Deng Qing lowered his head and ate his noodles. "Song Que is at the Skin Tempering Fourth Layer. I'm only at the Third Layer. I'm no match for him."
"Don't try to fool me with that."
Fan Sheng lowered his voice. "There's a gap between the Third and Fourth Layers, sure, but you've beaten opponents above your level before. Song Que may be formidable, but you're not so lacking in nerve that you couldn't even step up and try.
"Master didn't say anything, but that doesn't mean he had no thoughts on the matter. A martial artist can lose, but he can't be without courage."
Deng Qing said, "I didn't think it through at the time. I regret it now."
He couldn't tell Fan Sheng what he had been weighing in his mind, so he could only make up an excuse.
Fan Sheng sighed deeply. "What a shame. It was such a good opportunity. Who knows what Master thinks now? Your chance at Initiation was practically in the bag."
Deng Qing sighed along with him, but he wasn't worried.
If Master Li decided he was a coward and struck him from the candidates for Initiation just because he had refused an unequal contest of pride, then Master Li was no great teacher.
If that was the case, Deng Qing would find a chance to leave.
Of course, he would never forget that Master Li had fed him when he was hungry. He would repay that kindness when the chance came.
Thinking of Li Dashan, Deng Qing asked, "Senior Brother, you've followed Master for so many years. How much do you know about his past?"
Fan Sheng blinked. "Why ask that all of a sudden?"
Deng Qing said, "I haven't been at Celebration Hall long, and Master is often away. I really don't know much about him."
Fan Sheng picked up a mouthful of noodles with his chopsticks. "Master hasn't spent much time at the hall these past few years.
"But he's very strict with the disciples.
"If a disciple is merely poor at martial arts, he won't scold him much. But if he learns that someone has used what little skill he's acquired to bully decent people, he'll never let him off lightly.
"Master may not have the best temper, but he's an upright man. He can't stand seeing poor people suffer."
"When you were starving and threw yourself against a pillar outside Celebration Hall, wasn't it because Master took pity on you that he let you stay?"
Deng Qing nodded, then asked, "I've been at the hall all this time, but I've never seen any of Master's Personal Disciples. Have you met them?"
"Of course. Though I've only met Senior Brother Chen. He was the last Personal Disciple Master took in."
Fan Sheng put down his chopsticks, a trace of longing on his face. "Which of Master's Personal Disciples hasn't become a powerhouse of the Bone-Forging Realm?
"They all hold posts elsewhere. Their futures are bright."
Deng Qing said, "But I didn't see any of them come back to pay their respects to Master at New Year."
Fan Sheng said, "Most Bone-Forging Realm experts have duties to attend to. They can't just come and go like us.
"Besides, Master won't let them make a special trip back for empty formalities."
As Deng Qing ate and talked with Fan Sheng, Li Dashan's image gradually took shape in his mind: strict with his disciples, yet unconcerned with empty formalities; upright, and compassionate toward the poor and weak.
His Personal Disciples could all stand on their own elsewhere, rather than relying on their master's school to get by.
Judging by that alone, Li Dashan really did seem to be a good master.
Before long, several empty bowls sat on the table.
Deng Qing put down his chopsticks, rose, and paid the bill.
Fan Sheng spotted a peddler crossing the bridge with a shoulder pole. Brightly colored sugar figurines stood on the load.
His eyes lit up. "You head back first. I'm going to pick out a couple of sugar figurines for my boy."
Deng Qing agreed, left the noodle stall, and walked alone along the lakeshore toward the posthouse.
Lights from both banks shimmered on the lake. A breeze passed over it, gently stirring the reflections.
After walking a while, Deng Qing turned into a quiet alley.
High walls rose on either side. The alley was roughly ten feet wide, with a dim yellow lantern hanging at the far end.
Halfway through, Deng Qing suddenly stopped and turned around.
At the entrance, Song Que stood in the dim night, long saber in hand, his gaze cold.
Deng Qing said coldly, "Brother Song, blocking my way so late at night? Have you come to kill me over a grudge?"
Song Que gripped his saber hilt and walked forward slowly. "I wouldn't kill someone over the outcome of a match."
He stopped several yards from Deng Qing, his gaze falling to Deng Qing's waist. "I came tonight for two things.
"First, to defeat you.
"Second, to take back the Blacksteel Soft Sword."
Deng Qing laughed. "It's pitch-dark, and there isn't a soul here to watch. Even if you beat me, no one else will know. Wouldn't all your hard work these past days go to waste?"
Song Que sneered. "It doesn't matter whether anyone else knows. Taking back the Blacksteel Soft Sword will be enough."
Deng Qing reached toward his waist. "If you'd come to ask for it earlier, Brother Song, I might actually have given it back.
"But this sword has been with me for months, and it feels better in my hand by the day. After spending every waking moment together, we've grown quite attached. I really can't give it back now."
Song Que drew his saber. Cold light flashed through the dark alley. "No matter. If you won't hand it over, I'll beat you until you kneel and present it to me with both hands."
Deng Qing brushed a leaf from his shoulder. "Then come on."
Deng Qing truly didn't want to fight Song Que. He hadn't expected the man to follow him all the way here.
If he could, he would kill Song Que to silence him, but this was Golden Saber Sect territory.
Several thoughts flashed through Deng Qing's mind. He decided to teach the man a lesson he would never forget: make him see the gulf between them and tremble at the mere thought of Deng Qing, so he would never come looking for trouble again.
Song Que gave a cold snort and sprang forward. His long saber slashed diagonally, but halfway through the stroke, it wavered slightly. In an instant, one streak of saber light became several.
The blade was clearly straight ahead of Deng Qing, yet phantom blades appeared on both sides. Real and illusory mingled, impossible to tell apart.
In an instant, the narrow alley seemed to fill with layer upon layer of saber shadows.
It was Song Que's secret technique: Shadow Saber.
Deng Qing swept backward. Black light flashed, and the Blacksteel Soft Sword appeared in his hand.
Clang!
Saber and sword collided, spraying sparks.
Song Que's long saber pressed down sharply. Its light split apart once more, attacking Deng Qing from several directions at once.
The Blacksteel Soft Sword bent and straightened in Deng Qing's hand, darting through the dense saber shadows.
A rapid series of crisp clashes rang through the alley.
The two figures advanced and retreated. In the blink of an eye, they had exchanged more than a dozen moves.
Song Que's saber grew faster and faster, its shadows overlapping in an unbroken stream.
Deng Qing's sword grew faster too, like streaks of black lightning darting this way and that.
As they fought, sparks burst from the high walls on either side of the narrow alley. Saber and sword marks scarred the stone, and chips of masonry pattered down.
Song Que stared fixedly at Deng Qing.
He could feel that his Shadow Saber had surpassed its usual limits.
Yet whenever the saber shadows faded, Deng Qing remained unharmed.
Unease stirred in Song Que's heart, but he had no time to dwell on it.
He gave a low shout, and Qi-Blood surged through his body.
His saber swept upward, a flash of cold light aimed straight at Deng Qing's chest.
Deng Qing turned aside. The Blacksteel Soft Sword slid along the saber, its tip sweeping silently past Song Que's side.
Song Que felt only the night breeze brush his hem and thought nothing of it.