The Fourth Stage - Chapter 30 preview (Patreon)

“This kind of action is a mockery of the tournament itself, it strips the tournament of all dignity!” Elder Mo was raving, gesturing with his hands wildly at Wu Ying.

Not long after Rou Gang had applied his concoction – a concoction that Wu Ying had recognized almost immediately thanks to the winds offering a very strong hint – the Elders who were not actively in charge of the tournament had come stomping over. The majority of the group crowded around him were part of Elder Mo and Guardian Pang’s cohort, but there were a few – like Elder Hsu – who were observing more out of the expected entertainment level than anything else.

“Is the tournament a teenage girl then, whose dignity must be respected?” Wu Ying said, idly. “Someone whose modesty might be removed by greedy, old hands if left alone?”

He had to admit, he was not taking the complaints seriously. He was more interested in the on-going fight below. His immediate vision might be blocked, but his spiritual sense and the wind’s were more than happy to provide sensory impressions to Wu Ying.

After all, the fight had turned.

Rou Gang was finally forced to take on a pair of enraged cultivators. That was, of course, the problem with underhanded tactics. It worked, till it didn’t. And then those who it did not work against became enraged and focused on finishing the battle.

Of course, in this case, the oil had the secondary characteristics of being slippery, allowing Rou Gang to put the second portion of his plans into place. He ran, fast and hard, managing to slip out of the grip of those who grabbed at him because of his oily skin. When running did not work, he laid into his pair of opponents with opportunistic shots, striking at grasping hands and exposed knees with gusto.

“You are not taking this matter seriously,” Elder Mo growled. “I should have expected that of someone who does not hold any of the dignity of the sect in his gaze when he visits other organisations. But this is just another reason why your Department should never have been established.”

Murmurs of support rose up from the Elders around, many of them nodding. A few – individuals with powerful sensing techniques or daos were holding hands to their faces. A surprise that they had such poor control, though perhaps it might just be as much an act.

“Yet we have,” Wu Ying said, softly. “And by the Sect Head himself.”

The pair had managed to maneuver Rou Gang such that he was encircled, aided by the sudden appearance of a third cultivator. Now, closed in on three sides, the boy darted to the right. A hand thrown overhand caught him on the left cheek as he jerked his head to the side in avoidance, a moment later planting his own rising elbow. It struck hard enough to clamp mouth shut with a loud snap and his opponent to fall backwards, dazed.

“Such decisions are not final,” Elder Mo said. “When he realizes that your department offers little of value to the sect, he will rescind his support.”

The brief pause while Rou Gang finished his opponent was enough for his other opponents to close on him. A spinning kick caught him in the side, pushing him a couple of feet closer to the edge of the exit. Moments later, his third opponent threw himself at the boy, intent on using his shoulder to bounce Rou Gang out of the ring.

Only for the boy to collapse all the way to the ground, using his arm and elbow in a rising sweep to help his opponent over his own shoulder and head. The motion was smooth and practiced and Wu Ying could not help but remark.

“Seems like someone’s practiced carrying grain sacks too…”

“What are you blathering about?” Elder Mo growled. But before he could be answered, a whistle from below indicated the end of the tournament.

Intuition had him spin around where he spotted the group that Rou Gang was in breaking apart, the battle over. Nearby, the final assailant who had intended to chase the boy out was stepping back, a sneer on his face. He muttered something and spat on the ground before stalking off, the referee in turn moving to take the boy’s place in front of Rou Gang.

“It seems that the referee also has feelings about your apprentice’s tactics,” Elder Mo sneered.

“It seems so,” Wu Ying said, calmly. A slight twitch of his hand and a beckoning drew the words of the referee upwards, so that they all could hear it. Elder Hsu and a few of the Elders nodded appreciatively at the act.

“You will wash immediately, boy. And you will not reapply that substance, do you understand?” the referee growled, speaking nasally so that he did not have to inhale. The poor cultivator was in his forties but only in the higher stages of Energy Storage. Powerful, but stymied in his growth. Entrusted to positions of responsibility but burdened with the knowledge that he would never ascend. “This might not be against the rules – currently – but I will not have you use such methods in the duels.”

“Yes, Senior!” Rou Gang quipped immediately, bowing to the man.

He opened his mouth to enquire further but Wu Ying released the minor working, allowing his words to drift into the wind as he answered the other cultivators. “The referee has allowed it. Perhaps, in the future, further changes might be enacted.” The wind cultivator shrugged. “I cannot say. But for now, it seems that Junior Rou has a fight to ready himself for.” A slight beat, then his eyebrow raised. “I believe a number of you have apprentices to counsel too, no?”

Elder Hsu, leaning over from where he’d edged aside a bit so that the others could crowd around, spoke up. “Eh, it’s not considered good form to instruct students between match types. Even if you notice certain possibilities or openings, it’s a matter of the juniors to handle.”

“Of course. My apologies,” Wu Ying said. “This is all new to me.” Then looking at the other Elders, he continued. “I am, of course, open to learning about the rules and customs of the sect, especially those I’ve not been exposed to before. There is much wisdom to be gained from the past and the elderly.”

That got a few nods from the watchers and even a few of the Elders who were nominally with Elder Mo. Wu Ying understood that many of them just wanted to be seen to be valued, to not have their positions thrown aside. And, of course, he knew that many of them also had needs that someone with his skills could fulfill. In the end, before the timber becomes a boat, before the rice is cooked (14), before the cultivator is pounded into the ground, much could be changed.

“Well, perhaps we can have tea.” An older man, Elder Seo said. He had a long lustrous black beard – rumored to be alchemically conjured – which was a vivid contrast to the wispy white hair on his head and deepset wrinkles. “If you’re willing to listen.”

The venerable elder was one of the oldest – if not the oldest – in the sect of still active Elders. He was also quite possibly senile, known for rambling on for hours about the good old days. Many avoided him, but he was – nominally – part of the old guard.

“I would be honoured.” Wu Ying ignored the glare Elder Mo sent him and to Elder Seo – though at least that one was circumspect. With the decision by the referee and Elder Seo’s initial acceptance, the crowd broke up, leaving Wu Ying and Elder Hsu alone.

Well, except for a new addition, as Elder Seo took a seat beside Wu Ying, prodding him over till he was in a comfortable spot next to them.

“Well? Where’s the tea?” Elder Seo said, querollously.

“I… had not realised you meant now,” Wu Ying said, surprised.

“When then? It’s not as though I have much time. And your ignorance will not improve by waiting,” the old man stomped his foot as he spoke. “So. Tea!”

“Yes, Elder!” Wu Ying gestured, and a nearby mortal servant hurried over.

Of course, almost immediately Elder Seo began to complain about the quality of the tea and service, dropping into a very long winded story about tea leaves from Yunnan and a fair tea picker with brawny arms that he once had known.

Wu Ying plastered a smile on his face and listened, though he did flex his dao and the winds, blocking off Elder Hsu’s escape with a wind wall when the man tried to shrink away, as silently and slowly as his fighting style.

If he was to suffer, so would the other.

After all, it was his tea that was being questioned.

***

Hours passed under the cool autumn heat. Around the fighting grounds, the contestants took whatever precautions they needed to to stay warm, bouncing in place, stretching, even slow sparring with other contestants to keep their fighting edge.

Rou Gang was on his third fight. He had won the first two handily through lucky draws, dealing with the first alchemist who enhanced himself with his pills but had lousy technique and the mediocore martial cultivator with relative ease. He had still two more fights after this one, and Rou Gang knew he needed to win every single one if he had any hope of reaching the top ten.

And if he was really unlucky, he might still have to fight in an elimination tournament with other cultivators who managed that same feat. Unfortunately, the problem of allowing each contestant a total of five fights – not including the length of the day – was that sometimes, you just had a lot of good fighters.

Like his current opponent.

A near miss with a hook kick that nearly caught him out had Rou Gang scrambling backwards, the guai (15) he wielded the only thing saving him from the crushing power of that kick. His opponent was a kick-based martial artist and a pair of metal greaves attached to his shins and feet gave each of his attacks additional power.

Spinning the er zi guai, the pair of truncated wooden crutches that was his own weapon, Rou Gang attempted to force his opponent back. He was no expert with them, but it suited his style well and he was, according to Jin Rong, getting better with them. They might not have the stopping power of a dao or the fluidity of a jin, but the ability to wield two and protect himself allowed him to wade in close and wear out his opponents.

In his inner dreams, he had images of enhancing the guai with the Earth aspect, of crushing beasts with a single strike. But such thoughts were a distraction in a fight, and one he could not afford.

Another jabbing kick with the toes of his opponent’s lead leg came for his solar plexus. He managed to jerk back, slam the hilt of his weapon on the shin only to encounter the damnable metal armour. It did little to damage his opponent, and left him open for the leg to retreat and kick to his exposed face on the right. Again, he managed to block, but a switch kick forced him to hunker up and take the kick with both guai and stagger sideways.

Injuring his opponent’s legs was not working. Between his opponent’s greater cultivation level, his strength and speed and the armour; all that he was doing was stressing the guai out. And while the weapon was cheap to replace – one of the major reasons he chose it – he still had to win.

But he couldn’t think of any other option, for each probing attempt to strike his opponent was punished by a series of kicks.

Hunkered down, kicked at over and over again, Rou Gang suffered the beating. It took so long that everyone had begun to watch, but there was one advantage.

It took a lot of energy to kick, to twist and throw one’s body weight behind an attack. To compress and tighten the core and kick. And it took a lot less energy to hunker down and suffer the beating, nevermind the fact that Rou Gang had been running and enduring.

A lot.

In the end, the fight was finished in his favour, not by devilish ingenuity or striking technique but by sheer stubbornness, as his opponent stopped kicking long enough for Rou Gang to wade in close and lay into the other with his tonfa.

Even then, arms throbbing and exhausted, Rou Gang could not help but wonder; how many more fights he had in him. As it stood, there were easily over twenty fighters who had won all three fights.

Arms hanging by his side, flexing his fingers, the Body Cleansing cultivator forced himself to breathe. He could not, he would not give up just now. Even if he was to lose eventually, his Master was always speaking about the things one could learn from losses.

Something about failure being the greatest teacher or some other semi-wise crock that he, the Elders and the old men in his village all tried to tell the losers of every competition. Whether it was a race around the village or the first to get a kiss from Wei Min, the prettiest girl in their age group.

Sometimes, Rou Gang wondered, if all these wise sayings about failure were meant for the speakers, to placate their own souls from all the regrets they’d faced. Ghost money to the past, such that disasters of a bygone age might not rise to plague the living.

Somehow, he knew better than to ask.

“Cultivator Rou, enter the ring or forfeit the match!”

Blinking, Rou Gang jumped up. His mind had drifted, his body so exhausted he had not heard himself called. He bowed to the attendant, scrambled into the ring and then had to run back out to grab his guai. Staring at the opponent on the other side of him, he could not but swallow.

A massive halberd wielder, the first polearm fighter he was to handle. And his guai and himself already exhausted. In that moment, as the referee called a start and the halberd was raised, Rou Gang saw his future.

It did not look pleasant.


Footnote:

14 - Paraphrasing and altering a Chinese saying - mù yǐ chéng zhōu, shēngmǐ zhǔ chéng shúfàn (木已成舟，生米煮成熟饭)

15 - Chinese term for the more commonly known Japanese tonfa (baton with a stick protrusion a few inches from one end).