Chương 52: B2 Chapter 12

The centipede wine hit like Daoist Enduring Oath. Unfortunately, so did Yang Wei. Orange-crest's head swam as he slid backward beneath the weight of Yang Wei's charge, stone cracking in the wake of his passage. His staff, once Yang Wei's, bent overhead beneath the weight of Yang Wei's strike. The spearhead stopped just above his head, the aura emanating from it prickling the back of orange-crest's neck like a sharp sun.

Orange-crest wondered if there was a world out there in the stars above where the sun was a spear and the sunlight was blades. He blinked. Focus up, tipsy-crest. He stepped forward and pushed into the clinch, preventing Yang Wei from drawing his overextended spear back into cutting range. Beneath his stony fur, orange-crest felt pricks of sharp pain blossom across his skin, paper-thin slashes opened by Yang Wei's aura. He took a breath of razor-wind and tasted his own blood welling up from within his lungs.

That wasn't good. His second healing pill was already fading, the surging life within him running dry. But Yang Wei's panting didn't sound much better. He was breathing through his mouth now after orange-crest had smashed his nose with a heavy-rock. Yang Wei's spear dipped down and pulled back, retreating from the clinch like a snake into a hole. The back-end of orange-crest's staff took him across the chin. Fresh blood dripped from the corners of Yang Wei's mouth.

"Bastard!" Yang Wei spat, slurring the word slightly through swollen lips. Orange-crest reversed the momentum of his staff. He was sending the same qi that made his fur stony through it somehow. Now didn't seem like the time to worry about how exactly that worked. But the same force that made the weapon more durable made it heavier, and that was throwing off his timing. Yang Wei was faster. His spear struck low, running one of orange-crest's feet clean through.

The edges of the monkey's vision went white as the spearhead lodged between the bones of his feet.

"Bastard!" Orange-crest shouted back, his own tongue unsteady from intoxication and pain. Yang Wei's spear ripped free, sending another blinding flash of pain surging up orange-crest's leg. With his foot almost bisected, orange-crest couldn't step forward fast enough to keep Yang Wei from gaining distance. He needed a moment to take another healing pill, but he could already see Yang Wei lining up his spear to run him through and end the fight.

The leaf-bladed head burned with power, shining so sharply it hurt to look at. Even in stone form, he couldn't afford to take a direct hit. The spear aura pulsed, opening another dozen tiny cuts beneath his fur. It was time. Orange-crest charged forward, heedless of injury, hands outstretched to pull Yang Wei into another grapple. A desperate gambit of his own to end the fight.

And orange-crest limped a single step to the side, withdrawing a dagger from his master's spatial bag, its blade glistening with an oily sheen. He'd refined that oil himself, with a great deal of assistance. It was nasty. Like all the downsides of intoxication with none of the pleasant benefits. After the hectic exchange of blows, the single moment orange-crest had to position himself felt like an eternity. He watched a flicker of disappointment enter Yang Wei's eyes, before they hardened with resolve.

The spear in his hands flared with power. For a brief moment, it felt like nothing in the world could stand before him. As if Yang Wei's spear were sharp enough to split mountains, powerful enough to slaughter heroes and devils with equal ease. The skin of the world broke, as Yang Wei stabbed through it. His spear moved forward smoothly, unstoppably, inevitably. It stabbed through orange-crest's heart without resistance, running the monkey through. Yang Wei stepped forward, following through without hesitation.

Orange-crest watched his illusion fall apart, breaking into a spray of shining sparks the color of autumn leaves. The qi concealing the true monkey fell apart. Yang Wei's eyes widened as he took in the sight of orange-crest standing a single step to the left of where his illusion had been. Yang Wei was already moving. Reacting before he even truly comprehended what had occurred. It wouldn't make a difference. It was too little, too late. Orange-crest smiled. It was funny.

The last time they'd fought, Yang Wei had ended the battle with a single openhanded strike, driving orange-crest's collarbone deep into his chest. Orange-crest met Yang Wei's eyes as he brought the knife down, plunging it deep into the exact same spot between neck and shoulder.

"Spear Intent." Elder Xun exhaled, hardly believing his eyes. Spear qi in the first half of Qi Condensation was impressive. Spear Intent, even a flicker of it, was monstrous. The two concepts were closely related, but as different as heaven and earth in power and nature. Spear qi was simply another form of qi, like fire or elemental qi. It was sharp and forceful, capable of forming powerful piercing techniques.

But ultimately it was still qi, and it was not uncommon for more advanced cultivators to manipulate it, even without a cultivation base. Spear Intent was something else entirely. Spear and Sword Intent were the reason that weapon cultivators so often stood unmatched within their realm. A power more than qi, a faint shadow of the heaven-shaking inevitability of an immortal's dao. The territory of prodigies. Elder Xun mind raced, considering the implications of such talent.

A strike like that might pierce through Foundation Establishment defenses; even Li Hou's elemental body would hardly slow it down. Disciple Yang Wei already had so many experts interested in him. Elder Xun hated getting involved in those sorts of disputes. He typically preferred to populate his division with whatever initiates were interested in joining it, relying on his personal disciples and the crucible of battle to bring them up to an acceptable standard.

The other elders squabbled over noble scions and rare talents, he forged his own. But for a single moment, he let himself wonder just what he could do with a talent like that under his command. How many peerless spearmen he could train for External Affairs. Yang Wei already had a master, and Elder Lu would not look kindly on the trespass. The grasping old man had taught Yang Nianzu, and considered the Yang Clan to be his territory.

But Elder Xun still had the prerogative to name an additional inner disciple, and nobody had yet granted Yang Wei that title. Elder Xun opened his mouth to congratulate Marshal Yang on his heaven-defying talent of a nephew. He took in the marshal's expression, the way his earlier laughter had given way to absolute focus. He was just about to channel qi into his eyes when the illusion broke, and the monkey stabbed one of the most promising disciples he'd ever seen in the chest.

Yang Wei ducked. The accursed human yanked himself downward faster than gravity should allow, fouling the angle of the knife. Not even to avoid the strike, but enough that the tip of the blade punched out through the top of his chest, instead of digging home into a lung. Spear qi exploded outward, and orange-crest countered once more with stone. A hundred invisible spearheads ground against his chest, pushing him backward because they could not run him through. Barren trees, it was absurd how much qi Yang Wei had.

Every time orange-crest put the human on the back foot, he just used the same trick to reset the fight. He had to be running low on qi. Orange-crest simply refused to believe he wasn't. Unfortunately, he was not exactly fresh either. The monkey skidded backward, his feet gouging yet another pair of tracks into the ruined floor of the arena. Yang Wei's spear slipped from limp fingers, as his other hand pawed around his injury. That didn't look pleasant. Orange-crest had jammed the blade in to almost the hilt.

If Yang Wei had been any other initiate, orange-crest would have thought that was enough to end the fight. If the angle had been perfect, it might have been. Before even taking a healing pill, Yang Wei took a shambling step forward. Orange-crest would have shivered if he was capable of self-directed motion. Wait. Orange-crest wasn't supposed to be able to see in stone-form. Orange-crest released the transformation instead of thinking about what had just happened. He didn't have time for introspection now.

He could see the the fruit ripening behind Yang Wei's eyes as he put together what had just occurred. How the monkey's illusion technique might function. Orange-crest needed to end this now. Yang Wei wouldn't give him another shot that clean again, he had to press the attack for all he was worth. Orange-crest stuffed two pills into his mouth, smearing part of one across his chin in his haste. He washed them down with another great swallow of centipede wine. Then he took a second, his third mouthful today.

This exchange would decide it all. He would hold nothing back for later. His mouth tasted of sweet fruit and fresh blood. The gourd was more than half empty now. Orange-crest capped it, then tossed it away. He didn't need the temptation, or to worry about a stray blow damaging it. His chest burned so hot his extremities felt cold. Yang Wei's questing fingers finally found the handle of the knife. He ripped it free as smoothly as orange-crest had stabbed it in.

And then he smiled, with wild eyes and bloody teeth, even as he took another unsteady step forward.

"I am not." Yang Wei said, pausing to scarf down a pill.

"Yet done." He finished, taking a second. Heavens but orange-crest wanted to hit him. Unfortunately his foot threatened to split down the middle like a deer's hoof with every step he took. He needed another few seconds before it would heal enough he could run on it. He could only shamble forward like Yang Wei, wincing as his foot wove itself back together. It itched like an entire hive of ants were living inside it. What even was his life now?

How had he come from living peacefully on Mount Yuelu to fighting in a tournament of men, a character in a tale fit for a young Monkey King? And why, through the pain and fear, was he sporting a smile he had no doubt as as thoroughly deranged as Yang Wei's?

"Know that." Orange-crest said, finding his patience for the verbose language of men waning.

"No need say." Yang Wei shook his head, his eyes wide enough they threatened to pop free of their sockets. Words spilled out of his mouth like wine poured by unsteady hands.

"You don't get it." He hissed.

"So long as I can speak, I have yet more I could give to the spear. To the fight. So long as anything remains, we cannot see what we really are, beneath it all." Yang Wei's fingers flexed, and he realized they were empty. He'd dropped his spear half a dozen paces back. He drew another another identical weapon from his spatial bag, his steady advance never slowing. He was already building up his defense, wasn't he?

"More!" Yang Wei demanded.

"More of your dirty tricks! Give me something worth surpassing!"

"Your face is dirty." Orange-crest shot back eloquently. He would enter the range of Yang Wei's aura in a dozen more paces. Time for the next move. The monkey stepped out of himself, letting his illusion pretend his foot was still cloven in twain, slow to heal. Yang Wei's shoulder had already stopped bleeding, but even a few moments of impalement had been enough to stain the entire right half of his robe a brilliant crimson. Now orange-crest wasn't the only one coated in their own blood.

"Stop." He mouthed, taking advantage of his invisibility to immobilize Yang Wei's discarded weapon. He tried to quick-step as quietly as he could, circling to Yang Wei's side. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work. Yang Wei turned toward him, his ears pricked by the monkey's voice or footfalls.

"Do you think the same trick will work twice? Is your estimation of me so lowly?" Yang Wei's spear traced the arc of a crescent moon. A shimmering blade of qi blazed outward in the slash's wake taking the illusionary orange-crest in the throat. As the headless monkey faded away, the true orange-crest began to shimmer back into visibility. Fuck. That was a lot more lethal than his extra-heavy rocks. Orange-crest flew on the winds of inspiration, following a whim.

Even as his invisibility collapsed, he wove a second illusion, and rather than charging ahead or falling back, he stepped forward in time with it. He still had another few seconds before the next pulse of spear qi. Yang Wei's spear rose to meet the oncoming monkey, but the true orange-crest wasn't holding his weapon in the same place as the illusion. He parried the strike easily, and then punched Yang Wei right in his stupid face. Orange-crest felt like he was punching a mountain. Yang Wei's neck hardly budged.

"Graah!" He shouted, spitting in the young master's face. Yang Wei's spear snapped across, then punched out, a shortened thrust that narrowly missed orange-crest's throat. The monkey grabbed the shaft, dragging it to the side again. Yang Wei hopped back, jerking the clinging monkey from side to side trying to break his grip on the spear. His spear qi thrust out, reopening the cuts orange-crest's second healing pill had closed.

"Is that all you've got?" The human hissed. Orange-crest felt power surging in him. He followed his instincts, feeling his fingers and toes begin to stiffen. So what if Yang Wei was as tough as a mountain? Orange-crest would beat the shit out of him anyway.

"You!" Orange-crest hopped with Yang Wei, then pulled himself forward by his grip on the spear. His lead foot lashed out, and petrified, as he stomped down on Yang Wei's slippers.

"Talk!" His free hand let his staff fall free, and a stony fist socked Yang Wei in the stomach.

"Too much!" Orange-crest's head snapped forward, and eyes of stone watched with furious joy as Yang Wei's nose broke once more. The monkey's fist rose. He was doing it! Fighting in a state between flesh and stone. He didn't quite know how he was doing it, but he was far beyond letting that stop him. He punched out for Yang Wei's head, but this time the young master used the spear orange-crest still held to foul the angle.

He pulled hard on it, taking advantage of the stone monkey's weight to move himself instead of his opponent. Orange-crest's fist passed harmlessly to the side of Yang Wei's head, leaving them face to face.

"Insufficient." Yang Wei spat, spraying his own blood across orange-crest's face. The mountain surged into motion, and Yang Wei head-butted orange-crest back. The monkey's world flashed white. Flesh met stone with a thunderous crack. The two of them lashed out at each other, weapons forgotten. The world narrowed until there was nothing except the fight before them. Orange-crest felt more of his body shift to stone, grey steadily spreading across his fur. Somehow, impossibly, he kept moving. Yang Wei matched him.

His Unstoppable Landslide technique usually only lasted a single moment, an almighty counter to end the fight. But he refused to relent before the monkey did. If it could move while half a statue, he could keep pulling power from the earth and sustain his technique. They traded two blows, then four, then six, palms driving into forearms to force fists wide. Clawing fingers narrowly missed eyes, as stony flesh bruised beneath spearhand strikes.

Orange-crest felt his blood sing in time with the impacts, and had no doubt Yang Wei's burned with the same song. They traded a dozen more blows, neither disciple bothering to weaken their offense to defend themselves. It was impossible to say which of them began to slow first. But slow they did, as the momentum of Yang Wei's landslide of qi expended itself, and stone claimed so much of orange-crest's body that he began to forget how to move it.

In unspoken unison, both of them took three unsteady steps back, gasping like fish out of water. Orange-crest tried to straighten his back and nearly fell over. Damn. He was seriously drunk. Why were they fighting again? He couldn't remember. All he knew is that he had to win. Nothing else mattered. He wracked his brain. He was waiting for something, wasn't he? There was so little strength left within him. He had qi, but it moved sluggishly when he called for it. It wasn't his, really.

He'd taken so many pills without spending enough time cycling to truly incorporate the foreign power. Orange-crest felt like an old tree standing against a storm, remaining upright through nothing save sheer stubbornness. Yang Wei didn't look much better. He looked like a walking corpse, his upper body a mass of bruises blooming beneath the blood that stained his robes. But he was still standing. And with every pained breath he took, more and more spear qi was gathering around him. Poison!

That was what he was waiting for. Damnit, Master-Daoist Scouring Medicine! That poison was supposed to be fast-acting! Surely Yang Wei hadn't taken an antidote out of habit? Orange-crest withdrew a third staff from his storage treasure. He didn't have enough qi to spare to recall the one Yang Wei had given him, and he wasn't sure if he could hold two immobilizing spells at the same time anyway.

"Do you know how long I've waited for this?" Yang Wei asked.

"A whetstone worth the name? A rival worth surpassing? Can you hear it? Feel it?"

"Tiger-shit." Orange-crest grumbled.

"Fall over already! What in all the hells is wrong with you?" Yang Wei laughed madly.

"I have no idea. But I could never wish to have been born any other way. Can you truly say you do not feel the same?" The spear aura around Yang Wei surged, then retracted, gathering around the head of his spear.

"Nope." Orange-crest said, as he turned tail and ran away. Yang Wei flicked his spear, and an arc of silver light tore across the arena. Orange-crest leapt, hopping over the arc of death. He landed on his hands, falling into a diving roll. As he stood, he saw the inner disciple in charge of refereeing the match out of the corner of his eye. Oh, he was still here. His sword was out and his face was white. He was steadily stepping away from orange-crest, trying to get out of Yang Wei's line of fire.

Orange-crest scowled enviously at him.

"Don't disappoint me now!" Yang Wei shouted, sending out another arc of spear-light.

"Surely this is not your limit?" Orange-crest sprinted for all he was worth, dodging wildly. He was slowing. Yang Wei would tag him eventually. Even with his stone-form, he was pretty sure one of those flying slashes would instantly sever a limb if they connected. He gathered the last of his qi. He just needed a little more time, the right moment and angle. Orange-crest spun where he stood, and ran in half a dozen different directions at once.

"Do you think I can't hear you?" Yang Wei said, instantly zeroing in on the patter of feet. Orange-crest threw himself to the ground. He felt the razor-sharp qi pass just over his head. No! That better not have taken his crest off! It would take forever to grow back. Sound! That barrier was blocking out the noise of the crowd!

"Die already!" One orange-crest shouted.

"This is why nobody likes you!" Another chimed in, adding to the racket.

"Spears are cheating!"

"The Monkey King could beat your uncle like a thieving cub!"

"You've already lost, you just don't know how yet!"

"Xiao Long is prettier than you!"

"I had more trouble beating Wu Yingjie!" Six monkeys screeched at Yang Wei, running across the arena. And beneath the cover of their profanities and inanities, a seventh prowled. All of them kept their distance, forcing Yang Wei to either come to them, or send out more flying slashes. Yang Wei sent out slash after slash, reaping monkeys like wheat. Five. Four. The illusions dodged as best they could, but they were no faster than the exhausted monkey that had created them. One by one, Yang Wei cut them down. Three.

Yang Wei's blows slowed, as he realized he might be spending more energy cutting down the illusions than orange-crest had spent creating them.

"Running out the clock won't help you!" He shouted, his aura surging again. He rushed toward one of the illusions, but he was tiring too. The illusionary monkeys simply ran away as he approached, keeping their distance.

"Running?" One orange-crest echoed.

"Won't help you."

"Is the baby human tired?" Another asked.

"Can't catch me!"

"Bastard!" Another screeched, evaporating into orange light as Yang Wei resorted to more flying slashes. Two remained. Orange-crest had found his angle. He waited patiently, catching his breath. Another illusion fell, leaving only one.

"Come on, end this farce. Nobody in our generation has ever pushed me this far. Do you understand, Li Hou, what an honor that is?" Yang Wei's spear flicked out, and the last illusion died. The true orange-crest shimmered into visibility.

"I don't want honor." Orange-crest said slowly. He was so very tired. What little qi he had left refused to obey him, and his body had precious little strength left in its limbs.

"I want victory."

"Then come and take it, because I certainly will not yield. One final exchange to settle it all."

"One final exchange." Orange-crest agreed. They approached each other at a walk. Neither of them had the strength for much more. The shroud of spear qi around Yang Wei had dimmed. Instead of covering nearly a quarter of the arena, it now extended hardly an arm's length from him. Then it happened. Yang Wei stumbled.

"Finally." Orange-crest muttered.

"Fast-acting my furry ass."

"What?" Yang Wei said, the word almost unintelligible through his steadily numbing lips. To his credit, Yang Wei realized what was happening almost instantly. One hand left his spear, moving to his spatial pouch for a pill. Orange-crest charged at him, staff raised high. Yang Wei's hand returned to his spear. He moved to thrust, his qi surging one final time. Orange-crest sensed the moment his technique shifted from defense to offense. Orange-crest skidded to a sudden stop, just out of melee range.

Yang Wei was finally vulnerable, if he could just land a strike.

"What?" Yang Wei repeated, confused.

"If you won't..." He trailed off mid-sentence, too exhausted to finish. Once more, that impossibly sharp light gathered at the point of his spear. A spear fit to pierce the heavens, never mind running through an annoyingly flighty monkey. Orange-crest extended one hand, curling his fingers in a 'come-hither' gesture.

"Come." The monkey intoned gravely, forcing his dwindling qi into violent motion. He pulled for everything he was worth, forcing every recalcitrant wisp he could muster into the spell. Yang Wei obliged him, charging forward with a thrust that shook the very air between them. His arms might struggle to hold his spear steady, but his the razor-light of his will made the trembling of flesh irrelevant. Orange-crest smiled. It wasn't Yang Wei that he'd commanded to approach, after all. Yang Wei stumbled a second time.

His eyes turned downward in disbelief. A spearhead was protruding from his chest, limned in orange light. The very weapon he'd discarded, that orange-crest had ensorcelled, before positioning Yang Wei between himself and the weapon. It hadn't hit hard. But Yang Wei no longer had the spiritual defenses that had turned every prior blow. Fresh blood seeped out from what orange-crest knew to be a punctured lung.

"Nobody beats me twice." The monkey said, meaning it as much as anything he'd ever said.

"Not even you." Yang Wei's mouth opened, but only blood came out. The air ceased its quivering, as one hand left his weapon, again drifting toward his pouch. For a long moment, they stared at each other. Neither of them had the strength for further words, but their eyes spoke volumes. Yang Wei made his choice, his hand returning to the shaft of his spear. It didn't matter. He was too injured, poisoned and anemic. Neither medicine nor martial might could save him now. Yang Wei struck.

He flinched halfway through the movement as the spear embedded in his back shifted. Orange-crest turned the blow, parrying it wide, then catching the tip of the spear with his staff, driving the head down toward the floor of the arena. The monkey kicked out, stomping on the shaft, and Yang Wei's spear slipped through fingers rendered unsteady by a carefully tailored blend of muscle relaxants and emetics. The young master stepped forward anyway.

Orange-crest could clearly see he was long past letting something as small as disarmament stop him. Orange-crest's staff smashed him across the face, knocking him to the ground. The monkey stumbled forward, ready to follow up the blow. Yang Wei did not move. Orange-crest paused, stunned. He'd half expected him to surge his qi yet again, forcing him back. He'd done it. He'd won. It didn't feel real. Orange-crest stared out at the silent crowd. And then the sky descended.

Li Xun surged to his feet. The elements roiled within him, metal cooling beneath his skin as he forged his body into a blade. He felt his martial brother flinch as he paid the heavy price to push his stagnant qi into motion. They had fought too many life or death battles together to ever need to speak in times like these. Yang Shui might be a Nascent Soul cultivator, but the barrier separating the arena from the rest of the world contained only a fraction of his power. Together, the two of them could pierce it.

Li Xun crouched, and his brother's hand found his back. Earthen qi flowed into him, adding weight to the blade that he had become. Han Jian heaved, and Li Xun leapt. He tore through the sky like an arrow, slamming into Yang Shui's barrier. It was the thinnest of shrouds of qi. Silent Heavens, he realized it wasn't even a defensive technique. The impassable winds were simply a manifestation of Yang Shui's divine sense. How monstrous.

But even such a monster couldn't keep him from his disciple's side with only a half-hearted sensory technique. Li Xun punched through the wind, falling to the earth like a descending arrow. Yang Shui was already at his nephew's side. The inner disciple in charge of the match shrank even further back as Li Xun landed hard, adding yet another crater to the ruined arena. The young man was almost outside the ring at this point.

With the arrival of the second disciple's master, he suddenly jerked into motion, remembering he had a job to do. The barrier of divine sense around the arena was falling apart, unravelling from the hole Li Xun had pierced in it, allowing sound to once again flow in and out.

"Outer Disciple Yang Wei is unable to fight!" The inner disciple roared. Yang Wei's attacks had been so fierce he'd been forced to bring his own sword to bear to block them half a dozen times, despite his own cultivation being at the Great Circle of Qi Condensation. But the matter was clear. He almost refused to believe the words coming out of his mouth, and that led him to shout them all the louder.

"Outer Disciple Li Hou is victorious!" Yang Shui already stood above his own disciple. The air around the two of them was steely grey, gently pulsing in time with Yang Wei's labored breaths. Li Xun ignored him, rushing to Li Hou's side. The Nascent Soul monster could crush him in an instant. But nothing would touch his disciple so long as he lived. The crowd was in an uproar.

"That was Spear Intent! How is Spear Intent in Qi Condensation possibly insufficient!"

"Screw Spear Intent, where did the monkey get that heaven-defying illusion art?"

"Dishonorable scum, striking from behind!"

"Were those even illusions? What sort of illusions move like that in Qi Condensation? They behaved almost like fragile clones!"

"Surely Li Hou will win it all! How could anyone top that?"

"What even is this generation? I'm in the eighth stage and I wouldn't risk taking those blows! They destroyed the arena!"

"Why did Young Master Yang falter at the end?"

"If this is the early rounds, what are the main stage fights going to look like?"

"Is Daoist Scouring Medicine accepting disciples? I'd risk death for a body like that!"

"That monkey must have some sort of legendary bloodline. There's no way it's just that talented!"

"I'm rich!" Ma Bojing screamed joyously.

"Tremble before the true dao of gambling!" Li Xun ignored them all.

"You did it, Li Hou." He whispered, applying ointment to a small stab wound that his disciple had somehow transmuted to stone to prevent from it from bleeding further.

"No." Li Hou's voice was small, but firm. To Li Xun's ears, it was louder than all the roars of the crowd.

"I did not do it alone, master."