Chương 65: Chapter 28 — Martial Competition (1)

The venue was a converted exhibition hall that, much like Lin Che, had lived through multiple lives all loosely connected by the fact that it was the same building despite how different the events within were. More recently, it had been a temporary covid testing site, but there was a time much earlier on in Lin Che's memory where it had been a temporary cat cafe instead.

Tonight, it was a martial arts tournament, and the interior transformation had been done with enough budget that the previous lives of this building were completely invisible. The floor space had been divided into a central sparring area — a raised platform with a perimeter padding it in the colours of the main sponsor, which was a sports nutrition company owned by the Shen Clan.

There was tiered seating on three sides, with the fourth remaining for the judges, a scoreboard, and a commentary setup that was currently running a pre-competition reel of highlight footage from previous tournaments. The sponsor booth was slightly elevated, and Xu Fang and Lin Che accessed it through a door at the back of the hall, where a man with a lanyard waved them in and scanned an ID pass to let the two through.

"I can't believe this is all real," said Xu Fang once they were finally inside. They were escorted to the booth, which had four chairs and a drink setup provided for the sponsors. Xu Fang sat down and immediately pulled out his phone to take a photograph of the view, before switching to the front camera and taking a selfie with his friend. Lin Che, famously camera shy, had enough time to dodge the frame, but stayed in place upon recognising Xu Fang's excitement.

"Look at the stage and the faces of the judges. Wow — that man has a scar across his eye! I thought that was only a thing on TV!" gawked Xu Fang, leaned up against the railing.

"You should write this all down," he said.

"I'm not—" Lin Che stopped.

"I'll remember it."

"You won't remember to note it down, will you? It's fine — I'm sure your wife can get you as many of these seats as she wants." Xu Fang looked at the platform again and sighed.

"Seriously though, you've been sitting on this worldbuilding project for a while, so go do something with it."

"It's not ready."

"It's never going to be ready. That's not how these things work." He picked up a drink from the table.

"Mingzhe says the same thing about his forms. He'll practice a movement for two years and then say it's not ready to show anyone. And then he shows his incomplete form to someone and they think it's extraordinary."

"How is he feeling about tonight?"

"Nervous, but good." Xu Fang checked his phone.

"He's been in the warm-up area since seven. Haven't heard from him since."

The competition started at ten with the lower bracket matches. Lin Che watched. The first pair were both in their early twenties, with one significantly larger than the other. It seemed as though the larger one was betting heavily on the fact that he had greater inertial mass, but was losing incrementally because of his plans. His footwork was also wide and planted, which meant he couldn't adapt whenever the smaller fighter weaved around his frame.

He won, eventually, but it took longer than his size should have allowed, and, at the end of it all, he was breathing harder than his opponent was. Lin Che saw all this with a slightly disconcerting lens, as though something so obvious had escaped his notice for all his life. The movements didn't seem too impressive despite the audience cheers and screams, but instead seemed rather sequential. One thing, then the next, and then the response to the next, and then the next thing. It was so visible.

He knew he couldn't replicate any of it, though. This was an important distinction — reading a fight and fighting were very different skills. Knowing which movement was coming next was not the same as knowing what to do with that information in real time. What he had was perception, but translating such perception into movement was something martial artists spent an entire lifetime to master. Still, he was fairly certain he could beat all of them.

He watched the second match and focussed more on the feints than the actual attacks. The taller fighter feinted left with his shoulder before committing right with his lead foot, which eventually won him the match.

"You're very quiet," said Xu Fang.

"I'm watching."

"You're watching like you're doing maths."

"I find it interesting," said Lin Che. Xu Fang looked at him for a moment before breaking eye contact and going back to the platform.

"Mingzhe's up in three bouts," he said.

"I'm going to need you to actually make noise when he comes on."

"I'll make noise."

"Actual noise. Not a half-hearted whoop." Lin Che looked at him.

Guo Mingzhe came in on the fifth bout against an opponent from a gym in the northern district. Mingzhe was slightly shorter than Lin Che had pictured from Xu Fang's descriptions, but his frame was compact with muscle and very still. He didn't waver even slightly on stage. This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. The bout started. Mingzhe was technical, very technical.

To the point where Lin Che couldn't see the gap between one step and the next — there was a flow in the way he moved, at least some of the time. He wasn't aggressive, but his precision compounded over time. He won in the second round, cleanly. Xu Fang made a significant amount of noise, as did Lin Che. His noise was genuine and certainly not a half-hearted whoop. The announcer tore through the audience's applause after it lasted too long.

"And now, an old face returns four years after a sudden disappearance! Everyone, cheer loud and proud for the one and only Yang Zichen!" Lin Che flinched ever so slightly. As Zichen stepped onto the platform, Lin Che channeled Qi through his eyes and saw… nothing. That didn't make any sense. The fight started, and Lin Che sat at the edge of his seat for as long as the fight lasted.

It was less than two minutes, but felt much longer as Lin Che stared at Zichen in confusion, hyperanalysing every single twitch he made. He wasn't fighting with Qi. It was pure martial merit. Xu Fang looked at Lin Che and snapped a photo. Without saying anything, he sent it directly to Shen Yue, a contact he had added after begging Lin Che to let him send a personal thank you to her for the tickets.

The finals came in the blink of an eye, mainly because there was both a lack of competitors overall due to the lack of popularity in martial arts in the modern era, and because many of the competitors had been too injured to continue. Zichen came out from the left side of the platform, and Mingzhe came from the right. Xu Fang sat forward in his chair and held his drink without drinking from it for the entire duration of what followed.

With Zichen fighting without Qi, and Mingzhe also operating on purely human terms, this was a genuine contest of martial technique alone. Their builds were similar enough too, such that neither had the weight nor height advantage. The announcer's voice dropped to a murmur and the hall went quiet. The referee raised his hand and then dropped it. Zichen moved first, placing one foot in front of the other in an invitation for Mingzhe to respond. Mingzhe ignored the beckon, instead adjusting his base and waiting.

The two stood unwavering for a moment that felt longer than it really was. Then Mingzhe moved. He came in low, feinting a step to the outside that was designed to draw Zichen's guard in the wrong direction. Zichen followed, but only by a fraction, not fully committing to the move as he promptly realised it was a misdirective play. He'd seen the feint, but the audience hadn't — it all had happened faster than most of them could parse.

Mingzhe entered on the second feint, making contact at the forearm, but was redirected. He recovered and both fighters returned to their original positions. The audience grew louder. The two circled each other, like birds of prey swooping in for the kill. Zichen threw the first strike, which was another non-committed straight punch. Mingzhe managed to step backwards just out of reach, before coming back with a hook to the body that landed. It was solid, and the crowd heard it.

Zichen rolled in the direction of the punch, transforming the roll into a pivot that put him at just the perfect angle. He came over the top with his elbow. Mingzhe got his shoulder up in time, but even then, only just. The impact pushed him back two steps and put him close to the boundary line. Mingzhe reset. He was two steps away from the edge and Zichen knew it. Zichen did not cease. He pressured forwards, offering Mingzhe angles to work with, before closing them the second he saw the faintest bit of movement.

Mingzhe found one which was real and drove through it, and for a moment, the pressure reversed. Zichen was moving backwards, and Mingzhe was following. Mingzhe followed too far. He committed to a takedown, with both hands reaching forwards, but Zichen sprawled with his hips back and down, before turning sideways. They went out of bounds together, hitting the mat outside the boundary at the same moment in a tangle of limbs that made the outcome clear. The referee crossed his arms at waist height. A tie.

Xu Fang finally exhaled. Lin Che, too, let out a breath that had been held since the first move.

The second round opened differently, with Mingzhe holding a slightly narrower base. Lin Che worked out, soon enough, that Mingzhe's aim was to take more risks earlier. The first round had been about safety and ended up in a tie, which meant that safety was not going to win this. Mingzhe had clearly arrived at the same conclusion. He came forward rather than waiting, and the change in initiative gave him the upper hand.

Zichen had to manage the incoming pressure instead, which he managed somewhat, but it was simultaneously wearing him out. Mingzhe threw his fists with more commitment than before, feigning a feint which really was an actual attack. Taking more risk on offence, however, meant accepting more risk of being caught. He was caught twice in the first minute, but only partially. Then, Mingzhe caught Zichen's foot. It was his lead foot, which, whilst in transition, had been carrying the bulk of Zichen's weight.

It was the worst possible moment to have your foot intercepted, because all the balance was through it, and the intercept converted the momentum that had been moving him into momentum that was instead taking him down. Zichen went. The crowd came up out of their seats. But Zichen, going down, did not let go of what was nearest to him — Mingzhe's lapel. His hand had it in the grip before the fall had fully committed, and what happened next was fast: Zichen went down and Mingzhe went with him.

When they hit the mat, it was Mingzhe who landed harder because Zichen had used the last half-second of the fall to turn their combined momentum into something that ended badly for the person on top. The impact was audible, and the referee stepped in. Mingzhe was on his back, with Zichen's hand still in his lapel. Both were breathless. The referee signalled. Zichen won this round. It was a best of three fight, and there would be a ten minute break before the next round.

Xu Fang sat back down, not quite certain as to when he started standing in the first place. Lin Che looked at the back of Zichen's head and gulped. How on earth did I last so long against that?