On the tenth day of the tenth month, under gazes both bright and dim, this year's Three-City Dao Debate began in earnest.
Of course the first-year, third-year, and fifth-year students held their debates separately. The two first-year students of Fenglin City, for instance, would each take on the first-year students of Sanshan City and Wangjiang City in turn.
Once that first round was fought, the three victors remaining would adopt a rotation pattern of combat. That is, Jia fought Yi, Yi fought Bing, and Bing fought Jia. A win earned three points, a draw one, and a loss nothing. The man with the highest tally would become the chief—the champion—of the first-year Dao Debate of the three cities.
In this way, the contest tested not only each individual's personal strength but also the overall strength of each Dao Academy. For if, in the final rotational battles, two men happened to hail from the same academy, they could conserve their strength at ease and focus their joint efforts against the third.
The first-year debate began first. Six cultivators from three cities, three battles launched at once.
The venue was the square before the City Lord's Mansion, a place so often used as the site where the city garrison swore its oaths before marching out that the common folk also called it the martial exercise ground.
The city Dao Academy cultivators of the first year were, for the most part, men who had only recently Established their Foundations. Their battles leaned chiefly upon Dao arts, yet never failed to be accompanied by martial skill—the kind of contest the common folk could most readily understand, and so one that pleased them all the more.
From early morning the place was packed to bursting. The common folk of Fenglin City dragged along their families and clumped together around the martial ground as if thronging a market fair. Only with the city garrison brought out did the crowds barely stay in order.
That day Jiang An'an's schoolhouse also held no lessons, so it naturally fell to Ling He to bring her along to watch the matches.
Because of the sheer crush of people, Jiang An'an sat perched upon Ling He's shoulder, and now she clapped her little hands and shouted encouragement to her brother at the top of her voice.
Zhao Rucheng and Huang Azhan naturally clustered around to watch Jiang Wang's match first of all. But a man as rich as Zhao, beyond all doubt, would never stoop to bellowing and hollering personally in a manner so beneath his dignity—from not far off, the dozen or so brawny fellows he had hired were straining their throats in a mighty roar.
"Jiang Wang, victory! Jiang Wang, victory!"
There were also two great banners snapping in the wind—
The left read: "Punch Sanshan flat, eyes see no rival in the world."
The right read: "Trample Wangjiang underfoot, before whose seat dares any call himself hero?"
Though Jiang Wang most certainly would not appreciate the sentiment.
For a time Jiang Wang's name rang out above the whole ground, and this debate seemed to have become Jiang Wang's own private performance. From time to time people whispered to one another, asking who this Jiang Wang was. Learning that he was a Fenglin City contender, the honest folk of Fenglin City answered with a burst of cheers.
Jiang Wang stood upon the field, feeling... most embarrassed.
All three matches were pressed close together, all six cultivators present in view. From the glances those men cast over, deliberately or not, Jiang Wang gathered that he had become the common enemy. Had the rules not forbidden it, it might well have been a one-versus-five. And this included that senior fellow apprentice who belonged to the Fenglin City Dao Academy alongside himself.
"A peacock, preening himself and swaggering about!" Lin Zhengli of Wangjiang City was least satisfied. Rather than fixing his eyes upon his own opponent, he spat in Jiang Wang's direction.
The sound was neither loud nor soft. Jiang Wang let it wash past him unheard.
The whole martial ground had been divided into three combat fields, with broad buffer zones left between the boundary lines.
A cultivator from the Commandery Academy served as head referee, while the two instructors of the Fenglin City Dao Academy acted as deputy referees. In a battle, things were simple—the one who fell was the loser—so there was no fear of any referee playing favorites. In truth, the referee's chief duty was to ensure that young cultivators, lacking in restraint, did not inflict deaths or grave injuries.
Jiang Wang's opponent came from Sanshan City.
The man was short of stature but stubby and solid, dressed in a close-fitting martial tunic, his muscles thick and heavy as blocks of stone.
The two performed the Dao greeting to one another, then each took his station.
The referee called the order, and Jiang Wang drew his sword as he charged!
A man rising like a dragon, a sword arrowing like a shooting star.
Almost at the same instant the Sanshan cultivator began to form his hand seal, Jiang Wang had already closed the distance at the point of his blade.
Decisive, and swift.
Among the arts of combat available before the Transcendent stage, the Purple Qi from the East Sword Art commanded an almost overwhelming advantage.
In the earlier internal trials of the Fenglin City Dao Academy, it was with such a move that he had defeated Fang Heling, and now the whole affair seemed poised to repeat itself.
But what surprised both Jiang Wang and the spectators was that this Sanshan cultivator did not dodge!
He did not even stir. His eyes stared straight upon the incoming blade, and his hands were so steady that his Dao seal took form beneath that very gaze.
In such a position, he must either abandon his seal and flee, or admit defeat outright. For at the speed Jiang Wang had shown, any Dao art he cast after dodging would find no opportunity at all.
And he made a choice wholly different from Fang Heling's!
Earth-attribute Yuan Qi gathered wildly about him, and Jiang Wang felt a force surging up from beneath the ground. He knew very well what that was.
He had ample certainty that, before the earth spikes erupted, his sword could transfixed him through the heart. But his own feet would also be pierced through by the spikes that sprang up hard upon his heels.
Trading a wound for a death—he could still win. But he did not wish to win in such a fashion.
Jiang Wang spun his longsword, and it flicked against the earth spikes bursting up beneath his feet before parting from them at a touch, and by that very momentum he flipped back through the air, returning to his former position.
It was only then that the dense thicket of sharp earth spikes crowded all around the Sanshan cultivator.
This man from Sanshan City—this fellow scorned as a mountain savage—had just bought a turning of the tide with his own life.
He immediately lashed out with several kicks, snapping the earth spikes before him and kicking them flying. Like thrown javelins, they howled in succession toward Jiang Wang.
And this Sanshan cultivator charged on in the wake of the screaming spikes, hurling himself at Jiang Wang.
Under Jiang An'an's anxious gaze, Jiang Wang whirled like the wind, weaving lightly through the onrushing ranks of spikes, unharmed in the least.
But the Sanshan cultivator was already upon him.
His short, stocky frame flew high into the air, and his fist gradually congealed into stone, swelling into a fist as huge as a small mountain.
The Stone-Covered Fist!
The tide of attack and defense turned at once!
He must not take it directly. Jiang Wang braced his sword across before him, meaning to meet the stone fist with the flat of the blade, draw himself away on the momentum, and seek a new opportunity.
After all, a cultivator who had merely Established his Foundation had but limited Dao essence and could hardly cast too many Dao arts. So long as he dragged the matter out, his swordsmanship would guarantee him victory.
But that stone fist suddenly turned over, gripped the sword in Jiang Wang's hand, and crushed it to pieces!
The Stone-Covered Fist was itself merely a fine upper-grade D-Class art; Jiang Wang, though he had not mastered it, was quite familiar with it. He had never imagined this art held such nimble variations!
In dire haste, Jiang Wang abandoned the sword hilt, wrapped both arms around the stone fist that had crushed his blade, and wrenched hard.
The overwhelming bodily strength granted by the Four Spirit Body-Tempering Art poured in without the least reserve, and with the twisting force, chips of stone flew in every direction.
Jiang Wang's toes pressed the ground, and with his whole body he retreated at a backward tilt, dodging the stone fist's abrupt explosion at the same time!
The Sanshan cultivator, at the very instant Jiang Wang broke the stone fist, chose to detonate it outright as yet another means of attack. But he had not expected Jiang Wang's reflexes to be so keen, evading it still at the first moment.
The bursting stone fist was not without effect upon him. Though he had deliberately proportioned the force, his entire right arm was thick with wounds, dripping with blood.
But he seemed to feel no pain at all. He spoke not a word, and simply pursued Jiang Wang directly.
He did not form another Dao seal, nor had he time to employ a Dao art. Or rather, he had come to understand that with the Dao arts he now commanded, he could not overcome his opponent.
Then let him testify to the physique that leapt the hills, let him wager his fists and feet that slew lions and tigers.
Elbow strikes, knee thrusts, head butts!
And Jiang Wang had no way to reopen the distance either. His sword was gone, and with it his whole art of the sword found nothing on which to play.
Punches, kicks, shoulder ramming!
The two men threw themselves into close-quarter combat!
In the space of a single stride, fiercest, most direct, most savage!
There were not a few mortal martial artists among the spectators who knew a couple of moves, and at the sight they boiled over!