Chapter 13

Double-Edged

Almost an entire day passes before I arrive at my destination. I had taken my time and walked at a leisurely pace. Every few hours on my way there, I took a break to practice, eat, drink, or nap. It’s past midnight when I reach the outskirts of the Capital. Throwing on the cloak I’ve brought with me and pulling up the hood to shadow my face, I duck my head and walk through the quiet, lightless streets. From a house to my left, I hear a person cough. A dog barks shortly after. I see men I assume are trainees sleeping in narrow alleys. I find an alley that is unoccupied and hug my knapsack to my chest. The center of the Capital is near now. I’ll wake up to reach it in the morning before the competition begins.

When dawn shines its light on my face and the sounds of the Earth waking up stirs me away from sleep, I jump to my feet and enter the main street. There are entire groups of men walking toward the heart of the Capital. Each of them is dressed according to the culture associated with their city. Some are dressed in all black as I am. Others wear colors so bright they resonate with their sanguine life.

I see a woman carrying crates of water bottles to her house. I search my knapsack for my water bottle, only to realize that it is empty. Hurrying to reach her before she disappears into her house, I shout, “Excuse me.” I retrieve five coins from my pocket. “May I have one?” I ask. She smiles, and we trade items.

I distance myself from the other trainees and walk in my own rhythm towards the location of the competition. The groups of men slowly cluster and turn into a shoddy line. The line, from what I can see, starts at the gate of the Capital entrance and ends to where I am, which I approximate is part of a mile away. I unwrap myself from the cloak and toss it to a young boy who walks past me. It’s too hot, and I don’t need it anymore. He accepts it gratefully, and then he scurries away. I drink the water as I wait in line. When the bottle turns empty, I crush it and throw it into a bin standing a few feet away.

An hour passes, and at last I am near the front. I wait for the man before me to pass the gate, and then I step forward to greet a Capital worker, who is sweating more than I due to the thick material of his long sleeved shirt.

“Number and city?”

“0502, Haw.”

He stops writing my information to stare at me. “That’s a long ways away.” I give him a tight smile. He presses his lips tightly together, and then he moves aside. “Come in.”

I step in between the tall, wiry gates and find myself in a massive verdant court. Men of varying ages occupy the broad field. I see men exploit their skills related to wushu. A few others use weapons I have never learned to use. Others have already begun the second part of the competition and are fighting with the Capital’s own. Few men walk away from the court with satisfied grins on their faces. Even more men walk away with dissatisfied, angry stomps.

“Right here.”

I see a Capital worker beckon me toward him. He takes in my appearance from head to toe, and then he asks, “How do you fight?”

“Rod. Knives.”

Behind him I see an array of weapons. A diversity of rods, knives, swords, flails, and chains are displayed on wooden tables. “You’re allowed one of each,” he says. I inspect each weapon scrupulously until I find a knife as sharp as Han’s and a rod that fits perfectly into my palm. I thank him, and then he points me toward a row of Capital workers who are watching each individual display his talents. “Wait for your turn over there.”

I wait for my turn behind a man with unruly, raven-like hair and salient cheekbones. He glances behind him, and the edge of his face that he gives me stirs a sickly feeling in my stomach. In that second, I had seen a ghost. He looked like Chen.

But when he turns around to trade his weapon for another, I see that I was mistaken. It was only in that brief space of time that my eyes and the light had fooled me. I swallow. I mustn’t be distracted.

“0502, Haw.”

A Capital worker summons me. When I reach him, he holds his hand out to me.

“Which one would you like to start with first?”

I look between my weapons, and then I look at the competitors around me, who are each showcasing their many talents. “The knife.”

He takes the rod from me, and we walk together toward a vacant target board. “All right. Show me whatever you think will help you win.”

For entertainment’s sake, I display what I can do with the knife by twirling it around my fingers and spinning it to my hands, to the air, sometimes around my back. I distance myself from the target and shout, “I’ll throw from here.” I hear his reply, but it sounds like the cry of a small animal, and because of the distance, I cannot decipher it. I had stepped so far from the target that the man became like an ant in a green sea of other ants.

Because I am far from the target, there are competitors and Capital workers blocking my pathway. Too engrossed in their own problems, they pay no attention to me. Beyond them, I see people dressed in clothes different from the Capital workers, the Capital’s own, and the competitors. They pace back and forth between the ends of the field with piercing eyes that scrutinize every tactical move made by a competitor. They must be the judges. I notice of them, a man wearing a purple shirt with gold ts, is staring at me. Keeping him in mind, I take a large breath and stare at the target. It taunts me with its pale colors and small size. I wait for the wind to cease, and in those three seconds, the pathway to the target clears enough for me to step back, aim, and hurl the knife.

The knife nips the corner of a man’s t-shirt and barely misses the nape of another man’s neck before it buries itself into the target. I jog toward the worker, who stares at me in awe. With difficulty, he pulls the knife from the target board. The knife was hidden up to its hilt.

“Well,” is all he says, and then he gives me the rod. The man in purple who had been watching me gives me a small smile of approval.

“If possible,” I abruptly say, “I’d like to use the rod only through the one-on-one fighting.”

He sheathes the knife. “Are you not confident in showing me what you can do without an opponent?”

“I am.”

He grunts, “So you’ve decided to use the rod as your weapon for the second stage?”

I nod. He shrugs. “Don’t cause a ruckus if you have regrets upon losing.”

“I won’t lose,” I mumble to myself. He points me toward a line of eight competitors who are waiting with their respective opponents. “Wait there.”

I fall in line with the eight, who give me curt nods of acknowledgement. In front of us are ten competitors fighting with ten of the Capital’s own. The Capital’s own all fight with the same weapon – the rod, which is the most common type of weaponry in the entire country. Seven competitors fight with the rod, while two fight with flails, and one with a knife. It is clear that the rods are as abundant as they are favored. If I am to stick out from the others, I can’t simply win the battle against the Capital’s own. I have to entertain.

Two minutes later, two men join our line of competitors. The man in purple and two other men in similar attire move toward us. Behind him, he brings a batch of ten healthy Capital fighters. Their extravagant uniforms with their epaulettes and fringes cause a few of the competitors to stifle laughs, but neither the Capital fighters nor the judges break face.

“Each to his own,” the man in purple says. The competitors and I step forward to meet our opponents. The Capital fighter in front of me is a short man with a wide face.

“As is customary with Capital etiquette,” the purple judge begins, “we bow in greeting and in farewell. Whether or not you are chosen as a finalist, we ask you respect this conduct.” Like puppets, the Capital’s own bow in unison. In a less dignified manner, we competitors bow in return.

This is the stage that requires my entire dedication. This is the stage that matters the most. The judges wouldn’t be here keenly examining us if it weren’t.

“The rules are,” he resumes, “to fight until the weak man surrenders.” The weak man. What a choice of words. “Understand that these fighters are part of the Capital’s own because of their resolve. They will not be easily defeated. In this battle, you may harm, but you may not kill. I suggest you fight as if it were your last fight. Fight in a manner that will make us want you.” He clears his throat and steps back. “Begin.”

My opponent strikes even before the word has left the judge’s mouth. Taken by surprise, I jump back and manage to raise my rod to block his attack. He’s overwhelmingly strong. I’m drawn to my knees by the pressure he puts on my arms. Gritting my teeth, I push him away just enough for me to roll out of his reach.

His eyes mock me, but he doesn’t say a word to deride. He simply moves with a stealth to which I am unaccustomed. He is remarkably powerful, but his weakness lies in his fighting style. He is predictable.

He sticks to the rules of wushu as if it were a book he memorized. His actions are clean, but they are too precise. I match his rod with my own and, using my momentum and relying on my speed, I retaliate with a strength that is temporarily greater than his. Surprised, his arms quiver. I grasp the opportunity and aim for his stomach. It brings him to the floor, but it is not enough. I chance a glance to the judge and see that he is more enamored by another competitor. I have to do something greater and bigger, something more extravagant than I have ever done before.

“I’m going to beat you,” I announce steadily, “in one minute.”

He laughs scornfully. He doesn’t believe me. We run forward, and our rods lock together.

“One,” I say and strike sideways. He blocks it. I push my rod backwards, kick it into the air with my heel, and bring it down to his shoulder.

“Ten.” He falls back to escape my reach. Perturbed, his clumsy hands cause the rod to shiver. He growls. I glimpse the judge turn his head to watch us.

“Fifteen.” He charges. I sidestep him and swing my rod at the back of his head. He ducks and flings a punch to my face. Since I hadn’t expected him to attack in such a way, I lose my footing. Instead of falling, I swing my rod over his and use the wobbly, makeshift hook to slide underneath his legs. I release the rod, and then I throw myself to my feet and beat his back with a kick. He stumbles, and both of the rods clatter to the ground.

“Thirty-five.” I give him time to steal my rod as well as grab his own. He swings them together and purposefully strides toward me.

“You can’t beat me without this,” he says, wielding my rod.

I smile. “Forty-five.” I run. He sees me coming and stands with his legs apart, prepared to beat me, but instead I crouch down at the last minute and aim for his feet. It isn’t enough to startle, but the sense of insecurity I give him is enough for me to kick a rod out of his hands, catch it from the air, and knock the other rod from his hand. He falters, and I push him down. I use the rods to chain his hands to the ground, and then I place my foot on his chest. Leaning down, I murmur, “Sixty.”

He squirms, but he is firmly trapped. I look up. The others are still fighting. The judge is murmuring to the men beside him. He orders one of the men to do something, and I watch him jog away. He stops at the edge of the field to bow to two people. They both turn around at his arrival, and their clothes and postures radiate opulence and refinement. They start walking toward us, and I realize that they aren’t simply rich members of the Capital – they are the Capital.

It’s the Capital leader, and beside him is the daughter.

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Osekop12 #1
Congrats on the feature!!
Galaxyboo_
#2
Chapter 32: This so GOOD! I CAN'T BELIVE I READ THIS IN ONE DAY?!
Galaxyboo_
#3
Chapter 22: shieeeeettttttt IM SCREAMING
Maddy_the_Lion
#4
Chapter 32: I like how this didn't follow the stereotypical fanfic storyline. I truly enjoyed it. Thank you.
sgrfhm #5
congrats
liquorandice #6
I don't read x OC fics that often but this is sooo nicee
I REALLY love that the storyline is focused on Tao himself and his growth rather than turning romance into the main thing. Officially one if my favs ❤ thank you for writing this! ^^
LocaLina
#7
Chapter 32: Chapter 32: Lemme just say that I LOVED IT!!!! So long since I’ve found a good Tao fic thank you!!!
sweet23d
#8
Congrats
rpforall_
#9
Congrats