Five Rounds, Best of Three: Qin Geng's Fight to the Death

The moment Smith finished speaking, the air in the courtyard seemed to freeze.

The Bronze Dragon Head was a treasure of national importance.

To stake it on a wager was to hold the Great Xin Dynasty's honor over the fire.

If they won, the treasure would return to its rightful owner, and they could hold their heads high;

if they lost, the last bit of backbone they had left would be ripped out.

Seeing that the moment was ripe, Smith clamped his large pipe between his teeth and held up five fingers. They were covered in yellow hair and looked like carrots.

"We won't bully you. We'll follow your Great Xin customs: five elements, five rounds, best of three."

"First, we compare our ability to read the land. You call it feng shui; we call it earth cultivation. We'll see who can make sense of what lies beneath the Su Residence and pinpoint this estate's vital energy point."

"Second, we compare our ability to heal the living. You call it the physician's art; we call it disease cultivation. We'll find patients and see who cures them faster and better."

"Third, we compare our ability to read people. You study faces and feel bones; we practice spirit cultivation. We'll find someone neither side knows and see who can lay bare eight generations of their ancestors and every dirty secret hidden in their heart."

"Fourth, we compare cultivation of the self. In Great Xin, you value Confucianism, Buddhism, and Daoism, along with Righteous Vitality. We in the West have theology and art. No fighting—this will be a contest of minds. We'll see whose god is stronger and whose way is truer."

"As for the final round—"

Smith chuckled, his gaze turning vicious, like a wolf baring its fangs. "This is a Martial