist, and his fingers loosened against his will. The Blacksteel Soft Sword slipped from his grasp into Deng Qing's hand.
Disbelief filled Song Que's eyes. Still reeling, he tried to counterattack, but Deng Qing's fingers curled into claws and swept toward him.
In that instant, Song Que felt his soul flee his body. His face went deathly pale, and he could not stop himself from shutting his eyes.
But the pain he expected never came. He opened his eyes to find Deng Qing's claw poised barely an inch from his throat.
Another half inch, and Hungry Tiger Locks the Throat would have been a killing blow.
Song Que stood frozen, as though his soul had left him.
Then Deng Qing lowered his hand, stepped back half a pace, and cupped his fists. "Thank you for the match."
As he spoke, he offered the sword back.
Song Que's face flushed crimson. He glared at Deng Qing. "Cut the act. Just you wait. One day, I'll take it back with my own hands. You'd better keep it safe for me!"
With that, he spun around and ran down the mountain path in the opposite direction.
The Golden Saber Sect's ranks fell deathly silent. Chen Kong's face was white as paper. He stared hard at Deng Qing, wanting to ask for the soft sword back, but could not bring himself to speak.
By the rules of the martial world, the soft sword was now Deng Qing's spoil of victory. Even Song Que had been too ashamed to ask for it back.
With everyone watching, Chen Kong had no face to make the request either.
Chen Kong took a deep breath and cupped his fists toward Zhang Yan. "Brother Zhang, you won. But this isn't over. The Golden Saber Sect will remember what happened today. We'll meet again."
He swung onto his horse and barked an order. The Golden Saber Sect members quickly gathered their ranks and swept away along the mountain path.
No one on Celebration Hall's side cheered. Many had yet to recover from the fight and could only watch the Golden Saber Sect disappear into the distance.
For a time, the mountain path was so quiet that only the wind could be heard.