Shao moves forward to brew his cup, and the herbs soak in the water, releasing their aromas. The underlying scent of magic prickles at the back of my throat. Kang accepts the tea with a bow, downs it without hesitation, then steps onto the competition floor.
The servants have covered the ground with woven mats. The Tortoise moves languidly, sweeping the staff like an extension of his body. Kang moves with speed, dodging his blows. Whenever the staff hits the floor, it’s enough to shake the ground beneath us. Eventually, the staff meets the sword with a thunderous crack, and Kang slides back with the force of it, almost falling out of the circle. He rights himself again, and the battle resumes. The wood bends, then snaps back, the sword meeting and returning blows as the opponents clash, separate, and meet again. Kang twists and sidesteps, curving his body like a bow to avoid being crushed by the sweep of the staff.
Shao sits on his chair, beads of sweat forming on his brow from the exertion. His lips move silently, communing with the gods, just like when Mother would wrestle with a particularly difficult ailment. I wonder if Kang can hear Shao’s voice in his head, whispering.
Ten moves later, Kang’s sword is at the throat of the Tortoise, and the large man bows, conceding defeat.
The hall fills with applause. The audience is enraptured, despite their initial hesitation toward their champion.
“Well done!” they call out. Shao wipes his face with a handkerchief, his usual smirk gone. He stands on shaky legs and bows, leaning on the armrest for support.
“Lin Wenyi, acolyte of Yěli?,” the herald announces. Chancellor Zhou gestures for Wenyi to proceed. The tall figure moves with an elegance that speaks to his training. Clean, concise movements. No exaggerated efforts to entertain the audience. I’m pulled into his ritual even with my own trial approaching.
He uses a stone bowl instead of a cup, with higher sides than a typical one used for eating. Tipping the bowl to one side, hot water is poured down the side and leaps up the curve, creating the illusion of jumping waves. Using his hand to gently rock the bowl, he ensures that the water covers all his ingredients, taking on the golden hue required of a good brew.
He places the dān under his tongue, then he hands the bowl to Kang, who accepts it with a nod and tips the tea into his mouth. As he swallows, he grimaces at the taste. It must have been strong. He enters the arena with the Black Tiger, and with the strike of a match, the next round begins.
The Tiger moves her feet in sweeping motions, circling back and forth without a clear sense of direction. Kang pulls back, observing her movements, trying to determine where she will place her foot next. There is only the slightest bend in her knees, then she jumps, easily clearing the space between them. Using her fists, quick as lightning, she beats him back, putting him on the defense. Kang blocks and uses his sheathed sword to sweep her back, but doesn’t yet draw it. She regains her balance, then rocks back on her heels, eyes glimmering in the light.
A raucous yell erupts from her throat as she leaps again, this time drawing the swords from her back in twin silver arcs. I already noted the unique hilts, which have a guard for the hand that finishes in a sharp point, but the blades are also like nothing I’ve seen before. The steel is a thin curve, with wicked-looking hooks at the end. Kang uses his scabbard to block the attack, shoving her back with force, then draws his sword in one smooth motion, metal ringing against metal.
The attack is on. The Tiger crosses her swords and then advances with whirling movements, the swords appearing as if they are spinning in circles. At times her right hand turns in one direction as her left dips instead of rises, attempting to break his guard. He blocks them all, but her speed puts her at an advantage. His feet slip and falter as he tries to withstand the force of her strikes, but she continues to push him closer and closer to the edge of the circle.
It takes me too long to notice there is something wrong with Kang’s movements. The tip of his sword seems to move too slowly, and each time he tries to adjust his movements to match the intensity of her attacks, he stumbles slightly. He does not exhibit the strength with which he responded to the Tortoise. In fact, he looks to be barely defending himself against the onslaught of the dual blades.
With the crescent sweeps of her blades forming two circles, the hooks catch his sword and she pulls. His sword is flung into the crowd of officials, and they scatter like fish in a pond.
The point of the sword sinks into the ground, the hilt quivering in the air.
There is silence in the hall. Kang clutches his shoulder, blood seeping from between his fingers, dripping onto the mat below his feet.