“The last match tonight,” Master Song announced, “is between Li Jun and Yin Yue.”
A murmur of anticipation ran through the dozens of watching students. Jun got to his feet, bowed to his teacher, and went to stand across from his opponent in the center of the training hall. His hands and feet tingled with the excitement he’d been bottling up all day. It’s too bad Ren isn’t here to see this, he thought—then felt foolish to be thinking that right now.
At Master Song’s prompting, the combatants bowed to each other, right fist to left palm. “Good job making it this far,” Yin said to Jun, with apparent sincerity. Jun would’ve preferred if the other student had been sarcastic or condescending; that would’ve meant they had a real rivalry, not merely one that existed in Jun’s head. Yin Yue was nearly three years older than him, taller, with longer arms and a body chiseled by years of dedication to the rigorous Iron Core style. Yin had been training at the school since before Jun had even arrived in the country. He was Master Song’s star pupil and had recently taken on assistant teaching duties. All the junior students looked up to Yin, not just because of his undeniable skill but because he was friendly and encouraging toward others. If Yin Yue walked around with an air of confidence that smelled to Jun like straight-up arrogance, it was hard to argue that he didn’t deserve it. No wonder he assumed he would be the one going to the Guardian’s Tournament. It was what everyone else assumed, too.
Jun set his teeth. You’ll have to get through me first. Jun had spent hours surreptitiously watching Yin, analyzing the way he fought, his strengths and weaknesses. There was no chance that Yin paid anywhere near that amount of attention to Jun in return. Hopefully tonight that would give Jun the advantage he needed to come out on top. Stay overconfident, he urged Yin in his mind. Right up until I land your ass on the floor.
“You have five minutes,” Master Song reminded them, “to score as many hits as you can. No strikes to the eyes, back of the head, or groin are permitted. Exercise control but put in your best effort.”
“Go, Yin!” shouted one of the other students from the sidelines. All the trainees between the tournament-eligible ages of sixteen and twenty-four had stayed past their own earlier matches to watch the final contest. Some older and younger students had shown up just for the last fight and to see Master Song announce that Yin Yue would be going to Xicheng to represent the Iron Core school. In total, there were nearly fifty people standing or sitting against the walls of the long chamber.
“Don’t go easy on the Easterner!” someone else called. Their tone was more teasing than mean-spirited, but Master Song silenced the speaker with a glare. Jun had often been shunned and ridiculed as a child, but Master Song hadn’t tolerated such behavior in his school. “Do you think the people on the other side of the Snake Wall are any different from us?” he’d scolded his students. “Anyone who wishes to train in the Iron Core school is welcome.” Fortunately, he didn’t need to defend Jun once the boy began to surpass all his peers in martial ability, regularly besting children much older and larger than him in sparring.
Jun might be respected well enough in the school now, but there was no question whose side the crowd was on tonight. All the eyes on him, expecting him to fail, made his stomach dip. Focus, he reminded himself. This is nothing compared to what it’ll be like in the arena at Xicheng.
The two fighters assumed classic Iron Core opening stances: slightly angled, knees loosely bent, weight evenly distributed, arms held close to the body but forward and ready. Yin looked relaxed and poised, despite having already sparred five times earlier that evening against opponents who weren’t much of a challenge to him but who were honored to help the top student get ready for the big tournament.
Master Song stepped back and clapped his hands together sharply. “Begin!”
Jun exploded forward like a rock out of a slingshot, crossing the gap to Yin Yue in an instant and unleashing a volley of rapid-fire strikes: vertical fist punches to the face and torso with the speed of a woodpecker hammering a tree. He’d watched the older student enough to know that Yin rarely made the first move in a fight. He would wait to see what his opponent did and measure his ability before deciding how to react. Yin’s other matches tonight had been easy; he wouldn’t be expecting such an overwhelming offense right out of the gate. The first minute of the match would be Jun’s best chance to land several hits and rattle the presumed champion so badly that he couldn’t recover.
It worked. Yin retreated in surprise, his eyes widening almost comically as he gave ground, fending off the barrage of strikes with quick blocking and nimble twists of his body that caused the punches that got past his guard to glance off his torso rather than connect with force. His defenses weren’t perfect, though, not against Jun’s speed and aggression. As Yin sidestepped to get out of the direct line of attack, Jun managed to slip a punch low, planting it in Yin’s navel, then drove an uppercut under his opponent’s chin.
Yin jerked his head back quickly; the punch only grazed his chin as it went shooting up past his face, but the onlookers gasped with astonishment. No one in the school had fought with the intention of knocking Yin out in the first minute. After all, sparring matches were meant to help the candidate practice.
Dragon’s piss, I almost had you. Still, I hit you twice before you could even—
Jun’s burst of self-satisfaction was short-lived. Yin Yue wasn’t the top student at the Iron Core school for nothing. Before Jun could reposition from the failed attempt, Yin dropped a rock-hard shin kick onto the top of his opponent’s thigh. Jun’s leg wobbled and went numb. Yin planted a thrust kick into his stomach. As Jun staggered backward, wheezing, he glimpsed the look on the other man’s face: his mouth no longer relaxed but set in a determined scowl, his eyes blazing with a confused anger that Jun couldn’t remember seeing at any previous time.
Now you’re paying attention, Jun thought, smiling to himself even though his leg and stomach throbbed with pain. Now it’s a real match.
This time, when Jun advanced, Yin met him with equal speed and power. The Iron Core school emphasized fitness and body conditioning along with tight, efficient movement focused on protecting the fighter’s center line. Yin and Jun had spent years running, standing motionless in low stances while instructors battered their torsos with flexible bamboo sticks, doing upside-down curl-ups, and toughening their arms and legs by striking wooden training dummies and posts. Yin’s back and shoulders, his forearms, shins, and abdominal muscles were like rock. The few early blows from Jun hadn’t hurt him, merely annoyed him. Jun might possess more explosive speed, but Yin was unmatched when it came to dogged, precise fighting. He wasted little movement, and it was clear that he wasn’t holding back anymore.
Jun attacked with a combination of strikes to the head: quick jabs, a cross, a sneaky ridge hand to the temple. Yin slipped out of the way of each of them with the barest motion necessary, avoiding the impact by a hair’s breadth of distance, as if he knew exactly where Jun’s fists would land. In frustration, Jun overreached with the next blow, compromising his guard. Yin snapped a jab into his cheek, rocking his head back, then kicked him in the same spot as he’d kicked him before, doubling the bruise on Jun’s thigh before gracefully sliding aside. The watching students, initially stunned into silence by Jun’s early control of the match, burst into excited shouting.
Yin didn’t seem to notice them. His eyes were fixed on Jun.
Shake it off, Jun urged himself, his face and leg throbbing. He’s good, you already knew that—but you’re better. He launched into a hurricane of kicks, pummeling Yin in the ribs, left and right. Rather than retreat, Yin pressed into Jun’s space, jamming him up, and dropped the tip of his elbow just above Jun’s knee before punching him in the sternum. Jun wheezed but didn’t collapse; he drove a punch into his opponent’s side hard enough to make even Yin buckle under the impact, but he was unable to follow up on the momentary victory because Yin caught the high kick aimed for his head, hooking Jun around the knee with the crook of his arm. He pivoted hard and sent Jun flying across the scarred wooden floor.
Jun tumbled and rolled but was on his feet again in an instant. Sweat dripped off his face and down his bare chest. At least Yin was breathing hard as well, both of them fighting at their limit for the first time that evening. As they circled each other warily, the crowd quieted, sensing that the tide had finally turned unmistakably in Yin’s favor. Jun had surprised them all at first, but Yin was back in control. For every three or four of Jun’s moves, Yin made one, but nearly every one connected. He was the more experienced trainee, a more patient and disciplined fighter.
“One minute,” announced the student who was keeping time with a burning joss stick.
The anger was melting out of Yin’s expression. He knew Jun had to be exhausted, and Yin had won many a fight, within the school and outside it, by outlasting his opponents while they tired themselves out.
I’m going to lose. The realization filled Jun with panic. In a flash, he saw the future: Master Song commending him on a good effort and declaring Yin the school’s representative to the Guardian’s Tournament. Yin being cheered as he went off to Xicheng, all expenses paid, to fight before the emperor for the highest honor in the land, while Jun went back to work at the opera house escorting rich people to their seats.
A wave of heat rushed into Jun’s head. Desperate energy poured into his limbs. As Yin pressed forward, everything seemed to slow tenfold. Jun saw the angle of the other man’s stance, the tightening of the muscles in his left hip, the transfer of weight to his right side. He saw the flicker of Yin’s eyes, the barely perceptible tell. Like a fortune teller reading tea leaves, he saw precisely how Yin would attack his injured leading leg. He gave Yin the opening, edged the bruised limb farther out, an irresistible temptation. Yin feinted a head strike—just as Jun knew he would—then drew his leg up and whipped it back down again with wicked speed, aiming for the red center of the bruise the way an archer would aim for a target.
Jun was ready; at the last possible second, he switched his stance and let Yin’s kick fall on empty space. For an instant, Yin was on one leg and vulnerable. Jun moved in. Pivoting sharply, he lined his hips up in front of Yin’s, and the moment the man’s leading foot touched the floor, he swept his heel into the other man’s instep, unbalancing him and sending him sprawling forward.
Yin would’ve regained his footing in a second but Jun was ready for that, too. His body was moving with a will of its own and no conscious thought on his part. He kneed Yin in the chest, dropped an elbow into his back, square between the shoulder blades, and punched downward, connecting with Yin’s face. Yin went down on his hands and knees.
“Stop!” shouted the timekeeper, holding up the joss stick, burned down to the five-minute mark.
With a snarl no one in the school had ever heard from him before, Yin staggered to his feet, his eyes rolling with astonishment and rage. He looked as if he would leap on Jun and pummel him into dust.
“The match is over!” Master Song bellowed. Even the head instructor sounded stunned. No one else in the hall made a sound. The master cleared his throat with pointed authority. “Yin Yue and Li Jun, you both fought commendably. Show respect to each other for a worthy contest.”
Yin Yue touched his swollen face. With tremendous visible effort, he straightened up and composed himself. “Well fought, Jun,” he said, bending in a stiff bow. Jun felt addled with adrenaline and his blood was still roaring in his ears as he bowed back, his mind unable to form a coherent reply.
Now was supposed to be when Master Song declared the school’s representative to the Guardian’s Tournament. Everyone was supposed to cheer and congratulate Yin Yue, and they would go off to a tavern to celebrate.
Master Song raised his voice. “That’s enough for tonight. It’s late and you should all go home.” He turned an unreadable look on Jun and Yin. “Except for the two of you. You stay behind.”