Point to Point: The Fencer’s Heart | Chapter 9 | En Garde | Novela.app

Coach Hu wasn’t kidding about "building competition experience." Electronic scoring machines had been hauled into the training hall, and a video replay system was set up. Aside from the lack of an audience, the setup looked quite professional. Of course, we were the ones who had to move all the equipment; I was exhausted before the matches even started. Coach Hu stood by with his arms crossed, barking useless orders—telling me to move the scoring machine here one second and shift it there the next. For heaven's sake, it’s a scoreboard, not a lucky cat; does its placement really affect the *feng shui*? I finally managed to set up the machine and wanted to head down for a warm-up, but Coach Hu issued another command: "Qiao Mai, Ling Xiao, go test the light sensors." I turned back to glare at him. Talk about poking a sore spot! Coach Hu raised an eyebrow. "What? Giving me attitude for doing something for the team? Young people should be eager to do more. Look at Ling Xiao—did he say a word?" I looked because he told me to. Ling Xiao was already plugging the wireless sensor into his sabre and his metallic jacket. The thought of actually trading hits with him... I’d watched him compete for years, but I’d never felt his blade on me. This unprecedented first strike made me a little nervous, and I didn't dare slack off. I quickly plugged the equipment into the back of my guard. I was about to say, "Okay, let's try it," when I looked up to see Ling Xiao already walking toward me. He gave his sabre a light flick; the flexible blade was like a silver whip, whistling through the air. "Ready?" Ling Xiao asked. I was about to say, *Does this even need preparation?* when his wrist turned. With a "whoosh," the sabre lashed out like a whip, the tip stinging my chest. It felt like an electric shock. I stood there agape, clutching my chest. *Seriously?* Usually, pre-match tests are just a light tap on the opponent's jacket. This "flick" was more style than substance and didn't actually hurt, but it was still irritating. This kind of "chest-teasing" made me feel like a lowly recruit being disciplined by a drill sergeant. Well, looking on the bright side, maybe it was flirting? Though if I asked, "Sir, are you flirting with me?" he'd probably answer with total sincerity, "No, that's your imagination." The Team Heartthrob was just that repressed. Coach Hu remained unmoved. "The light's on. Qiao Mai, your turn." If I weren't in a fencing suit, I would've rolled up my sleeves for a grand display. But Ling Xiao just stood there, arms open, inviting me to poke him. I sized him up like a snow-covered poplar tree, hesitating on where to strike. My sabre, lacking any backbone, gave him a pathetic little tap on the chest. "Light didn't go off," Coach Hu said. "Huh?" I said. Coach Hu grew impatient. "What 'huh'? The light didn't go off! I told you to hit him, so hit him harder! This gear is old and insensitive. You're a grown man, not a little girl. He's not your wife; you're not going to break him!" I thought, *You're forty years old, can't you read the room? Ling Xiao is going to pin this comment on me!* I was exhausted. "Sorry," I told Ling Xiao. "I'll try again." "Mm," he replied magnanimously. I hit his chest again. I looked up; Ling Xiao was expressionless. I looked back; the light still wasn't on, but Coach Hu’s wrinkled face was. "Qiao Mai, did you just start learning sabre today?!" How is this my fault? I used plenty of force! Usually, a light touch is enough to trigger the sensor. This machine isn't just "aging"; it belongs in a crematorium! Fine. If a thrust doesn't work, a cut will! I raised my arm, ready to deliver a massive overhead strike, but Ling Xiao suddenly grabbed my hand. *Crap.* He's mad! He definitely thinks I'm messing with him. Is he going to give me a shoulder throw or something? Before he could even follow up on the grab, I instinctively twisted my body to minimize the damage. Ling Xiao held my hand, but he didn't pin my arm behind my back or kick me to the floor. He just lifted my wrist to inspect it. Finally, he said, "It's not plugged in all the way." I turned my head and saw that the sensor plug had slipped halfway out of the socket. "Qiao Mai!" Coach Hu was roaring. I plugged it back in, but it came loose again after a couple of shakes. It really was an equipment issue. "Let's swap it," I shrugged at Coach Hu. "These two don't match." Coach Hu sent Gao Dabang to get a new set of sensors. Gao Dabang dawdled off. I turned back to Ling Xiao, hoping to strike up a conversation, but he didn't pay me any mind and simply walked away. Once Gao Dabang returned with the new socket, I plugged everything in, eager to stab something, but the person I wanted to stab was nowhere to be found. I eventually found Ling Xiao by the video replay station. The Team Heartthrob was sitting behind the monitor, legs crossed elegantly like a refined young lady, hunched over as he focused on studying a slow-motion video. I thought it was actually quite cute that he was so interested in this; if he hadn't joined the fencing team, he’d probably be one of those "Ten Thousand Whys" engineering types. I crept up behind him and tapped his shoulder with my sabre. "Hey, what are you watching?" Ling Xiao startled and turned around. A red light flashed—on the monitor, and in his slightly wide eyes. It was a very pleasing sight. Don't underestimate me; I know how to use pre-match tactics too! *** Once everything was ready, Coach Hu had us fall in. The team members, having finished setting up the strips and testing the video equipment, stood in a row, dusty and aching, to listen to the match briefing. It started with the usual official jargon. He began by belittling us, saying we weren't training hard enough and telling us to look at the foil and epee teams. Honestly, when they're training, we're training; when they're not training, we're still training. How are we supposed to "look" at them? Anyway, he blathered on for ages, finding faults where there were none. I tried my best to suppress a yawn, but Coach Hu still called me out. "Qiao Mai, if you're going to yawn, do it boldly." "Reporting, Coach, I wasn't yawning!" "Then why was your mouth so wide? Waiting to be fed?" The team burst into laughter. I replied, "It was a sneeze. I held it back." Coach Hu was left speechless. Impressive, right? Talking back to Coach Hu requires technique. You can't be blunt; he *wants* you to snap so he can smilingly send you to scrub toilets or do frog hops. Coach Hu coughed and let me off the hook. "You've seen the setup," he told the group. "Future matches will follow this format. I'll keep it brief. As some of you know, we'll be competing in two groups of six. Step forward when I call your name. Qiao Mai, Gao Dapeng, Peng Yuzong, Yan Cheng, Zhang Ting." I was in Group A; Ling Xiao and Lao Qi were in Group B. Although we were split into groups, the actual opponents were hand-picked by Coach Hu based on his assessment of our skills. For instance, I was matched against Ling Xiao, while Lao Qi was matched against Gao Dabang. So, while it was technically a team event, it had little to do with a standard team match. There was no strategy involved; it was a pure test of strength. Whichever side lost would face a penalty. I was confident in my own strength, and I had a good idea of Ling Xiao's level. The only uncertain factor was Coach Hu. The man was going to be the referee—could there be anything more rigged than that?! When the matches began, we sat on the floor. My butt had barely touched the ground when I heard Coach Hu shout, "First group: Ling Xiao, Qiao Mai." Are you kidding me? No drawing lots? And shouldn't the two of us be the headliners?! I looked over at Ling Xiao. He had clearly just sat down as well, but he stood up without a word and walked onto the strip. I had no choice but to follow. On the strip, I checked my gear, making sure that crappy second-hand wireless sensor was plugged in tight. I glanced at Ling Xiao at the other end; he was putting on his metallic mask. As the black mesh came down to cover his face, my heart suddenly went still. Now, the person standing at the other end of the strip was no longer Ling Xiao, no longer the "Iceberg" or the "Team Heartthrob." He was the opponent I had longed to defeat, day and night. I walked toward him, and he toward me. Six years after that first glimpse on television when I was fifteen, we finally saluted each other. "En garde." "Prêts?" The referee's commands, which I had heard countless times, still had the magic to pull me instantly into the zone, even when spoken in Coach Hu’s butchered pronunciation. The hall was silent. I looked at Ling Xiao, then at the banner hanging above our heads— *With sword raised, wind and thunder stir; the blade's aura shakes the four directions!* "Allez!" ***