"Winner: Zhao Tiehe of Three Mountain City!"
The judge's declaration landed — and at the same instant, Zhao Tiehe's last swinging fist fell with him, his body crashing to the ground.
His injuries were far worse than Lin Zhengli's. He had been running on willpower alone.
He lay flat on his back, limp.
Beside him, Lin Zhengli had been punched nearly into the pit, long unconscious.
The field was a wreck: scattered stones, torn vines, a crater, splashing water, blood.
The applause started only then.
Thin at first — neither fighter was their own — then it detonated.
The match had been magnificent. It forced everyone to see the iron of Three Mountain City's cultivators. Respect for Zhao Tiehe spread to the city he came from. Perhaps that was exactly what they had fought to prove: they were born on barren ground, in mountains crawling with beasts, but they were no savages. They had their loves, their hates, their pursuits, their... honor.
"Not easy at all." Ling Chuan clapped until his palms were red. He might have been the only one who had never once used the word "savage" for a Three Mountain cultivator. Because he knew what it was to be looked down on, he never looked down on anyone.
Zhao Yan, meanwhile, was focused on a different question: "Those two beat each other half to death. Third Brother wins without lifting a finger!"
Huang Azhan had already done the math. "A win is ten points of Dao merit. He skips both those fights — the first-year championship doubles the reward. All together... fifty points. Half a Meridian-Opening Pill! He owes us a feast!"
Only An'an's presence stopped him from naming the Three-Scent Pavilion.
"What's Dao merit? Is it worth much?" An'an asked, curious.
"Sure is." Zhao Yan, who knew the story of An'an's "debt repayment," teased her: "One point of merit is worth more than that whole chest of treasure you earned!"
An'an counted on her fingers, very seriously, then spread her arms wide, drawing a huge circle. "That's so much!"
* * *
After the first rotation match, the recovery time was short. Unfair for Zhao Tiehe after such a battle — but the rules were the rules.
The judge asked three times. Each time, Zhao Tiehe swayed to his feet, ready to fight again.
Jiang Chen stood across from him, hand on his sword, gaze steady.
"Step down," said Sun Xiaoman.
She looked like a little girl. She sounded like a little girl. But Zhao Tiehe could not ignore her.
He turned to her. "I still have a life to spend."
His tone was calm, not fierce — because he was stating a fact. Jiang Chen was no weakling; he had beaten Yang Xiong in a straight fight, and he was fresh. At this moment, there was truly nothing left to spend... except his life.
"Your life matters. Three Mountain City needs you." Sun Xiaoman spoke with care. "Before, I let you spend yourself because you still had a chance. Now I won't, because the chance is gone. Your city has poured resources into you. Your life can't be wasted."
Something in her words reached him. Zhao Tiehe turned and walked off the field, stumbling.
Jiang Chen thought he saw a flash of tears in the man's eyes as he turned.
A man like that, crying?
Jiang Chen couldn't understand why Three Mountain cultivators were so obsessed with winning and losing. He had done his best. Why mourn the fight he wasn't allowed to die in?
With that question, Jiang Chen walked into the third rotation match — Lin Zhengli still unconscious, Lin Zhengren conceding for him again.
And so Jiang Chen became this year's first-year champion of the Three-City Trial. With both rivals beaten senseless by each other, it wasn't the most convincing title, but—
"Who cares! Merit in hand is what counts," said Zhao Yan.
Jiang Chen had stepped to the sidelines and become a spectator himself, with Ling Chuan and the rest.
The good folk of Maple City were generous to the man who had won them glory; they cleared him a seat. An'an and the loud-mouthed little girl sat in the front row; Jiang Chen and the others chatted lazily behind them.
One thing surprised Jiang Chen: the cloud-cushion they sat on was not Zhao Yan's doing. It belonged to the old man who had escorted Qingzhi here.
The cushion was feather-light, impossibly soft — a luxury ordinary homes could never afford. And Qingzhi's family had spread it on the ground.
Jiang Chen could only marvel: in the world of the rich, one mountain always loomed above another. He'd grown up with land and a shop, never wanting for food. Since knowing Zhao Yan, he often felt like a beggar.
The hunched old man studied Jiang Chen for a while, then spoke. "I didn't expect you to return that chest of treasure. Young friend Jiang teaches his sister well."
The voice was kind. With that face, it was hard to believe.
Jiang Chen was not one to judge by looks, and answered politely: "It was only right. A joke between children — how could it be taken seriously?"
"Confucius said: wealth and rank unrighteously gained are floating clouds to me. Young friend, your words carry the backbone of a scholar."
Discussing the Confucian backbone with a Daoist disciple in the State of Zhuang — the old man must have studied the classics until his head broke.
Jiang Chen waved it off and said, "The match is starting."
* * *
The Three-City Trial was divided into first-year, third-year, and fifth-year levels, but the rules were much the same.
Li Yun and Wang Hao entered at the same time. Three matches ran simultaneously.
Jiang Chen watched with full attention.
Li Yun's opponent was from Three Mountain City. It was a brilliant duel, both men showing exquisite control of Dao arts, trading blows at length, until Li Yun took the win with fire-element arts.
Wang Hao's match against his Riverview opponent was simpler. At the start, he summoned a fog to blind the man, then calmly completed his seals — one Bone-Breath Whirlwind sent the opponent spinning into the sky.
An art like the Whirlwind, a Jia-rank art, was nearly unsolvable at this level. Jiang Chen remembered Little Grove Town, where a single Whirlwind had nearly drained Wang Hao dry — and he'd wondered if the man would even have strength for the later matches.
But as soon as the match ended, Wang Hao pulled out a Dao Essence Stone and began absorbing...
So the Wang family had spent real money. They meant to take the third-year championship.
What the Maple City crowd cared about most, though, was the mysterious black-robed man from Three Mountain City.
When the robe fell away, revealing a chubby little boy, the watching townsfolk let out a collective sigh of disappointment.
In their imagination, the robe hid a scar-faced demon lord. At the very least, someone fearsome. Not a soft, squashable fat boy who looked easy to bully.
But the fat boy did not disappoint. He was strong!
As the duel began — perhaps angered by his teammates' losses — the Riverview third-year fought at full power.
Five water spikes to open, with wind blades hidden between them.
Then earth spikes. Then he began sealing for the Raging Waves.
Water, wind, and earth arts woven together, a dizzying cascade.
The Three Mountain City fat boy did exactly one thing the entire time.
He charged.
Headlong, mindlessly, straight through the barrage of arts.
He reached his opponent.
Raised his fist. Brought it down.
Match over.
The boy's clothes hung in tatters, but the pale flesh beneath was pink and healthy.
His opponent lay fallen.
Everyone stared.
"His body defense is insane!" Ling Chuan gasped.
"Is he a pure martial artist?"
"No — that last fist was Stone-Clad Fist. He used Dao arts."
"There's no stone-skin art or anything like it. Why is his defense so strong?"
They were young, their knowledge thin; they argued without conclusion.
"It's the Kun Drum," the hunched old man said suddenly, having listened in silence. "A permanently fixed art."
He would say no more about it.