"You have the eyes of a tiger."
He really did. Orange-crest couldn't not say it. Some thoughts were too true not to give voice to. Hungry eyes narrowed as Yang Wei stalked forward toward the monkey. The tip of his spear shined like melt-ice in the wan light of the early autumn morning. Orange-crest measured every distance. The length of his stride. The timing of his steps. The space between them. He would need to know every measure intimately to see the path that would not leave him impaled. Qi roiled beneath his fur, readying itself to turn the blows he had no doubt would slip through his guard. This would be no clean victory.
"That is not a compliment, is it?"
Ah. Maybe this was why orange-crest liked him. Sometimes he just seemed to know. To understand the monkey's meaning, instead of trying to force him into the shape of man's world.
"No." Orange-crest confirmed. "Tigers hunt monkeys. Ineffectually."
Often disciples accused orange-crest of a beast pretending to be a man. They had more flowery words for it, virtues they would claim he lacked. But that was the core of their complaint. He was different. Simpler. They spoke as if they were somehow better than him by virtue of the fact their grudges were more complex, rooted in status or justified in law. As if it made them lesser to show the world their true feelings, their true hungers.
It would be one thing if those disciples were merely fools. Wrong, but at least consistent in it. But looking into Yang Wei's eyes, orange-crest felt the urge to laugh. Could they not see that no matter how calm his face, how well he aped their expectations, this man yearned for blood? Theirs, his, it hardly mattered.
Those disciples did not have eyes to see beasts. Theirs could but mark the presence of fur.
Yang Wei grinned, a truer joy than orange-crest had ever seen cross his face in victory, and charged. He cut through the space between them in a single step, faster than any disciple orange-crest had ever seen. His spear lanced out for the monkey's cheek, but orange-crest's staff was already in place to respond, the tip of his staff a hair higher than the spearhead. Orange-crest parried, pushing the blow down and to the side, then thrust for Yang Wei's head in turn.
Yang Wei should have retreated. It was what they were taught. Step back, reposition the weapon, resume the offense. Don't risk a blow to the head to deliver your own, lesser, attack. The rhythm of polearms.
Yang Wei's eyes did not move, as his head drifted a palm's breadth to the side. He stepped forward, letting the tip of the staff brush his ear. Orange-crest muscled through, bashing Yang Wei's head, but he didn't have the space to build up momentum as he turned the thrust into a swing.
Yang Wei bent awkwardly as the strike forced his head to the side. His spear was low. Off-center. At an unfortunate angle. His grip was high, giving him limited leverage. None of those impediments meant he couldn't drive the tip into the monkey's flank.
Orange-crest flashed stone on instinct, ready to drop the transformation the moment he felt an impact.
The world went dark. Stone cracked. Bones shifted.
When orange-crest opened his eyes, there were half a dozen paces between the two of them again. Two parallel tracks of dusty white, where his feet had ground against the stone floor of the arena, marked the path he'd taken. His ribs protested, as he scrambled for to put even more distance between them. What monstrous power. Even barely able to bring his muscles to bear, Yang Wei could still strike harder than Wi Yingjie.
Yang Wei stalked forward, inevitable. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. The tiniest of rivulets, but more than orange-crest had expected. A glancing hit like that wouldn't have done damage worth noting in their last duel. Interesting.
"A strong defense, for Qi Condensation." Yang Wei said in the sort of tone normal humans used to discuss the weather. "But nothing I cannot pierce."
"I'm not the one bleeding." Orange-crest said, suppressing a wince. Ow. His ribs did not like talking. He'd need a pill after the next exchange.
"Internal bleeding still counts."
Yang Wei was just outside of weapon-range now, still moving at the same measured pace, a vicious smile on his face. He didn't close fast. Couldn't? That speed cost him something. Orange-crest just didn't yet know if it made him vulnerable, or was simply tiring.
The monkey danced forward, staff rising like the sun as he closed the distance he'd created. Yang Wei's spear tracked him, but orange-crest spun around it, turning his swing into a thrust. Yang Wei swung the butt of his spear around, sending the blow wide. Orange-crest let the momentum turn him round, spinning like a sylvan cyclone. His staff lashed out, tip low, then butt high, pounding like storm-rain against Yang Wei's defense.
Faster, faster! Orange-crest felt his muscles burning as he pounded Yang Wei into the earth. Sheer speed and fury let him slip past Yang Wei's oh-so-skillful guard, bruising arms and clipping shins.
Or, he should have. Instead, his blows all but bounced off Yang Wei's soft flesh. The invisible shroud of qi that clung to his body like morning mist turned every strike. It was like trying to smash a cushion! Except the cushion was as heavy as a boulder, attached firmly to the earth, so orange-crest didn't even get the satisfaction of batting his opponent around.
"That is cheating." He hissed, letting spittle spray. "Let me hit you!"
Yang Wei's face flushed red as his smile sharpened.
"There is no cheating in battle."
Orange-crest laughed in the most irritating manner he knew. He'd see if Yang Wei still felt that way when all strength and guile had been exhausted. The monkey's heartbeat quickened, he felt the blood-hunger rising in him.
Yang Wei's spear rose, one slipper tracing a delicate crescent across the stone. Such a subtle herald of death.
Now!
Orange-crest quick-stepped forward as Yang Wei glided back, the tip of his spear descending like a falling star.
Orange-crest lifted his staff high, and embraced stone. This time, he felt it. The way his unmoving knees threatened to buckle beneath the weight of a qi that yearned to carve new rivers out of the landscape. The moment his trusty staff shattered, as Yang Wei's qi overwhelmed his. The way the spearhead parted the stone of his shoulder as Yang Wei followed through. His cut was not deep or clean, but he cut stone all the same.
But then orange-crest was flesh again. And Yang Wei was close enough to touch, his spear caught between them as the monkey leapt.
Orange-crest savaged him like only a monkey knew how. A vicious head-butt sent Yang Wei reeling. Even as his own vision swam, orange-crest caught his collar with his good arm. He stumbled forward, using the weight of the Stone Monkey's Body to force Yang Wei to the ground. The fell in a heap, but orange-crest knew these desperate scrambles in a way the young master couldn't. He'd cut his teeth being sat on by old monsters, he knew every trick to pin limbs and crush breath. One arm hanging limp at his side, orange-crest crawled up the young master's body, pinning one of Yang Wei's arms beneath his knee and the spear caught between them. He rained down blows with his good fist, trying to mash Yang Wei's head like he was going to make wine with it.
Yang Wei's remaining arm spun around like a flag in a storm, trying ineffectually to ward off orange-crest's heavy fist.
"How are you so heavy!"
"I ate-"
Orange-crest slipped past Yang Wei's arm, slugging him in the face. His fist ground home with a satisfying meaty-crunch. No qi to stop him now. He could feel it forming again, Yang Wei's guard was already becoming more solid, harder to push around. That was the trick. He built defense up over time, then turned it to power in a moment.
"-a really good rock."
"Furry bastard!"
"You eat hand!" Orange-crest shouted, trying to worm his fingers into Yang Wei's open mouth.
He needed to end this now, before Yang Wei's defenses returned. Both their robes were stained with red, but orange-crest was pretty sure most of the blood was his, the deep cut in his shoulder bleeding freely. Yang Wei's body arched like a drawn bow as he tried to throw the monkey off. Orange-crest let himself be flung, teetering as he used the struggle to reposition, sliding down Yang Wei's torso.
All the qi in the world meant nothing when fangs were at your throat. He wouldn't die. If Yang Wei's master couldn't save him, orange-crest's would.
Orange-crest reared back, and bit down.
He tasted hot blood, pulsing meat. He tasted victory, sweet as any wine-
The world shattered, washed away in a tide of brilliant white spear-light. Time fell away as he shifted to stone. For a moment Yang Wei's power became the only thing in the world. For a fleeting instant their hearts beat in unison, their mingled qi singing of a world too small to limit the horizons of their dreams.
And then orange-crest was tumbling ass over teakettle through the air. When he skidded to a stop, shedding the transformation that'd kept him in one piece, Yang Wei was already on his feet.
Oh this was tiger-shit. Orange-crest was starting to see why everyone put such faith in spiritual cultivation. In the same instant, man and monkey both reached into the bags at their side. Each withdrew a pair of pills, slamming them down together.
If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from NovelFire. Please report it.
This wasn't ideal. His master had said he could safely take five pills. Any more than that and his master might damage his cultivation feeding him more to stabilize him. Yang Wei was in a higher realm, he might be able to take six or seven before he risked burning his meridians.
Blood flowed from stone as flesh knit itself anew. Qi surged and redoubled, and the inner disciple who'd stepped close during the clinch began to retreat again.
"It is rare that it is I find myself to be the one who stepped onto the field lacking sufficient resolve." Yang Wei said, cracking his neck.
His hand dipped into his bag once more. Orange-crest tensed, then relaxed, as he withdrew a familiar weapon. A bone-white staff slowly rose out of a sack no deeper than a handspan, like a snake slithering from its burrow.
"You lusted after this once, monkey, did you not?"
"I did." Orange-crest admitted shamelessly.
Yang Wei tossed the weapon to orange-crest. The monkey's hand drifted away from his master's sack. Li Xun had emptied his own storage treasure before the battle. Filled up entire rooms, some of which were part of Daoist Enduring Oath's home, with dried plants, questionable looking bottles, and other assorted priceless rubbish. Just to ensure his disciple wouldn't be caught flatfooted in precisely this eventuality. He had two more wooden staves, and one metal one.
"Take it. You will need a good weapon, if you're to endure what's to come for more than a moment."
"Very confident for a man with blood all over his-"
Yang Wei's qi roared outward. It rose up around him in a bonfire of blades. Stray tongues of power lashed out, slicing deep furrows in the stone floor of the arena. Yang Wei stepped forward, still keeping the same measured pace he'd begun the fight with. The steel storm moved with him, covering almost a quarter of the arena. Yang Wei's spear trailed at his side, held loosely. Where the leaf-bladed head touched the floor of the arena, thick flakes of stone peeled away. The blade-aura was not continuous, orange-crest noted. Every two or three seconds, it thrust out, tearing up the arena. Too quick for him to step in and out, but he could try his best to take advantage of the timing.
It was a small thing. But he needed every small advantage he could grasp. Could he get any use out of an illusion between pulses?
"Come now, Li Hou. Let us dispense with the these petty exchanges. I can cut stone. Show me what you're really made of."
Orange-crest gulped. Tiger-shit. He grabbed the gourd his brother had forged, filled up with centipede wine, and took a great big swallow.
The wine splashed around mouth like molten salt before sliding down his throat sour and bitter. Orange-crest felt his qi loosen, flowing faster through his channels. Limitations once firm began to soften, as his protean brew started to blur the lines between what was and was not possible for orange-crest to do with his qi.
Orange-crest smiled like a human, fangs bared. He licked at his lips, clearing away the last of Yang Wei's blood.
"Let's see you cut this." He said, feeling his fur shift, becoming something between hair and stone.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Elder Xun was on his feet now, standing alongside Yang Shui.
He'd stood for a better view after the disciples had put the first crater into the floor of their arena. He'd stepped forward to the balcony when Disciple Yang had flared his qi harder than any fifth stage disciple he'd seen in years. Exerting that level of physical force with one's spiritual pressure was more commonly seen at the seventh or eighth stage of Qi Condensation than the fifth. And when Yang Wei had begun to burn with spearlight, even lazy old Gang Shui had padded to her feet, joining the two men at the edge of the box, resting her head on the lower edge of the balcony.
"I thought you said you were keeping him on the Azure Spirit Method?" Elder Xun asked. "Waiting until he was firmly in the second half of Qi Condensation before teaching him a true spear cultivation technique?"
"I did."
"Is that a trump card you gave him then? A sealed spiritual weapon? Surely he is not manifesting such a volume of weapon qi without a proper technique?"
"He does not risk death here. Allowing him to rely upon a spiritual treasure would only stunt his growth." Yang Shui smiled. "He knows this. He would have refused one, had I offered it."
"Then..." For original chapters go to N()velFire.net
"Yes. He's cycling his own spear qi. Shifting his cultivation in front of us. Into exactly what, I doubt even he knows."
"Without a tested method, he risks deviation." Elder Xun noted. "Surely there was something you could have given him, even if your own personal method does not suit him yet. If the Yang Clan does not have a suitable technique, I'm sure Elder Wordwake could be convinced to bend his rules to find one."
Yang Shui laughed as his nephew rushed forward like a landslide. His spear sent chips flying from the stone of floor and monkey alike, even a wild rolling dodge insufficient to push Li Hou fully out of range of his nephew's unrelenting offense.
"I never had a master, Elder Xun. All I have learned, the world taught me." The marshal said, his casual tone a stark contrast to his terribly candid words. "My techniques are not perfect. My foundation is not without flaws. Perhaps I will never become an immortal, but I am not dissatisfied with where my path has led me. Nascent Soul before my two hundredth year."
Elder Xun shivered. Not dissatisfied, with Nascent Soul before his two hundredth year. What a monster. The only other man of their generation to achieve that was the Azure Mountain's Sect Master. Elder Xun was well past his three hundredth year and still decades away from being ready to risk that next step. The Yang Clan had once been accounted as one of the greatest powers of the empire. Men had spoken of the Valiant Yang in the same breath as the Imperial Xiao and the Untamed Bai.
Then they had lost their foundation, their seniors falling to tragedy and the limits of longevity. For almost a century they hadn't more than two Core Formation cultivators to their name.
Until Yang Shui had shaken the west with his unstoppable rise. A nobody from a branch family of a declining clan redrawing the borders of nations, eventually drawing the eye of the Qianlong Emperor himself.
"Perhaps my nephew might match my achievements, if I gave him my foundation." Yang Shui continued. "But I love him too much to so blinker his horizons. I will give him my techniques only when I trust he has faith enough in his own judgement to see the truth of them with unclouded eyes. After all, it has been far too long since the Yang Clan had a Spirit Severing cultivator."
Elder Xun watched in silence as Yang Wei tore apart the field of Godsgrave Peak. There was no way he could keep up that offense. Manifesting weapon qi was profoundly draining, especially at such a low realm. If he was not drawing that power back within himself, as a proper spear cultivator would, he would not be able to keep it up for long. But that hardly seemed to matter. Daoist Scouring Medicine's disciple was remarkable, but even the unshakeable body that had carried him this far was not capable of fully turning those blows.
Spirit Severing. It was the height of madness to discuss a prospect of a Qi Condensation cultivator rising that high. Even a clan heir with such a master. That was the territory of grand elders and patriarchs. Perhaps emperors, if the Qianlong was truly preparing to enter seclusion.
What could one even say, in the face of ambition like that?
"It has been too long." Elder Xun finally replied. "Since the Azure Mountain Sect has raised one up."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Just hold on, Li Hou. You almost had him." Li Xun muttered.
Daoist Scouring Medicine felt stone crack beneath his white-knuckled grip. Furtively, he released the corner of the bench. He didn't even bother to look around, to check if his lapse in control had been noticed. Who would possibly be watching him, in the face of such a spectacle? Fights in the first half of Qi Condensation simply did not look like this. He'd seen fights among great circle disciples that were less visually impressive. Every exchange between the two disciples shattered the stone around them, soon they would be fighting in a pit of gravel instead of a smooth stone field. They would need a full daoist, not a mere inner disciple, to clean up the arena once Li Hou and Yang Wei were through.
Li Hou skidded to a stop, one paw closing around a fist sized rock. He surged into motion again, circling around the outer edge of Disciple Yang's wild storm of spear qi.
His disciple was bleeding from a dozen small wounds, the power of the first healing pill he'd taken already nearly exhausted.
"What a monster." Daoist Enduring Oath said quietly.
Li Xun could not disagree. True weapon qi was rare in Qi Condensation disciples. There was no shortcut to attaining it. Manifesting any sort of weapon qi required a terrifying level of mastery. Tens of thousands of hours of training might not be enough, if one did not have surpassing talent.
And the sheer volume Yang Wei was throwing about was absurd. Dense enough to be visible, powerful enough to pierce right through Li Hou's fur when he was not in stone form. He had to be exhausting himself.
Disciple Yang bent his knees, taking up a lunging stance.
Li Xun longed to shout. To scream a warning to his disciple, propriety be damned. But Li Hou would not hear him. Yang Shui's aura was overwhelming, isolating the dueling disciples from the outside world. Yang Shui's master allowed the sounds of their battle to reach the crowd, but stole away the words they exchanged for his ears alone. Li Xun's lip reading was good enough to follow the general thrust of their banter, but he was as powerless as any member of the crowd to make his own words heard.
He could only trust his disciple to see what he did.
Yang Wei thrust, crossing the field like lightning.
Li Hou leapt skyward, letting the powerful strike pass beneath him. As he descended, the rock in his hand flew at Yang Wei's head like a diving falcon.
To Li Xun's surprise, Yang Wei accelerated as he spun on his heel, bringing his spear to bear to cut the makeshift projectile in twain. Li Hou followed close behind it, taking advantage of the lull in Yang Wei's defensive technique to deliver attacks of his own.
"I've only shown him that a couple of times." Daoist Enduring Oath said, awe in his voice. "When I was tossing him through the air."
Li Xun doubted half the disciples watching truly understood what just happened. For Yang Wei to bother to block that rock, Li Hou must have imbued it with elemental qi. When the monkey danced back a moment later, blood oozed from half a dozen more shallow wounds. Even with the initiative, Disciple Yang's shroud of spear qi was poking hole after hole into him. His stone form could block that, but it'd leave him defenseless against the merciless edge of that spear.
"Come on, Li Hou." Li Xun whispered. "You still have trump cards, fucking use them."
He would just need one clean shot. Poison was not an orthodox art. But there were degrees of orthodoxy, and the Azure Mountain Sect was hardly the most dogmatic of orthodox sects.
Plenty of other sects would have long since condemned Li Xun as a demon for the things he had done in their name. The Azure Mountain had just given him a slap on the wrist and told him to never again speak of those arts.
Anything too vicious was banned of course, especially for use on their own disciples. What he'd done to Daoist Snowclad Heart had nearly seen him censured. Only the subtlety of the damage, the outward similarity to more traditional cultivation-shattering techniques had allowed him to avoid punishment.
The oil on Li Hou's dagger wouldn't win the fight on its own. Anything that brutal, or that powerful, would lead to cries of a master intervening. Li Hou had refined this himself from a written recipe using only herbs that could be found within a fortnight of the sect. But if Yang Wei took too long before downing a general antidote, the numbness and nausea it induced might give Li Hou the edge he needed to pull out a victory.
It was a narrow path, but his disciple could walk it. And even if he couldn't, it would not be the end of his road. Everyone with tongues would speak of this match, no matter the conclusion. They could hate his disciple if they wished. Denigrate his bestial nature, mock his preference for brutal and inelegant grapples and underhanded tricks, covet his talent and fortune.
But after this, win or lose, they would never again be able to ignore him.
Stone cracked beneath his feet as Li Hou blocked another monstrous blow. Spear qi surged outward, forcing the referee to swing his own blade to dispel it lest he find himself cut by it. The bone-white staff Yang Wei had given Li Hou flexed beneath the young master's spear, but it did not break. Li Hou must be channeling earthen qi into it as well.
The two disciples exchanged another half dozen blows, tearing up the arena around them. Pride burned in Li Xun's chest, every bit as hot and fierce as the qi the Quaternary Heartfire pill had sent surging through him. A power began to gather at the tip of Yang Wei's spear, an energy whose horrifying lethality he could feel even from the stands.
No. It couldn't be.
Daoist Scouring Medicine swallowed, his mouth dry, as he saw the tell-tale flicker of Li Hou's illusion technique shimmer into being around him. But what was obvious to his senses, the product of a body and spirit both at the Great Circle of Foundation Establishment, would be undetectable to most of the audience. Yang Wei was the very spitting image of a prodigy, but surely even he wouldn't be able to sense what even Daoist Enduring Oath often struggled to. Not the first time at least.
"Show them, my disciple." Daoist Scouring Medicine said quietly, wishing Li Hou could hear him. "Show them all that you are more than merely the product of my teachings."