Hong Lu continued his expert introduction of the rules: "In this arena, life and death are disregarded. Whoever is knocked down within the time it takes for a stick of incense to burn loses. Furthermore, if a mask is knocked off or shattered, that person also loses." He pointed to the blue light curtain surrounding the stage. "There is a trick to this stage. Anyone who enters has their cultivation suppressed, leaving them with only their natural physical strength. They cannot use spiritual tools or spells to attack. What people want here is the raw thrill of fist meeting flesh."
I thought for a moment and asked, "So you mean even if someone's cultivation isn't high, they can still face an opponent in this arena relying solely on brute force and martial skill?"
"The young miss is brilliant; you've hit the nail right on the head," Hong Lu said, his face beaming with excitement. "Some warriors are only in the Qi Refining Realm. Fearing retaliation once they leave the arena, they have to hire bodyguards at high prices..."
Wood Tiger, however, did not step onto the stage immediately. Instead, he first walked over to Wen Xiang, cupped his hands, and knelt on one knee. "I am deeply grateful for the young miss’s favor and support. Fearing I might fail you, I shall offer up my very life in this match." He looked up at Wen Xiang and uttered six words with resolute force: "Either victory, or death!"
"Good!" Wen Xiang did not urge him to cherish his life. Instead, she declared boldly, "Fight with all you have. If you win, the rewards are all yours!" As she spoke, she pulled a golden peony hairpin from her hair and tossed it to Wood Tiger. "A reward for you!"
Wood Tiger caught the golden hairpin with great care. To my surprise, he tucked it into his blue sash, pinching the ends together so it bit firmly into the fabric. Though I was a mere novice in martial arts, I knew this was dangerous. If an opponent struck the hairpin, it would surely pierce the flesh of his waist. Was he not handing his opponent a weapon for free?
Having adjusted his attire, Wood Tiger leaped onto the stage and bowed to the spectators.
The referee searched both men for weapons. When his hand passed over the golden hairpin at Wood Tiger's waist, Wood Tiger gave a slight nod, indicating he would bear all consequences himself. Seeing that the Pottery Ghost was impatient and eager to start, the referee raised no further objections and allowed it. He had both parties stand in opposite corners, extending his arms between them as a barrier. Once both were ready, he dropped his hand and shouted, "Begin!"
Outside the ring, an attendant struck a gong while another lit the incense to keep time.
Though the Pottery Ghost had seemed anxious and impulsive before, he calmed down the moment the match began, settling into a stance to observe Wood Tiger. The two circled each other in a probing dance. Surprisingly, it was Wood Tiger—who had seemed the weaker of the two off-stage—whose demeanor shifted instantly. He lunged first with a jab, rapidly closing the distance. The Pottery Ghost parried cautiously, but failed to prevent Wood Tiger’s lead hand from obscuring his vision. Immediately after, a straight rear punch slammed into his abdomen with a crisp *thwack*. The Pottery Ghost took the hit; had he not retreated half a step in time, that punch would have truly been agonizing.
Perhaps because this was Wood Tiger’s first display of prowess tonight, the spectators on both sides cheered loudly. The Pottery Ghost was two sizes larger than Wood Tiger and held a natural weight advantage. Caught off guard by the opening blow, he was visibly enraged but remained experienced. He steadied his breathing and raised his fists in a defensive guard, waiting for Wood Tiger’s next move.
After cheering, Hong Lu took it upon himself to explain the situation to us. "This Pottery Ghost is a recent star of the arena. Aside from the 'Bronze Beast,' who isn't here tonight, he has won the most matches in Pingjing. He was careless to take that hit."
I didn't care about the technicalities; I was only worried about Wen Xiang’s five thousand spirit stones. Seeing the two locked in combat, exchanging four or five blows as fast as lightning, I found myself unable to follow. I tugged on Wei Qingming’s sleeve and asked softly, "Can he win?"
Wei Qingming did not give a direct answer, saying only, "Wood Tiger’s fist techniques are not his best; his footwork and kicks are superior. Were he not injured, this battle would be an easy victory."
Her words left me confused. How could a professional fighter be better at kicking than punching? A thought struck me, and I asked her with a mischievous, curious grin, "If it were you, could you beat them?"
Wei Qingming gave a faint smile. "I am unpracticed in the art of fist and foot."
Hearing my naive question, Hong Lu laughed. "They rely on nothing but raw strength. Even I might win if I went up there! What kind of person is the Young Master?"
"Oh?" I teased him. "So Master Hong Lu has the strength to lift a bronze tripod, then?"
"That’s right..." He was about to boast further when he caught Wei Qingming’s look and shut his mouth. "Watch the match, watch the match!"
By now, the Pottery Ghost had adapted to Wood Tiger’s offensive. Reversing his previous conservative stance, he constantly pressured Wood Tiger’s inner guard. For a time, Wood Tiger could only scramble to defend, attempting to slow the advance with a dense barrage of continuous jabs. Once the Pottery Ghost had him nearly pinned against the boundary, he landed a lead hook near Wood Tiger’s brow. Pivoting on his heel, he swapped positions to exit Wood Tiger’s counter-attacking range and fired off two more rapid punches. In his haste, Wood Tiger lunged forward instead of retreating, throwing a punch of his own. However, the Pottery Ghost had anticipated this and exploited the opening with another heavy blow to Wood Tiger’s midsection. This time, Wood Tiger took the full force of the punch. He doubled over in pain as the Pottery Ghost sneered, "Returning the favor."
A sharp *crack* rang out. It was only then that a fissure appeared on the mask near Wood Tiger’s right brow where he had been struck earlier, a testament to the sheer speed of their exchange.
Had I not possessed the cultivation of the Cloud-Swallowing Realm, I wouldn't have been able to see their movements at all. Wen Xiang and Wen Gan, still in the Qi Refining Realm, naturally saw only a blur. Realizing the mask was about to break, they both stood up with gasps of alarm.
Wood Tiger pressed a hand against his mask to signal he was fine and raised his fists to meet the next assault.
The Pottery Ghost was now far more aggressive, taking the initiative to suppress Wood Tiger. Wood Tiger stayed low in a defensive posture, leaning forward to throw punches and push back. The Pottery Ghost threw a rear uppercut, again aiming for the abdomen. A blow to the stomach is excruciating; Wood Tiger had not yet recovered from the previous one. Another hit would have sent even a man of iron to the floor. Unexpectedly, Wood Tiger shifted his body slightly and delivered a lightning-fast lead hook—a beautiful counter-attack. The blow knocked the Pottery Ghost off balance, nearly sending him onto his back. Fortunately, he managed to steady himself after stumbling back three steps.
With the warm-up over, the two threw themselves into a brutal melee, exchanging over a dozen punches. Wood Tiger ducked low for a lead body shot, but his rear hand failed to block the Pottery Ghost’s strike. His wrist was deflected, leaving his face unprotected. The Pottery Ghost landed a punch squarely on his jaw, the force nearly rattling the mask loose. Luckily, the gong sounded to end the first round. The Pottery Ghost gave a low, cruel laugh and stepped down to rest.
Seeing Wood Tiger sitting below the stage, drenched in sweat and gasping for breath, I asked Hong Lu anxiously, "Why are there rounds?"
Hong Lu replied, "If no one is knocked down or has their mask shattered, it’s a best-of-seven match. We lost this round." Sure enough, the referee raised the small red flag of victory for the red side.
Wen Gan and Wen Xiang cried out in disappointment, and the spectators who had bet on the blue side began to curse in frustration. Wei Qingming merely sipped her tea with indifference. She looked at the sweat on Wood Tiger’s neck, then at his hands, and let out a knowing smile before looking back down at the tea leaves floating in her cup as if nothing had happened.
The second round began. The Pottery Ghost lunged like a hawk diving for a sparrow, his straight punches forcing Wood Tiger back into a corner. His momentum surged as he pressed the attack, landing two consecutive blows that sent Wood Tiger scurrying. Fortunately, Wood Tiger’s footwork remained nimble; he used a gap in the Pottery Ghost’s rhythm to slip to the left, narrowly evading the assault. However, for a long while after, Wood Tiger could not find his rhythm and was forced into a passive retreat. The Pottery Ghost’s eyes began to drift upward, clearly aiming for the cracked corner of Wood Tiger’s mask. He threw a lead hook with the force of wind and thunder, forcing Wood Tiger to raise his fists high to protect his face. Naturally, Wood Tiger lost this round as well.
Wen Xiang slammed the table and stood up in a rage, walking over to Wood Tiger to check on his injuries. Wood Tiger shook his head to show he was fine, took a few sips of tea brought by an attendant, and returned to the stage.
The Pottery Ghost tried the same tactic again, continuing his pressure, but was caught off guard by a Wood Tiger hook to the face. Though it didn't break the mask, it left the Pottery Ghost dazed for a moment. They exchanged over a dozen blows; every time Wood Tiger pulled back to defend, he kept his fists tight against the side of his face, his guard impenetrable. They remained deadlocked until the gong sounded. For the first time, the referee raised the blue flag. I jumped for joy, holding hands with Wen Gan as we cheered. But our happiness was short-lived; in the blink of an eye, another round passed, and Wood Tiger lost again.
Seeing Wood Tiger’s unsteady steps—he nearly fell as he stepped down from the stage—Wen Gan and I tightened our grip on each other’s hands. One more lost round would mean total defeat. I said anxiously, "What should we do? Can we give him a medicinal pill?"
"I'm afraid not," Wen Gan shook her head. "Didn't you see? They aren't allowed to consume anything except the tea provided by the arena."
Wen Xiang was also frantic, shouting at Wood Tiger, "Winning or losing doesn't matter! Just don't let that fat ghost look down on you!"
Wen Gan, having sharp eyes, noticed Wood Tiger clutching the bandages on his chest while suppressing his ragged breathing. Stroking her chin, she said, "He was famous once; he shouldn't be this weak. It must be that injury holding him back..."
It was now the mid-match break, which was slightly longer. Just then, an attendant came by with a tray holding two tea bowls intended for Wood Tiger. A sudden idea struck me. I pretended not to look as I snatched one of the bowls from his tray, lifting the lid as if I were about to drink it. The attendant said hurriedly, "You mustn't, you mustn't! This is coarse tea, not fit for a noble. If you wish for tea, I will fetch some more!"
"Is that so?" Using an illusion to hide my movements, I dropped a piece of Sweet Paste into the bowl and set it back on the tray with a look of feigned impatience.
Though Wen Gan didn't know what I had added, she understood immediately that I was up to something. She smiled and smoothed things over. "Our tea is already cold and bitter. Hurry and take that to the warrior Wood Tiger, then bring us some fresh tea."
The attendant agreed repeatedly, set down the tea for Wood Tiger, and hurried away.
I looked around guiltily, only to meet Wei Qingming’s slightly amused, knowing gaze. My heart skipped a beat, and I quickly put a finger to my lips, shushing her. Wei Qingming’s lips curved into a smile as she turned her head casually to look at the red side’s bookmaker. Yet, I felt she had been looking at me the whole time. The gaze I had glimpsed for that brief second was long and soft, carrying a blurred, ambiguous quality that lingered in my mind, preventing my heart from settling for a long time.
When Wood Tiger tasted the tea, he paused visibly for a split second, but then, as steady as a mountain, he drained the entire bowl. He tossed the bowl aside, stood up abruptly, and leaped back onto the stage. If Wood Tiger’s aura before had been as low as a frost-covered branch, he was now revitalized. Combined with a fierce determination not to betray Wen Xiang’s trust, he took on the terrifying air of a predator. Seeing the Pottery Ghost bearing down on him like a collapsing mountain, he let out a great roar and raised his fists to meet the attack without fear.
The two circled each other briefly as usual. Wood Tiger seized a flaw in the Pottery Ghost’s jab, parrying with his lead hand and delivering a rear hook that slammed into the back of the Pottery Ghost’s head. The blow nearly sent the Pottery Ghost face-first into the floor; he barely managed to stay upright, staggering wildly. The Pottery Ghost flew into a frenzy, launching a violent assault. After a storm of blows, Wood Tiger was once again backed into a corner.
The Pottery Ghost roared, raining down over a dozen punches on Wood Tiger until his strength was spent. Only then did Wood Tiger find an opening, ducking and slipping to the side. By now, his wooden mask was covered in cracks. A trail of fresh blood crawled from his temple to his lips, dripping onto the floor and kicking up tiny puffs of dust. On his pale torso, sweat mixed with strange colors flowed like a waterfall, and the wound on his chest had burst completely open, blooming like a crimson flower.
The spectators, however, only grew more excited at the sight of blood. The cheers rose like a boiling tide. Wei Qingming, seeing through the mask to the injuries beneath, said softly, "His right eye is gone."
Though few outside the ring knew the extent of Wood Tiger’s injuries due to the mask, the Pottery Ghost knew perfectly well. Believing victory was within his grasp, he laughed loudly and swung a punch, intending to deliver the final blow to Wood Tiger’s head. Suddenly, Wood Tiger’s seemingly broken body moved as fast as wind and thunder, cutting inside the Pottery Ghost’s guard. There was a dull thud as a blow struck the Pottery Ghost’s left ribs, sending him flying to the edge of the arena. He hit the ground like a mountain collapsing, the impact carving a crater into the solid stone stage. He struggled for a long time but could not get up.
The victory came so suddenly that many couldn't even tell what had happened. The roars from both sides were deafening. I quickly covered my ears, jumping and shouting along with Wen Xiang and Wen Gan, "We won! We won!"
Wood Tiger had also exhausted his strength. His knees buckled, and he nearly collapsed, but he managed to steady himself by grabbing the edge of the stage. He pulled Wen Xiang’s golden peony hairpin from his sash, kissed it, and held it high toward the lights shining from above.
***
| Chinese | English | Notes/Explanation |
| :--- | :--- | :--- |
| 木虎 | Wood Tiger | A veteran boxer in the arena. |
| 陶面鬼 | Pottery Ghost | A rising star boxer wearing a pottery mask. |
| 青铜兽 | Bronze Beast | A top-ranked boxer in Pingjing. |
| 甜甜膏 | Sweet Paste | A medicinal or energy-boosting substance. |
| 炼气境 | Qi Refining Realm | A basic level of cultivation. |
| 吞云境 | Cloud-Swallowing Realm | A higher level of cultivation. |
| 平京 | Pingjing | The capital city where the story takes place. |
