(Day 140 Continued)

  The young men of the Discipline Hall converged on Neng. Even Nanxi, swordless after the bout that had just ended, made a lunge for him. But Elder Weidao’s disciple bounded through the gap faster than the others could match.

  Using qinggong in between bouts was odd but violated no rules. It gave Neng the speed he needed to avoid the direct challenges that would keep him from his target. If anyone was able to lay a hand on him, their challenge would supersede anything else. And Neng clearly had his mind set on a particular adversary.

  Daoping fit the mold of the other victims. Pengfei had overcome the boy within a few months of joining Kunlun, at least when they faced each other bare-handed. Rumor was that his swordsmanship was not much more impressive.

  There was fear on the disciple’s face now. Daoping realized he was the next target of the violent abuse that had recently fallen upon the less gifted. He backpedaled even as Neng charged forward.

  Pengfei had a moment of indecision.

  --Really? Daoping? Fuck.--

  But he was moving a split second later. He was slower than Neng. Than everyone. But he didn’t have as far to go. Qi coursed through the Yin meridians that ran down the backs of his legs.

  Paths converged and Neng was just behind, gaining ground. A last desperate move.

  Pengfei jumped and sent both his feet forward into a ridiculous and theatrical drop kick. He took Daoping in the chest, propelling him backwards and several paces away, narrowly avoiding a grasping hand.

  Neng and Pengfei collapsed to the ground in a tangle.

  “What the fuck are you doing!” Neng hissed as he attempted to disentangle himself.

  “You know I hate that guy. Couldn’t help myself.”

  “WHAT IS GOING ON HERE!” The booming voice put any argument to rest, and not just between the two fallen disciples. The entire courtyard went quiet and looked to Chen Rulan. The elder had taken several steps from his proper place next to Chen Weidao, forgetting the stoic dignity that he was expected to show while supervising the young men at practice.

  The elder was standing over them a moment later, furious, and joined a beat later by a placid Elder Weidao.

  Pengfei stood and pulled up Neng by the arm, having his grip ripped away almost immediately.

  “We just bumped into each other.” He said coolly but Elder Rulan wasn’t buying it.

  “This has gone far enough. Practice is over – “

  “No.” Weidao stated flatly. “There is still enough time for one more round of sparring.” He shooed away his student with a flick of his rolled-up sleeve, sending him forward to find his intended target.

  Neng took a predatory stride toward Daoping, who was still a heap on the ground, clutching his chest. Pengfei reached out and grabbed a handful of robe, his quiet words drowned out as the elders argued amongst themselves.

  “Weidao, you’re going too –“

  “It’s fine.”

  “It’s not fine! It’s – Pengfei, what did you say?”

  The masters turned to look at the boys. Neng was frozen, his face transitioning from annoyance to rage. Pengfei still held the fistful of sleeve he had grabbed. He repeated himself.

  “I challenge Jin Neng.”

  For the second time, Neng snatched his hand away. “We’ve already had a match today.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “No, it doesn’t.” Elder Weidao answered. Then to Neng, “Do it. And don’t hold back this time.”

  “Stop this!” Rulan shouted, but his martial brother ignored him.

  “Everyone! Gather around to watch the challenge between Jin Pengfei and my disciple, Jin Neng!” He spoke with his usual monotone. But his words elicited excitement in the crowd nonetheless. “They’ve already used their qinggong, so for this match they’ll be allowed to use the full range of their techniques and internal energy.”

  Pengfei suddenly found himself alone with Neng and Chen Rulan, penned in by a wide ring of the Jin generation. The elder stubbornly refused to move until confronted by Weidao.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  “Do I need to remind you what Hongzhang said? This time is mine.”

  Rulan sighed and cast Pengfei a reluctant look but said nothing further as he stepped away.

  Neng picked up his wooden sword from the paving stones at his feet, and Pengfei realized he was unarmed. His own weapon had gotten lost somewhere in the shuffle. A tap on the shoulder, and there was Shutian offering a replacement jian.

  “Give him hell.” The boy whispered. Nanxi was behind him, at the edge of the crowd, looking worried.

  “Thanks.” Pengfei said as Shutian retreated.

  He raised his wooden sword to mirror Neng. Right foot forward, opposite of what he preferred when bare-handed. A more bladed stance as well. Sword hand extended forward to keep the opponent at bay, but enough bend in the elbow to allow for a strong thrust.

  The difference in the comfort level was obvious. Neng held his sword level without even a sliver of a tremor while Pengfei adjusted his stance anxiously.

  --How much was he holding back before? No, don’t think about that. Let’s just see how this goes. Can always kneel down and give up if I need to… Would talking do any good at this point?--

  He shook his head to try and dislodge the anxiety from his mind.

  Chen Weidao spoke from behind.

  “Begin!”

  Neng lunged forward behind his sword and Pengfei leapt to the right. The fighting ring was small, not much space to run. But large enough to use a bit of qinggong. He called on his energy to move swiftly out of danger. The darts and hops came quicker than they would otherwise. Neng’s slashes pursued him.

  Pengfei knew he could not hope to survive just by dodging. After another evasion, he pressed hard with his back leg and came forward with a diagonal strike. But Neng stepped just behind the line of attack, came up with his own blow that glanced Pengfei’s and skipped painfully off the meat of his back. He had to jump forward and duck to avoid a chop that came back down towards his skull.

  The attack missed, but it was just the preamble. Neng brought his hand back in and shot it forward again.

  Dragon Emerges (long chuxian – 龍出現)

  Pengfei felt the power, the qi, in the thrust an instant before it struck out. He leaned precariously to the side and brought his weapon up in a parry that took Neng’s sword just far enough off the line. Still, the intensity of the exchange pushed the off-balanced boy to the ground.

  He scrambled backwards, tripping over his feet as Neng thrust at his bobbing head, directly at the eyes.

  --Shit! Not even letting me stand back up?--

  Pengfei managed to gain his footing again. He had to throw out some sword strokes of his own just to keep his attacker from overwhelming him, but none of the blows were successful. Neng pushed forward, driving Pengfei toward the boundary of spectators.

  The tips of the blades met between them. Neng batted Pengfei’s sword around, making just enough contact to constantly throw the weapon off the center line, open up avenues of attack.

  Pengfei attempted the same but hit nothing as his adversary circled and dipped away from the pawing attempts.

  Neng found a path wide enough to attack and lunged in. Pengfei parried high, guiding the thrust overhead, forming a ceiling with his own sword that protected the head.

  A palm pushed Pengfei’s blocking hand to the side. Neng threw out a backfist with his sword arm, and the butt of the wooden hilt busted open Pengfei’s ear, sending him stumbling

  “Fuck!” Pengfei yelled. He held a hand up to the side of his head. It came away bloody. He felt the pain acutely but there was no anger there. Until he looked up and saw the satisfied smile on Neng’s face.

  “What the hell man?”

  The other disciple did not answer. He just took his stance again and raised his jian. Pengfei lifted his own sword to meet the other, looked at the implement in his hand.

  --If we were sparring bare-handed I could at least rough him up a little… I guess I should just be happy these aren’t real swords… wait…!--

  Pengfei attacked. Anger with just a hint of technique, urged forward by a realization. He used his weapon to slap at the flat of Neng’s sword, pushing it across the body. A deep step and a straight punch to the face with his free hand.

  But Neng sidestepped, moving around the attack, then brought the edge of his weapon back up. Pengfei’s fist only hit air, he felt a slap in his opposite shoulder and neck as Neng’s sword found his side. Lucky that the collar bone wasn’t broken. A strike to end any real sword fight.

  Pengfei knew the reality of it.

  “The winner is – “ Chen Rulan attempted, but Elder Weidao cut him off.

  “Continue!”

  Neng was attacking again. Pengfei ducked under a slash and brought his wooden jian back to the front in a guard. But then in the next moment, he relaxed his stance. Squared up a bit. A noticeable shift in posture to everyone who was observing.

  Neng frowned and adjusted his sword.

  --But it’s not a sword.--

  Pengfei’s shoulders relaxed and the thought almost brought laughter to his lips. And suddenly the fear that had been conditioned into him by the sect elders, the sparring sessions, and cold hard reality, dropped away. He tossed aside the jian and raised his fists.

  Neng scowled. “What are you doing? Giving up already? I thought you’d take this match seriously.”

  “And I thought we were friends.”

  No one tried to stop the farce. The next thrust went all the way to the torso, jabbed painfully into the belly. Pengfei winced but immediately responded with a jab. Out of range.

  He reached out and slapped the sword away with his palm, just enough to step in past the point. Didn’t attempt to use qi in his attack. He didn’t trust it yet, couldn’t afford the failure. He relied on the strength of his muscles and his physical technique.

  But his qinggong pushed him forward. Not to run away now. To close the gap, cover the distance of the sword before its wielder could retreat.

  Pengfei ignored the facsimile of a blade sliding along his flesh. Didn’t give any worry to the grievous wounds he would be inflicting on himself if it were a real jian.

  Instead, he punched. A hard straight to the body. It landed, and Neng took a large step back with a loud grunting exhale.

  But the attack wasn’t over yet. Pengfei followed his retreating opponent, threw a hooking punch toward the head and a leg kick. Neng ducked back from the first blow but a loud smack signaled the success of the second.

  Neng thrusted with full force now. The attacks bit into Pengfei cruelly. The contusions were immediately evident on exposed skin, quickly deepening in color. The first of them already purple. He dodged most of the attacks aimed at his face, but one pushed his head back sharply and broke the skin above the eye. Blood trickled down and obscured his vision on one side.

  He slapped the sword away again, took a large stride and threw a head kick with as much power as he could muster. It clipped Neng’s hairline, made a satisfying thud. The sword attacks halted for a moment. It was one of the stronger blows Pengfei had landed on a sparring partner. He reset his posture, paused his assault as Neng took a few wobbly steps toward the perimeter of the ring.

  “You done?” Pengfei called over.

  Neng didn’t respond but turned back to face him. He straightened his back, used a hand to stretch his neck to one side, and shook off the latest blow. Then he raised his weapon with a new intensity. Pain and disorientation were replaced with seething anger.

  Autumn Wind’s Gust ( qiutian zhenfeng- 秋天陣風)

  It came like a sudden breeze kicking up from the west. Hot and forceful. A diagonal slash rising from the ground. Pengfei lifted his arm to protect his face, but the wooden sword just beat his own fist against his head, nearly a self-inflicted knockout blow.

  And the technique wasn’t finished. A combination thrumming with the power of internal energy. The next attack came up under his elbows and found the ribs beneath. A crack.

  Another slash nicked the top of Pengfei’s pelvis. He looked up to see the sword loop gracefully around, coming back for his torso again. He stepped in the direction it was travelling, trying to bleed off some of the impact, but it was still a heavy blow. Neng’s natural strength and qi amplified by the lever arm formed by the weapon. Another crack. But Pengfei grabbed at the wood when he felt the contact.

  He held firm, his battered body clinging to the sword for support as well as safety. And for a split second Neng was stuck, refusing to let go of the hilt.

  Chen Rulan was already coming forward to intercede. Pengfei saw him step into the ring out of the corner of his eye. But before a command could be given, Neng spiraled his weapon over Pengfei’s thumb and around the back of his hand, finding the weak point in the grip.

  A flick of Neng’s wrist, accompanied by a shout and a rush of qi. The quick motion would have been enough for a surprisingly deep chopping cut if a real blade had been used.

  Instead, it broke Pengfei’s arm. The jian landed hard on the wrist with a sickening snap.

  “Ahhhh!” the injured disciple screamed. He fell to ground clutching his forearm as the Kunlun elder jumped between the combatants.