The Shadow of the Practical Combat Assessment

"The group assignments are up."

When Wang Shuo burst into the temporary laboratory, Lu Yuan was staring at the fluctuating curve on the Soul Power meter. The room smelled of Soul Power grease and old wood.

Lu Yuan didn't look up. "Mm."

"Your opponent is Wu Gang!" Wang Shuo panted. "Iron-Arm Ape Martial Soul, level-eight Soul Power, ranked in the top five among the regular students. He broke three of someone's ribs last semester!"

The curve rose slightly at a particular range of frequencies. Lu Yuan circled it on the recording paper with a charcoal pencil.

"Got it."

Wang Shuo froze. He stared at the back of Lu Yuan's head, anger rising.

"That's all you've got to say?" His voice rose. "The chief referee's been decided too. It's Teacher Sun's old friend, that instructor named Chen! Everyone says he's heavy-handed and singles out work-study students!"

Lu Yuan turned around. The Soul Guidance Lamp on the workbench cast his face half in light and half in shadow. His eyes were so calm they were unnerving.

"Would getting worked up help?"

Wang Shuo opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

At daybreak, Lu Yuan was already sitting in the corner.

A few crumpled sheets of paper lay spread out before him, covered in crooked little figures drawn in charcoal. He had borrowed them from Wang Shuo the night before-Wang Shuo's older male cousin had fought Wu Gang and drawn a few sketches of his movements from memory.

The figures on the paper moved roughly, their lines forceful.

Lu Yuan studied them.

Light footsteps sounded outside the door. It opened a crack, and Shen Moxin came in with several rolled-up sheets of paper in her hand.

"What you asked for." She handed them over. "The detailed rules for the academy's practical combat assessments over the past ten years, and records of twenty-seven typical rulings."

Lu Yuan took them and quickly skimmed through them.

The writing on the pages was neat and clear.

"Thanks."

Shen Moxin walked over to the window, the light at her back.

"I looked into Wu Gang too." Her voice was even. "Iron-Arm Ape Martial Soul, a Beast Martial Soul of the Power Attack System, level-eight Soul Power. In the academy's internal sparring matches last year, he won seven and lost two. Both opponents who beat him were Agility Attack System students, faster than he was."

Lu Yuan looked up.

"His weakness?"

"His temper." Shen Moxin turned around. "He lost both matches because his opponents provoked him, and he left openings when he attacked fiercely. He's short-tempered and can't stand being provoked."

She paused.

"But this is an assessment, not a fight to the death. The referee is Instructor Chen-you've heard of him, haven't you?"

Lu Yuan nodded.

Teacher Sun's old friend, who had a "poor impression" of work-study students.

"Instructor Chen tends to be conservative in his rulings." Shen Moxin adjusted her glasses. "He favors protecting the side with the advantage. If the fight is one-sided, he may stop it early and declare that side the winner."

She had put it tactfully.

Lu Yuan understood.

It meant that if Wu Gang had him on the defensive, the referee would very likely declare Wu Gang the winner without waiting for him to concede or lose the ability to fight.

"Understood," he said.

Shen Moxin looked at him, as if she wanted to say something but stopped herself. In the end, she only sighed softly.

"Find some time this afternoon to look at the area around the platform," she said. "The floor is paved with granite and has been treated to make it nonslip, but some places along the edges are worn."

With that, she turned and left.

The door closed.

Lu Yuan spread out the detailed rules and turned through them page by page. His finger traced a line.

"...Article three on determining victory or defeat: if the referee determines that one side has a clear advantage and continuing the match may cause unnecessary injury, the match may be stopped early..."

He picked up a piece of charcoal and drew a circle in the blank space beside it.

At noon, Bai Zhi came.

She knocked softly. When Lu Yuan opened the door, she was standing in the shadows outside, holding a small cloth bundle.

"This..." She held it out. "It might be useful."

Lu Yuan took it and opened it.

Inside were several packets of dried herbs and two small porcelain bottles. The herbs were common calming flowers and blood-stanching vines. The bottles were labeled: pain-relief powder, concentration dew.

"I made them myself." Bai Zhi's voice was soft. "They're not very strong, but... they're better than nothing."

Lu Yuan looked at her.

Bai Zhi kept her eyes lowered, her fingers absently rubbing her cuff.

"I'll be there for your match against Wu Gang," she said suddenly. "We Auxiliary System students are responsible for standing by at the edge of the field."

Lu Yuan said nothing.

Bai Zhi raised her head, her gaze calm.

"I've watched Wu Gang," she said. "Before he activates a Soul Skill, his right shoulder dips. It's very slight, but he does it every time."

She paused.

"And he hates it when people stare into his eyes. In his last sparring match, his opponent kept staring at him, and halfway through, his fighting became disordered."

After saying this, she took half a step back.

"I'm going."

She turned and hurried away, the hem of her pale skirt disappearing around the corner of the corridor.

Lu Yuan stood in the doorway, clutching the little cloth bundle.

The cloth was coarse and carried a faint herbal fragrance.

He closed the door.

That afternoon, Lu Yuan went to the training ground.

The platform stood in the center of the field, built of blue-gray stone. Its edges and corners were indeed somewhat worn. Several students were sparring on it, the muffled thuds of colliding Soul Skills sounding in waves.

Lu Yuan stood in the shadows at the edge of the field and watched for a while.

Then he went around to the side of the platform, crouched down, and ran his fingers over its surface.

The stone was rough, with a distinctly grainy texture. As his fingertips passed over it, he could feel tiny bumps and hollows.

He withdrew his hand, took a small notebook from inside his clothes, and quickly made a few marks in charcoal-the platform's dimensions and the locations of the worn edges.

When he finished, he stood up and slowly walked once around the platform.

His footsteps were light.

He stopped when he reached a certain spot.

It faced the referees' seats directly. The angle of view...

He narrowed his eyes.

A burst of laughter came from a distance. A student on the platform had been thrown off and rolled twice before coming to a stop. His opponent stood on the platform, hands on his hips, laughing loudly.

Lu Yuan glanced over, then turned and left.

He returned to the laboratory that evening.

This time, instead of looking at the documents, he took several things from the shelf: a small pinch of air-dried Bristle Rat bristles, a few fragments of shed Gray Rock Lizard skin, and a small sealed jar containing powder ground from a Dead Leaf Snake's venom gland. Its toxicity was extremely weak, and its main effect was to numb local nerves.

He arranged the things on the table.

Then he opened his palm.

Blue Silver Grass appeared. It was still slender and weak, its three leaves drooping limply, but in the laboratory's dim yellow lamplight, their veins seemed a little clearer than before.

The tiny glimmer at his fingertip could now shine for three seconds.

Lu Yuan stared at his Martial Soul.

Bai Zhi's words flashed through his mind: before Wu Gang activated a Soul Skill, his right shoulder dipped.

Shen Moxin's words flashed through his mind: the referee favored protecting the side with the advantage.

The line from the detailed rules flashed through his mind: if continuing the match might cause unnecessary injury, it could be stopped early.

He closed his eyes.

Images passed frame by frame-the rough lines in the sketches, the platform's worn edges, the view from the referees' seats, Wu Gang's fierce face when he was enraged.

And the properties of those low-level Soul Beast materials.

The Soul Power residue in the bristles.

The shed skin softened when wet.

The local numbing effect of the mildly toxic powder...

He opened his eyes.

His fingers tapped lightly on the table, as if he were calculating something. After more than a dozen taps, they stopped.

He picked up the charcoal and began writing rapidly on a blank sheet of paper.

They weren't words.

They were symbols, arrows, and simple diagrams. They looked like some kind of tactical exercise, but also like a simulation of energy flow.

When he had filled half the page, he stopped.

He stared at the paper for a long time.

Then he reached into the pile of materials on the table and picked up a few air-dried Bristle Rat bristles.

The bristles were thin, not much thicker than hair, with tiny barbs at their tips.

He held them up close to his eyes.

Under the lamplight, the surfaces of the bristles had a dull sheen.

The Soul Power residue cycle was approximately seventy hours.

It fluctuated in twin peaks.

He put the bristles down and picked up the small jar of powder. He pulled out the cork and brought it close for a sniff-a faint, fishy bitterness.

The label read: numbing effect lasts approximately thirty breaths, with slight interference to Soul Power circulation.

Lu Yuan replaced the cork.

He sat back down in his chair, leaned against the wall, and tilted his head up.

The laboratory ceiling was old, with several cracks running across it. Dust drifted slowly up and down in the lamplight.

Outside the window, the sky had gone completely dark.

Tomorrow was assessment day.

He slowly breathed out and closed his eyes.

In the darkness, the symbols, arrows, and diagrams rearranged and recombined in his mind. Once, twice, three times.

Each pass brought slight adjustments.

Until, at a certain moment, all the pieces clicked into place, fitting together perfectly.

He opened his eyes.

There was little emotion in them, only a tranquil, cold glint.

He stood, walked over to the shelf, and returned the materials he had used one by one. He put the bristles back where they belonged, put away the fragments of shed skin, and tightened the lid on the powder jar.

His movements were methodical.

When he finished tidying up, he blew out the oil lamp.

The laboratory sank into darkness.

On the day of the assessment, the weather was clear and fine.

A crowd had gathered around the training ground early. Students, instructors, and even some idle menial workers crowded along the edge of the field, standing on tiptoe to look. The air buzzed with discussions and speculation.

The platform had been cleaned, and its blue-gray stone surface gleamed cold and hard in the morning light.

Three people sat in the referees' seats. In the middle was Instructor Chen, a man in his fifties with a square face and a habitual downward curl to his mouth. Two assistant referees sat beside him.

Instructor Chen held the roster, his head lowered as he read it.

Below the platform, Wang Shuo had squeezed his way to the very front of the crowd, craning his neck. Shen Moxin stood nearby. She hadn't pushed into the crowd, but stood quietly a little farther away in the shade of a tree, her gaze fixed on the platform.

Bai Zhi was there too. She stood with several other Auxiliary System students beside the medical kit kept ready at the edge of the field, clutching a strip of clean gauze.

"First match, Wu Gang versus Lu Yuan-"

The senior student calling the names drew out the announcement.

The crowd erupted in a commotion.

At one side of the platform, Wu Gang rolled his thick neck, loosened his shoulders, and strode up. He was half a head taller than others his age, and the knotted muscles of his arms stretched his student uniform tight. Once on the platform, he glanced across at the other side, his lips curling disdainfully.

After a short wait,

Lu Yuan emerged through a passage that opened in the crowd.

His steps were steady, but his frame was thin and small. Standing opposite the tall Wu Gang, the contrast was as striking as that between an adult and a child.

A few snickers sounded from below the platform.

Wu Gang grinned, showing his white teeth.

Instructor Chen rose from the referees' seats and walked to the edge of the platform. He glanced at the two of them and began announcing the rules in an even voice.

"There are three assessment rules: first, no deliberately maiming anyone; second, the match ends when one side concedes or loses the ability to fight; third, the referee may determine the winner based on the situation."

He paused, his gaze lingering on Lu Yuan for an extra moment.

"Do you both understand?"

Wu Gang answered in a coarse voice, "Understood!"

Lu Yuan nodded.

Instructor Chen returned to the referees' seats and sat down.

"Begin."

As the word fell,

Wu Gang gave a low roar, and Soul Power fluctuations surged from his body. A pale yellow light appeared over his skin, his muscles visibly swelling, and sparse black bristles growing across its surface-Iron-Arm Ape Martial Soul Possession.

His presence was fierce and menacing.

A chorus of gasps rose from below the platform.

Lu Yuan took a deep breath and opened his palm.

The Blue Silver Grass appeared, its slender stem and leaves trembling slightly in the morning breeze. But in the sunlight, the veins in its leaves seemed a little clearer than before, giving off an extremely faint emerald-green glow.

He looked at Wu Gang, then glanced at the referees' seats.

Finally, his gaze swept over the granite paving the platform.

Rough, nonslip, worn at the edges.

The final part of his tactics quietly fell into place in his mind.