Chapter Eight: A Turn for the Worse

If they were to spar, it naturally couldn't be done out in the wilds. Zheng Huyi simply borrowed the training ground of a nearby martial arts school for the duel. The renown of his Righteous Loyalty Hall was such that, in Lin'an City, no one dared refuse him even the simple request of a venue.

Thus, Shen Chang'an and Zheng Xin, the young lady of the Zheng family, entered the arena—one stood to the south, the other to the north, about twenty paces apart. At such a distance, Shen Chang'an couldn't close in at a single bound, nor could Zheng Xin safely nock and draw her bow without a bit more space. By all accounts, the arrangement was fair to both.

Yet Zheng Xin's repertoire went well beyond archery. In fact, the bow was but a handy tool; her true discipline was the sword.

“Please,” she called.

“Please,” he replied.

As soon as they had taken their places and exchanged the formal invitation, Shen Chang'an surged forward with a low shout, wasting no time—there was no need for a referee. He knew no martial arts; most of his combat skills were honed in close-quarters fights. Against ordinary foes, he could simply call upon his mystical abilities, hurling stones with lethal force. But with a master like Zheng Xin, the instant he raised his arm, she would sense it and avoid his line of attack with ease.

Indeed, Zheng Xin was a master in her own right. Though she could not match her father's prowess, her abilities were formidable. Her desire to travel and make her name was no whimsical fancy; she had invested time and sweat, preparing meticulously before broaching the subject.

Yet Zheng Huyi worried ceaselessly about his daughter. Even though Zheng Xin was strong, he couldn't bear to let her venture out alone. Initially, he arranged for several skilled elders from the Hall to accompany her, but Zheng Xin refused. When he met Shen Chang'an, he saw in the young man a less objectionable companion for his daughter—perhaps she wouldn't resist as much. Outwardly, that was all, though he knew full well of Shen Chang'an's reputation: the young Daoist of Lingxiao, eater of meat, drinker of wine, fighter and, some whispered, even outlaw—no deed, however wild, was beyond him. Though the tales were cast in a heroic light, Zheng Huyi was not so easily convinced.

His plan was to have Shen Chang'an lead the way, with two masters shadowing in secret. But Shen Chang'an flatly refused.

Zheng Xin, proud to a fault, was stung by Shen Chang'an’s retort and resolved to prove herself—to show her father she was ready for the road, and to teach this Daoist a lesson.

Her own motives for seeking out Shen Chang'an were peculiar. She believed him to be a wandering Daoist. Such men, she thought, were famed for their stories and heroic feats; the fastest path to renown was to join forces with another of great repute and accomplish something grand.

Lingxiao Daoist was not unknown, and his title lent him an aura of mystique. The Daoists she’d met as a child always had tales of strange happenings, and the masters who resolved them were celebrated through their narratives. These wandering Daoists, lacking a fixed abode, traveled the land gathering stories and followers. Zheng Xin mistook Shen Chang'an for one of these, and, impressed by his deeds and reputation, wished to force him to take her along.

In her mind, the daughter of the Righteous Loyalty Hall’s master traveling with a young Daoist was a recipe for future glory. After all, if they accomplished something great, his name would be entwined with hers—how could he refuse? Yet Shen Chang'an was stubborn; had she asked nicely, he might have agreed, but threats only made him dig in his heels.

And so, after much back-and-forth, and Zheng Huyi’s intervention, things had devolved into a duel between the two.

Shen Chang'an charged first. He knew no light-footed techniques, but when empowered by his mystical arts, the very floor splintered beneath his steps as he leaped forward.

He could not use his full strength against Zheng Xin, lest he crush her with a single blow. His intention was only to push her off balance; that would count as his victory.

But Zheng Xin would not let him come close. As he bore down upon her, she spun her sword and thrust it at him. She had seen him pursue and batter that old man before, knew his speed was unmatched but his footwork was lacking, his agility insufficient. She exploited this; if he tried to rush her, he would run straight onto her blade.

Had this been a life-and-death struggle, Shen Chang'an could have simply taken a minor wound and finished his foe. But this was a friendly bout; an injury would mean defeat. He forced himself to slow, skirting the point of her sword as he pressed in.

His reduced speed gave Zheng Xin the chance to press her advantage. She swung her blade for his neck, but his reflexes were swifter than she’d anticipated. As her sword swept towards him, he threw himself to the ground.

An ordinary person, prone on the floor, would be courting death; but even flat on his back, Shen Chang'an could attack. He rolled aside, dodging her strike, then slammed his fist into the ground, sending a shockwave that left Zheng Xin unsteady on her feet.

With a swift roll, he sprang up, ready to seize victory while she was off balance. But Zheng Xin, heedless of her own instability, lunged at him, sword extended.

He was startled—this girl was fierce indeed, hurling herself against his palm. Had he not held back, her shoulder would have been shattered with a single blow; but at the same instant, her blade would pierce his chest.

"Is this really necessary?" he muttered inwardly, cursing her recklessness.

Yet he did not panic. Stepping back, he flicked a broken stone with his toe, sending it flying into Zheng Xin's leg. She staggered, her sword wavering, and Shen Chang'an easily disarmed her.

Now, with a flick of his finger, he could have sent her sprawling. But, at the last moment, he relented. To send a young woman crashing to the ground in defeat would be unseemly.

Yet as he relaxed his grip, she crashed into him, and as he moved to push her away, Zheng Xin’s low voice sounded: "Don't move!"

He froze, glancing down to see the tip of an arrow, gripped in her hand, aimed at his heart.

"Well?" she demanded softly.

Shen Chang'an's lips twitched. He had been trying to spare her dignity, and she had turned it to her advantage.

But he was not one to argue. With a sigh, he conceded, "You win."

"I win!" Zheng Xin exclaimed in delight, glancing triumphantly at her father. "See, Father? I have defeated the Lingxiao Daoist. Now I can go adventuring, can't I?"

Zheng Huyi clenched his fists and eyed Shen Chang'an, thinking, Are you playacting? She charged at you and you didn’t dodge—how much did she pay you?

Shen Chang'an rubbed his nose awkwardly. "Please, Master Zheng, don’t look at me like that. A loss is a loss; I was outmatched."

Zheng Huyi felt a pulse throb at his temple. The more the young man protested, the more it seemed like a charade.

But Zheng Xin had no interest in his objections. She was already making plans to pack her things and set her journey in motion.

Shen Chang'an could only shrug, helpless, and said, "Um… about the matter with the merchant caravan, I must trouble you, Master Zheng."

The look on Zheng Huyi’s face was... complex.

The next morning.

Shen Chang'an sat in a carriage. Opposite him was Zheng Xin, the young heroine who had bested him by half a move the day before.

"So, Miss Zheng, why must you travel with a lowly Daoist like me?" he asked.

Zheng Xin swung her feet and replied lightly, "Daoist, since I beat you yesterday, you should be the one following me."

Shen Chang'an’s mouth twitched. If not for the urgent matter in Fang City, he’d have considered jumping out of the carriage.

No wonder Zheng Huyi's parting smile had been so odd—he’d really meant to saddle him with babysitting duty.

"And besides, if I weren’t here, how would you even enter Fang City?" Zheng Xin laughed.

Shen Chang'an started and lifted the curtain. The caravan they had traveled with was nowhere to be seen.

"This…?" he stammered.

Zheng Xin giggled. "My father knew you wouldn’t take me along willingly. Even if you traveled with the caravan, you’d try to lose me at the gates. So he arranged for everyone to slip away and leave you no choice."

Shen Chang'an’s face changed from red to white. He recalled hearing people riding off in the night, thinking they were scouts. In truth, everyone had left. He had been so preoccupied with Zheng Xin that he’d noticed nothing until it was too late.

"If I leave you behind, I won’t get far in Fang City, will I?"

Zheng Xin nodded with a smile. "The caravan’s papers are with me. If you leave, and the city guards check, you’ll be thrown out."

Shen Chang'an sighed. "You’ve already bested me, Miss Zheng. Why not go off on your own? Why drag a poor Daoist along?"

Zheng Xin fell silent for a moment. Then, abruptly, she rose and ordered the coachman out, taking the reins herself.

"Hey, slow down…" Shen Chang'an protested.

Her driving was far rougher than the coachman’s; the carriage jolted along the road, bouncing so much that Shen Chang'an felt as if he’d been thrown back to his childhood days riding a tractor—his backside was going numb.

"If you don’t want to talk, at least don’t punish the coachman—and me," he grumbled.

Zheng Xin finally spoke. "If the two of us go to Fang City, trouble is sure to find us. The coachman is just an ordinary man—bringing him along would only endanger him."

Shen Chang'an forced a wry smile. "You could have let him drop us off at the city and then sent him away."

Zheng Xin’s face stiffened, but she pressed on, "No matter, my skills are better than his. I’ll get us there faster."

No sooner had she spoken than there came a loud crack—the carriage wheel shattered, and the vehicle veered out of control, throwing Shen Chang'an out.

He leapt clear and landed at the roadside, shaken.

"Yes, you’re certainly fast. Other carriages run fast; yours falls apart fast," he said.

Zheng Xin landed beside him, her cheeks flushed. She wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words.

"Well, the carriage is wrecked, the coachman gone—whatever you want to say, just say it."

Zheng Xin drew a deep breath and said softly, "At first, I sought you out only to borrow your reputation, to make a name for myself. But after I beat you, my father told me that if you’d wanted, you could have defeated me in a single move."

"Daoist, was my father telling the truth?"

Shen Chang'an replied at once, "No, not at all. I lost, fair and square."

Zheng Xin gave him a sidelong glance. "You’re humoring me."

"I’m not, truly. I lost—utterly. There’s no purpose in following a beaten man like me, Miss," he said.

Zheng Xin shook her head. "I know you’re patronizing me. You and my father both treat me like a child, as if I understand nothing."

"That’s why I’m even more resolved to travel with you. I want to beat you again. I want to do what even Lingxiao Daoist could not. If I can, then Father will see—I am capable of forging my own path!"

Shen Chang'an pursed his lips. "Congratulations, then. At least, Lingxiao Daoist never crashed a carriage…"