Master, This Poor Disciple Died Again Today

“Fight!”

Chang Bolin rushed at him. His sword rushed from its sheath, and he struck at Hui’s throat.

Hui leaped backward, dragging out his training sword at the same time. He struck the blade upward with the butt of the hilt, redirecting the blade away from his neck. Chang Bolin flowed with the strike and let the sword fly high, then fall back on Hui. Clumsily, Hui blocked the blow. A notch flew from his sword’s blunt blade.

“Not even a real sword? Does your mockery ever end?” Chang Bolin snarled.

“I’ve never mocked you. Not once,” Hui replied calmly.

Chang Bolin snorted and jumped back. Hui backed away as well, circling as he watched for Chang Bolin’s next move.

A foot, slammed onto stone. Motion, a blur. He shifted slightly, and the sword cut a gash in his side rather than piercing his stomach. Pain, cold, blood. He gasped and pushed them all to the back. Endure.

A cheer went up from the stands. He cast a glance in their direction. Bloodthirsty, are you? Oh, just wait. I’ll give you plenty.

Chang Bolin drew away again, grinning. He slung the blood off his blade. “A talentless waste. Tell me, which part of you did Weiheng Wu see worth in?”

“My face,” Hui replied quietly, just loud enough for Chang Bolin to hear.

Disgust flashed over Chang Bolin’s face. He leaped again, another blur.

Prepared, Hui parried. Chang Bolin’s blade sparked against his, inches from his face.

“Let me take that from you,” Chang Bolin hissed, pressing against Hui’s sword.

Hui fell back, unable to fight Chang Bolin’s power. His heel slipped off the edge of the arena.

Chang Bolin let up suddenly, retreating to the center. Given a moment’s respite, Hui popped pills into his mouth and tucked them into his cheek, waiting.

Jeers rang out from the crowd. “On with it!” “Where’s the fight?”

“Afraid? Can’t take a real fight?” Chang Bolin taunted from the center.

You don’t want a ring-out? Wonderful. Neither do I. Hui rushed at him, sword lowered for Chang Bolin’s solar plexus.

Chang Bolin countered, flicking his blade to deflect Hui’s blow. His sword darted in, piercing Hui through between two ribs. He laughed. “Child’s play.”

Grimacing, Hui grabbed Chang Bolin’s blade, locking it in his body, and sliced at him.

Chang Bolin yanked his blade free and sidestepped, easily avoiding the slice, then slashed, blade too fast for Hui to follow, let alone block. Blood spurted across his chest. Hui hissed, clutching a hand across the cut.

“Shall we end this pathetic farce?” Chang Bolin asked.

“How did it feel, running to daddy for help when things didn’t go your way? Sucking up to Lan Taijian when you couldn’t destroy a tiny mortal? Chang Bolin, you blame me for getting ahead undeservingly, but didn’t you do the same?” Hui asked.

Chang Bolin’s face flushed. He slashed at Hui. His sword wandered, distracted. “Shut up! Unlike you, I have talent!”

The crowd cheered, excited at the rapid swordplay. Only a few experts fell silent, able to see Chang Bolin’s mistakes.

Hui deflected his clumsy blows. “Do you? This little disciple can stand as your equal on this stage. How long has it taken you to kill me? What happened to ten seconds, huh?”

Enraged, Chang Bolin struck harder, putting his true strength into his blows. The first slash shattered Hui’s sword. The second slashed his stomach open, and the third pierced for his heart. He ducked, taking it through the shoulder instead.

The cheering swelled, growing louder. Hui flicked his eyes to the crowd. Just a little longer.

“Shut up, you piece of shit. You wouldn’t know talent if it slapped you in the face,” Chang Bolin hissed. Spittle sprayed over Hui’s face.

“Ah, and you would?” Hui grit out, grimacing through the pain.

Chang Bolin twisted the blade.

Hui screamed and dropped his blade. He grabbed Chang Bolin’s sword with both hands, hopelessly trying to pin it in place.

Chang Bolin yanked his sword out. He slashed at Hui once, again, again. Bright red splattered across sky blue. Hui stumbled backward, jolting with each blow. At last, he toppled backward. His head struck the stone. The world blurred.

Parts of the stand cheered, but more fell quiet.

“You only hate me… because you know you have no talent, either,” Hui muttered, his tongue clumsy. He laughed, coughed, spat blood, and laughed again.

“Shut up, shut up!” Chang Bolin shouted. He rushed over to Hui and stabbed down, over and over again.

A hush fell over the stands. Even the most bloodthirsty watchers lapsed into a nervous silence at the one-sided onslaught. Chang Bolin had clearly won the duel, so why did he still attack? Worse… why didn’t Lan Taijian stop him?

Finally. Hui turned his focus inward. Widening his qi passages, he let his qi stagnate. It slowed, halted. His blood ran freely, heat rushing out of his body.

“Stop it. Stop it! I have talent. I’m stronger than you! I deserve it! I deserve this!” Chang Bolin stomped on his stomach, pinning him down. Still he stabbed, blade descending, flashing in the sunlight.

Hui bucked involuntarily, spitting blood. He kicked and laid still, shuddering under Chang Bolin’s foot. Blood soaked the stones around him.

The audience sat motionless. Shocked faces stared; older, inured disciples turned their heads away, unable to intervene in the duel, but unwilling to watch. Chang Bolin’s shouts rang over the steps, reverberating, filling the utter silence.

Hui went limp. His vision blackened faster than ever before. His qi shuddered. I’m dying. Really dying. I lost too much blood. I can’t do this long.

“Come on. Fight. Enough of this,” Chang Bolin taunted, poking him lazily with the point of his sword. “We both know you’re still alive.”

Hui laid still. His eyelids fluttered. His fingertips twitched. He gasped a breath and spluttered through the blood in his lungs, blood speckling over pale lips.

His qi passageways ached, stagnant qi screaming with the will to move. Not yet. Not yet, he whispered to it.

“Stop—faking!” Chang Bolin screamed. He hefted his blade up with both hands and chopped down at Hui’s neck.

Muttered voices in the stands.

“He’s already dead…”

“How brutal. Is he really one of our disciples?”

“That Chang Bolin, he really is a rabid dog.”

The smallest hint of a smile appeared on Hui’s face. He released the technique.

His qi boiled back to life. All around him, qi rushed into his body, hurrying to fill the void he’d created, rioting in his passageways. Hui grabbed onto that energy and channeled it, guiding it through him. The wild qi didn’t want to obey him, but it wanted to move, so it followed his will.

His body was weak, already on the edge of life and death. Returning from his faked death barely gave him any more mobility than playing dead did. Throwing all his strength into it, he reached out and grabbed Chang Bolin’s ankle. The second his hand made contact, he pushed all his rioting qi into Chang Bolin.

“Wh-what?” Chang Bolin shuddered. His body jolted hard. The sword fell out of his hands.

Qi tore through Hui’s body and snarled into Chang Bolin’s. Hui’s qi passageways shuddered. Rips opened up along their length, the acid ache of escaped qi twisting into his muscles and organs. He held on, still channeling his qi into Chang Bolin. A—a little more!

Chang Bolin staggered back. He put a hand on his dantian. “N-no! Settle! St, stop this!”

Ah, that’s enough. Sliding the pills out of his cheek, Hui swallowed.

A healing heat rushed into his stomach at the same time as the now-familiar cool-tingle of Zhubi’s poison. Working in concert, the blood-red pills closed his wounds, while the silver pill quieted his qi. Hui coughed and spat up a glob of black-and-silver streaked blood, then fell back.

Blood still leaked down his body. His heart trembled, struggling. His lungs ached, each breath agony. His guts were a mass of pain. Not… not enough. I need more pills. He reached for his sleeve. His hand wandered through the air, suddenly heavy, weighed upon by gravity. It flopped uselessly back to the earth.

He turned his eyes to Chang Bolin. At—at least him…

Chang Bolin staggered across the arena, eyes wild. His body trembled. He fell to his knees, gripping at his neck, then climbed awkwardly back to his feet. “No, no, I… I have talent.”

He snatched up his sword, a sharp, jerky motion. Turned to the crowd. One step, stumble, another. His head slopped to the side, eyes wide as Starbound Peak’s bowls. “None of the rest of you… deserving. Should be me, only me…”

Hui coughed, half-choking on blood. All the same, his lips twisted up. Qi deviation. My plan went off… flawlessly.

His vision faded. His qi fluttered with his heartbeat, no play this time. He closed his eyes. Ah. Maybe there was… one flaw.

In the small gap of his closing vision, he saw Chang Bolin leap toward the stands. Lit by the sun ahead of him, his form became a shadow.

Hui blinked slowly. Someone will stop him. It’ll be—

A figure in white descended from the heavens, robes fluttering. A single sword strike, sharp as lightning.

Chang Bolin stiffened. His head fell from his neck. He slumped sideways.

A light shone inside Chang Bolin’s chest, not qi but something else. Hui watched it, mesmerized. The light guttered, then went out. A thread of black smoke rose from the place where the flame had been.

Not smoke. Qi. Death qi. Hui tried to reach toward it, but his hand barely twitched.

The white figure walked over to Hui and crouched down. Lan Taijian gazed down at him, his face impassive and yet, more terrifying than it had ever been before. Even though he was dying, Hui felt the chill of death shiver over him.

“Today, you made me kill a promising disciple. Make up for it with every day of the rest of your life, or die yourself, which do you choose?”

Hui’s lips moved, but no sound came out. Life, I choose life. Are you kidding me? I don’t want to die yet! I only like playing dead, I don’t want to die for real!

Lan Taijian stood and walked away. Feebly, Hui reached after him. Hey, wait, come back! What happened to making up for it with my life?

“Hui, Xiao Hui!” Soft hands cradled his head. Gentle fingers pressed a pill into his mouth.

He swallowed, blinking. “Wh…who?”

Pink robes. Black hair. A gold pin, familiar.

The pill exploded with bitterness. It twisted down his stomach, forcing its way through him. He tensed, bucking.

Darkness claimed him.