Three Moves

In the open space of the Valley Tribe's headquarters camp, the crowd had formed an irregular circle, layer upon layer. Some stood at the front, some tiptoed, and some even climbed onto the low branches of the old tree next to them. The sunlight shone down from the west overhead, clearly illuminating two figures in the center of the open space. The soil on the ground, compacted by countless feet, gleamed with a light gray sheen, like an old stone surface that had been polished many times.

Yan stood on the east side of the open space, Qingshi stood on the west side, about ten paces apart. Each held a blunt wooden shaft with a bronze head. The shafts were made of Yingmu and polished very smoothly. The heads were covered in bronze, but the blades were dulled and would not easily cut through flesh. The shafts gleamed with a warm luster in the afternoon sun, like an old piece of wood that had been repeatedly stroked.

Qingshi twirled the gun in his hand, gripped the shaft tightly, and raised it in front of him, the tip pointing slightly upwards, like a snake gathering its strength. His gaze passed over the gun and landed on Yan, his lips slightly pursed, as if he was using that moment of silence to sense his opponent's presence.

The warriors of the Valley Tribe stood at the front of the crowd, some with their arms crossed, others with their hands on the shoulders of those next to them, all waiting. Quyong turned his head and whispered to Fengren beside him, "Fengren, who do you think will win?"

Fengren's gaze never left the center of the open space. He crossed his arms and tapped his fingers lightly on his elbows, as if measuring the atmosphere on the field with his own rhythm. "A few years ago, Chief Yan was the number one warrior in the Fire Tribe besides Chief Jianshi. Now he will only get stronger, not weaker. Qingshi can fight me to a draw, but I estimate he is far from being a match for Chief Yan. He just doesn't know how powerful Chief Yan is."

Quyong nodded, his gaze also falling on the field. "I've worked with Chief Yan to repel the Tiger Tribe twice. His strength is unfathomable. Look at his posture standing there, his center of gravity is very low, but there's not a trace of tension. It's only a matter of time before Qingshi is defeated."

On the other side, Bailin and Jia Li stood together. Bailin turned his head and whispered to Jia Li, "That Qingshi is too arrogant. He actually dared to fight Chief Yan. Chief Yan has long been the number one warrior of the Fire Tribe. It's just that he is too cunning, and many outsiders don't know that. Now, many tribe leaders can't even last two moves against Chief Yan. Even Chief Jianshi Shi said himself two years ago that he was no longer a match for Chief Yan."

Jia Li stood beside him, his hands clasped in front of him, his gaze calmly fixed on the arena. "It's good that the young chieftain defeats Qingshi in front of everyone. This way, the people from the Valley Tribe, Bean Tribe, and Greater Qing Tribe will be better integrated into our Fire Tribe Fire Tribe when they join us. Sometimes, winning people's hearts and minds is more effective than a hundred arguments."

At the front of the crowd, Daiyue stood beside Jianshi, his hands behind his back. His gaze lingered on the center of the open space for a moment, then he turned to Jianshi and said, "Chief Jianshi, I've long heard of Chief Yan's exceptional skills, but I've never had the chance to witness it firsthand. This time, I finally have the opportunity." He paused, his gaze lingering on Yan. "But this Qingshi is indeed quite strong. In the past two days, he's defeated several chiefs in our Valley Tribe. Fengren fought him for a long time before they only managed a draw. Chief Yan should be able to handle him, right?"

Jianshi smiled and shook his head, his hands hanging at his sides, as if answering in his own rhythm. "Brother Daiyue, don't worry. Yan'er's strength has long surpassed mine. Although Qingshi has some strength, he is still quite far behind the top experts of our Fire Tribe —and compared to Yan, the gap is even greater. His defeat is only a matter of time." As he spoke, his gaze remained fixed on the arena, as if he were using his eyes to confirm what he already knew.

Qingya stood half a step behind Daiyue, his hands clasped in front of his abdomen, his gaze fixed on his son. He didn't speak, but his fingers gently clenched at the clasp, his knuckles turning slightly white, then he released them, as if using that gesture to calm the slight tension in his heart. Qingshi was his most prized son, the number one warrior of the Greater Qing Tribe, who had never encountered many opponents in the lower reaches of the Fish River. But he had also heard of the deeds of the young chief of the Fire Tribe. Although hearing about it and seeing it with one's own eyes were two different things, today, standing here, looking at the young man his son was facing, the layer of solidity in his heart began to loosen slightly—not because he thought his son would lose, but because he had never seen his son show such a serious, almost tense expression in front of anyone.

Yan stood on the field, gun leaning casually against his shoulder, his gaze fixed on Qingshi, as if looking into the distance behind him. Then he spoke, his voice not loud, but loud enough for everyone around the open space to hear. "Brother Qingshi, I won't hold back, I'm starting."

Qingshi's eyes lit up. He pointed the spear forward, held it close to his side, and said in a voice tinged with excitement, "This is more fun! Come on!"

As soon as he finished speaking, his left foot took half a step forward, charging towards Yan! Yan didn't retreat; as his spear slid off his shoulder, his feet sprinted forward, each step carrying a force released after being compressed. He rushed towards Qingshi, bending his knees and leaping as he approached. He slightly turned his body in mid-air, raising his spear high above his head, channeling the power of his arms, shoulders, and back into the spear in that instant, then slashing down at Qingshi's head with incredible speed.

That was a powerful strike, like splitting Mount Hua. As the spear fell, it created a compressed whistling sound, as if something heavy was falling from a great height to the ground. Qingshi had no time to dodge, so he quickly changed his move, gritted his teeth, raised the spear horizontally above his head, gripped both ends of the shaft with both hands, and used the middle of the spear to meet the strike that Yan was about to deliver.

The wooden poles collided with a dull, short thud that echoed in the center of the open space, like two thick planks of wood being forcefully struck together. Qingshi's arm jolted violently at the moment of impact, a sharp, piercing pain shooting through his thumb, as if something was tearing from the depths of his palm. His fingers trembled violently on the gun barrel, blood seeping from his hand, the bones in his entire hand humming as if someone had repeatedly struck his palm with a hammer—the first strike loosening the bones, the second dissipating his strength, and the third even cracking open his clenched will. The force of that strike traveled from the gun barrel into his palm, shooting up along the bones of his arm. His shoulder slumped, and he was forced back seven or eight steps by the force, each step heavy, his boots leaving deep and shallow dents in the ground before the immense force dissipated.

Yan was propelled back into the air by the rebounding force. His body leaned slightly backward, as if bounced off a suddenly snapping branch, but he didn't lose his balance. The instant he landed, he smoothly spun the gun halfway around, completely dissipating the force. When the gun stabilized again, he landed almost without pausing. His gaze fell on Qingshi, Qingshi was still retreating, his steps unsteady, his center of gravity still shifting backward. Yan didn't wait for him to regain his footing. He dragged the gun and charged forward, his boots striking the ground with each step carrying a compressed and released power. The gun dragged beside him, its tip scraping the ground with a continuous, fine rustling sound. With his final step towards Qingshi, he exerted force, the gun slashing upward at an angle.

Qingshi had just steadied himself, the excruciating pain in his hand still lingering, when he heard the sound of a gun whistling through the air. Instinctively, he turned the gun horizontally to parry, but his hands could no longer grip it tightly. His fingers trembled, and blood from his palms slid down the shaft of the gun, making his grip even more unsteady. The tip of Yan's gun, which was slanting at him, had already struck the shaft of his gun.

Another dull thud echoed, this time with more concentrated force and a more treacherous angle. The Qingshi spear shaft first bent sharply backward, then flew from his hand, tumbling several times in mid-air before landing on the ground. The spear bounced once and then stopped, leaving a light-colored scratch on the mud. His hands were now empty, and a sharp pain spread from his tiger's mouth along his arms to his shoulders. His body staggered back half a step from the impact, and before his vision could refocus, Yan's next move had already begun.

As Yan's spear knocked Qingshi's weapon away, he didn't stop. He charged forward again, and then, at the last step before Qingshi, he thrust out his spear. The spear tip tore through the air like a straightened ray of light, aiming straight for Qingshi's throat. This strike was faster and more concentrated than the previous two.

Qingshi saw the trajectory of the spear tip and its endpoint. He instinctively wanted to retreat, but his body hadn't fully recovered from the impact, and his feet couldn't keep up with his instincts. He could only take half a step back and then stop—he felt an extremely light coolness on his neck, like a thin layer of ice brushing against his skin. The coolness spread along the curve of his neck, less than a finger's width deep. After a moment, the coolness began to heat up, as if a tiny warmth was seeping from under his skin. He then raised his hand and gently touched the spot where he had been grazed. His fingertips felt slightly damp, and when he withdrew them, there was a trace of light red blood on his fingertips.

The wound was shallow, so shallow that it didn't even need bandaging. Qingshi stood there, his right hand still raised, the drop of blood on his fingertip glistening slightly in the afternoon sunlight. His gaze moved from the bloodstain on his fingertip to the spear that had been knocked away on the ground, then from the spear to the figure that had stopped in front of him. He saw Yan standing in front of him, the spear tip already retracted, pointing diagonally at the ground. He saw that Yan's gaze was calm, without smugness or contempt, like someone who already knew he would win waiting for confirmation of the result.

He was stunned for a long time. In his adult life, he had never been defeated so cleanly and decisively. His father, Qingya, had said that he was already a top warrior in the middle and lower reaches of the Fish River. There were no more than five people who could fight him to a draw. But the person standing in front of him today had only used three moves.

Three moves later, blood was still flowing from his tiger's mouth, his arm was still numb, and the thin gash on his throat was still slightly warm. He felt as if he had just stood on the edge of death. He slowly lowered his head, withdrew his blood-stained fingers, and then knelt on one knee. His knee landed on the compacted earth with a soft thud. He lowered his head, his voice not loud, but loud enough for everyone around the open space to hear. "I am very impressed with Young Master Yan's strength. Thank you for showing mercy." He paused, as if rehearsing the next sentence in his mind, then raised his head, looking at Yan, "I am willing to follow you for life, without a single complaint."

A moment of silence fell over the open space, then, as if someone had simultaneously lifted a lid, everyone began to speak—cheers surged from all directions, like a tide washing over the silent boundary in the center of the open space. "Young Master Yan! Young Master Yan! Young Master Yan!" Some raised their arms, some patted the shoulders of those around them, and some shouted, "Three moves! Only three moves!" The sounds echoed wave after wave across the camp, as if trying to send the sound of those three moves to the heavens as well.

Yan stepped forward, bent down, and reached out to grasp Qingshi's arm. His palm was dry yet warm, as if the three moves hadn't taken much of his strength. "Your strength is quite good, and you have a lot of room for improvement. There are many experts in our Fire Tribe, and after you join our Fire Tribe, you'll definitely have plenty of opportunities to improve."

Qingshi stood up, and the crowd was still cheering. Some people were loudly repeating the phrase "three moves," as if they were breaking down the three moves in their own way, emphasizing each move to make them land deeper. Others began to demonstrate the direction of the two spear thrusts, turning their palms in mid-air and then retracting them.

On the outskirts of the crowd, Bailin turned to Jia Li and said, "Three moves." His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a satisfied tone, as if he had received confirmation. Jia Li nodded, his gaze still fixed on the center of the arena. "I saw it."

At the front of the crowd, Qingya stood behind Daiyue, his fingers now loosened from their clasped hands and hanging at his sides. He stood there, as if mentally rehearsing the three moves he had just made. Then he turned to Jianshi, cupped his fists in a gesture of respect, and said, "Chief Jianshi, my son Qingshi is already a top warrior in this area. I never expected him to only last three moves against Chief Yan. The Fire Tribe's strength is truly formidable. It is our great Greater Qing Tribe's good fortune to join the Fire Tribe. From now on, let Qingshi follow Chief Yan."

Jianshi stood beside him, his gaze shifting from the arena to Qingya, his voice carrying a gentle warmth after confirmation. "Qingshi is also a rare warrior, and will definitely be a great help to Yan'er in the future. After the Greater Qing Tribe joins our Fire Tribe, I plan to gradually go to pick them up next spring. Before this winter, we will also send two thousand warriors, some ships, and bronze weapons to your area to strengthen your tribe's defenses and prevent the Wolf Tribe from taking advantage of winter."

Qingya clasped his hands in a fist salute and replied, "I will follow Chief Jianshi's arrangements."