(Day 60 Continued)

–A duel to the death?  Fucking hope not… he’s unarmed after all.  But the language barrier makes it hard to work out the details.–

Anxiety began to fill Pengfei while he prepared for the encounter.  His hand was shakily removed the sword and scabbard from his waist and passed it to Xiaotong.  Still, he knew fists could kill as well.  Especially if a martial artist used their internal energy.

Someone spoke next to him but he didn’t hear it.  Nanxi shook his shoulder and repeated whatever it was, but the words were still just a dull drone in the background.  

“Slap me.”  Pengfei said into the void.

Nanxi didn’t have to be told twice.  He had provided the service for Pengfei before, the encounter with Daoping.  A palm, loose enough that the impact was a sharp sting and not a dull thud, bit into his face.  

“Better?”  

Pengfei just nodded frantically as he bounced on his toes.  The pain had brought him back to the present.  His vision widened from the tunnel it had been confined too, sound filtered back into his ears. 

A few paces away the Tibetan lama, Jigme, was getting his own emphatic pep talk from his relative.  The similar looking boy, Chodak, was less violent than Nanxi but seemed just as effective at motivating his charge. 

–Brother?  Or cousin?  Fuck, it doesn’t matter. —

Pengfei blinked away the distraction and stepped forward.  Jigme came to meet him with his hands raised.

A flicked punch bit into Pengfei’s lip.  It was already bleeding from Jigme’s earlier slap.  The one from Nanxi probably didn’t help either.  One of Pengfei’s companions called something that cut through the shouts of the rest.

“Get your head into it!”

Pengfei shuffled away from a follow up attack.  His awareness was slowly increasing.

–C’mon, c’mon… just another match! —

The nerves Pengfei had experienced in the training grounds, facing fellow disciples in sparring matches, were a thing of the past.  He had reached a state of comfort with that, even when facing off against particularly aggressive opponents.  Even when blows nicked skin and bruised flesh.  But context mattered.

–We’re not in the training grounds…it’s more like when I fought Guoyu in the canyon.–

Memories from the fatal confrontation returned.  The sluggish movements, the fear he had felt.  It was similar to what was happening now.

A left jab and a right straight, a palm strike to the abdomen and a kick toward the head.  Pengfei stepped back out of reach from most of them, taking the kick on a raised guard.

–No, it’s different.  No swords.  He’s not trying to kill me.  I think.  My friends are here.  It’s just a match. —

The recollections of his meeting with the man-in-black turned from a hinderance into a strange comfort.  The differences between the life-and-death struggle and this fight became more apparent.

–Just a match.  Against some prick.–

Pengfei parried a jab and came back over the top of it with one of his own, landing his first strike.  Jigme showed no sign of pain, circled back and out of range.

The Kunlun disciple searched for his peace of mind.  Slowly found some semblance of it.  He took the higher stance of the ‘Heaven Shaking Fist.’  Quick punches and kicks, nimble movements.  Jab, and a stronger punch to the stomach.  He ducked back from a knee strike thrown by the lama, whose toes barely touched the earth again before throwing a kick to the body.  Pengfei raised his own leg, taking the impact on his shin with a sickening ‘clack!’ of bones.  He resisted the urge to bend over and vigorously rub the skin of his lower limb.

The jeers of both sides blended together.  Occasional phrases made it through the noise. 

“Go now – “

“ – got to focus on – “

“Don’t let him back – “

Pengfei went back in behind his fists.  Jigme parried each blow and grabbed for his throat with a vicious looking palm, fingers curled in like claws.  Pengfei blocked it upward and simultaneously sent his own palm into his opponent’s gut.  A satisfying ‘whoosh’ of breath was forced out of the Tibetan’s mouth and he stumbled backwards a few steps.

The other lamas screamed and the Taoists from Kunlun cheered.  Both reactions contributed to the smile on Pengfei’s lips.  

Jigme brushed his midsection angrily then raised his hands again with a shout.   His forearms pulled taut, he bristled with intensity.  And then there was something in the air.  

“He’s going to use – !“

Pengfei was already moving before the warning from behind was finished.  He pulled a quick thread of qi from his dantian, down to his legs, and lunged to the side.  Multiple actions combined into a single idea, a single thought.  ‘Move.’

Jigme burst forward with a straight punch, closing a gap of half a dozen paces.  The blow moved with speed and force beyond natural.  But Pengfei was not there to receive it.  His qinggong had taken him safely to the side in a leap just as inhuman.  He landed lightly on the ground.

“Enough!  It’s too much!“ Nanxi cried out.  His offense at the sudden use of qi was apparent.  Qingong was one thing, but using energy to attack was a taboo in friendly matches.  That additional power was what might take an honorable, though unfriendly, bout like this into the realm of a true duel. 

Pengfei held up his hand as his friend stepped forward to intervene.  

“No, it’s fine.  It’s still under control.”

In the past few months, the elders of Kunlun had begun allowing the Jin disciples to use their qi in sparring matches.  Always under supervision.  Always with restraint.  But slowly they had incorporated the power into their practice.  Better to get used to it in the training grounds than on the battlefield.

–Thank goodness for the practice.–

Pengfei took his stance again, his legs tingling from the sudden exertion of energy.  Already prepared for another.  

A heartbeat and the combatants were locked together again in a close-quarters exchange of blows.  The qi that had powered their lunges added force to their initial blows.  Luckily, Pengfei had blocked a sweeping forearm with his own.  Subsequent strikes were ordinary physical techniques but thrown with the vigor of fit young men.  Each fighter winced as knuckles dug into chest and flank.

Pengfei pushed Jigme back and delivered a sidekick to the other’s face when he had the room.  The lama’s head jerked back then came forward again with a bleeding nose and a scream.  

Jigme charged in anger but was pushed back and down to the ground with a well-timed push kick.  

A thrill ran through Pengfei.  He looked down at his opponent.  He tried to deliver a quip but the excitement jumbled his words.  He intended to say ‘Had enough?’, but what came out wasn’t recognizable as such.

“Hudeuf?”

Buddhists and Taoists looked at him with equal confusion.

–Shit…moment ruined.–

Jigme stood to his feet again, moving to reengage.  But a hand reached out to stop him from advancing into the fray again.  Chodak.  He said something and pushed Jigme back toward the other Tibetans.   

The new opponent skipped all preamble.  The pause in the bout had seen a lull in the ambient qi, but the concentration of energy noticeably spiked again as Chodak took his fighting stance.  He’d clearly be using all his faculties from the first blow.  

“How many of you assholes does he need to kick the shit out of?!”

Pengfei wiped his nose and waved off Shutian’s concerns.  Despite the nerves, the frenetic impulses of something more than a sparring match, he had been able to conserve his stamina.  He had the lungs to continue.  

Without waiting for further ado, Pengfei lunged in.  The qinggong method, ‘Three Twists of the Dragon in the Clouds’, carried him quickly across the intervening ground.  He still struggled with the ‘lightness’ in his ‘lightness techniques’.  His understanding of his weight distribution was still wanting.  But his muscles surged with power enough to carry him over the dirt more quickly than he could manage otherwise. 

When the two fighters clashed, Pengfei was pushed back.  Not by much, but noticeably.  Chodak followed with several of the palm strikes that Jingme had first displayed.  The tip of each finger seemed to trail qi through the air.  It was not visible, not really.  But whatever sixth sense had developed with his neigong practice allowed Pengfei to perceive the qi at some level.  Like heat haze that surrounded the orange flame of a fire, but still just outside the eye’s ability to see.  

The lama did not imbue every attack with qi.  A hook caught Pengfei in the forehead as he tried to lean back out of range.  It cut the skin, though shallow.  On average, the Tibetan’s blows were much more dangerous those from Kunlun’s disciple.

–Need to try something stronger.–

There was only one possibility.  One technique in Pengfei’s meager repertoire.  The ‘Thundering Sky Strike’.  

Pengfei went back and forth with his opponent several times as he prepared himself.  

–Draw the qi out, guide it down the arm.  Release it, send it outward at the moment of contact.–

The meridians would have the best alignment with a straight punch from the right hand.  Hard to find a clean opportunity on its own.  

–Need to set it up.. Jab, same-side high kick.  Throw the right as I land the foot in front…–

The sequence decided, he waited for his opportunity.  But Chodak was more skilled than his friend.  And not just in his liberal use of internal energy.  His technique was fast and varied.  Pengfei began his combination, but the Tibetan slipped around the jab and latched on to the attacking arm, sinking all his weight to the ground in an attempt at a joint lock.  

There had not been much instruction on grappling within the sect.  Pengfei was nearly clueless in that area but instinctively latched his hands together and bent his elbow against the pressure.  They both fell to the dirt and tussled for a few seconds before scrambling away from each other at the first break of contact.  

Chodak spit on the ground and cursed at Pengfei.  It must have been a curse.  It had all the venom and spite you would expect in one.  But the Taoist disciple didn’t project the same animosity.  There had been anger before the fight.  Anger at the mention of Pema’s name.  Who were they to mention her name?  But those thoughts had gone with the first strike thrown.  There was no rage now.  Just the struggle.  And maybe some lingering fear.  

Another hook.  Pengfei tried to fade backwards again, but the result was the same as last time.  Clipped.  More of a hit than a miss.  The impact reverberated in his head but he responded immediately.

Jab.  Kick.

Thundering Sky Strike (lei tian ji – 雷天擊)

The energy followed the path of least resistance.  From the lower dantian in the abdomen, through the meridians of the arm, to the fist.  All while Pengfei’s foot planted, torso turned, hand extended.  His opponent was already bringing an arm over for a parry, but it would be too late.  The way to the target was unobstructed.  The distance narrowed in the dew drop of slowed time.

Pengfei’s blow landed in the meat of Chodak’s chest.  Well away from the heart.  No matter how hot the emotions had run at the beginning of the encounter, he was still cool headed enough not to escalate the match into a life-and-death battle.  It should be enough to end the fight but not enough to do any lasting harm.

The fist spun and bit deeper into the muscly flesh below the collar bone.  Pengfei could feel the energy course down his arm and outward, like a gust of wind had taken him by surprise and tried to bowl him over from behind.  There was a rush, a sound to match.  It was the finest example of the technique that Pengfei had ever managed.

All fell silent as Chodak stumbled back and brought his opposite hand to his chest.  The lama kneaded the flesh beneath his robes, gritting his teeth and growling who-knows-what at Pengfei.  A beat passed.  Two. More snarled curses as Pengfei stood triumphantly waiting for the concession of defeat.

Instead, Chodak raised his hands and advanced forward.  

The Tibetans cheered and the disciples of Kunlun gaped.  Nanxi was the first to recover.

“Hit him again!”

But Chodak wasn’t going to let that happen.  He attacked more ferociously than before.  If there was a weakness on his right, where Pengfei had struck, it was not enough to detect.  The Buddhist monk’s blows were just as swift.  His palm strikes still ripped through the air with the same energy as before.

“Don’t just back straight up!  Laterally!”

–One of the twins?–

Pengfei was unsure which one, but took their advice as he was forced on to the defensive.  He used his qinggong to evade, first parrying then skirting away in the shadow of the blows.  But every time he turned to face his opponent again, Chodak was closing in on him, plodding doggedly forward.

Qinggong to dart in.  The basic straight punches so characteristic of the ‘Heaven Shaking Fist.’  Fast, in short combinations, then back out of range again.  But they were ineffectual against Chodak.  There were cuts small cuts sprouting across his face, but otherwise he was undaunted.  And each mark left the Tibetan more aggressive than before.  

The monk adjusted to Pengfei’s evasions.  A faster pace left the Kunlun disciple struggling to protect himself.  A straight punch left him tasting blood.  He ran his tongue across his top teeth to ensure they were all still there.  

“Protect your head!”

–…What do they think I’m trying to do?  The fucker just won’t stop coming… and I can’t defend against his palm strikes forever.–

The thought triggered something in his mind.  A memory, hammered in by countless repetitions. 

–… a style of righteousness and empathy, robust in defending the self, shielding the weak, compassionate even when subduing demons with a single perfect blow…–

The Arhat Fist.  The lines from the introduction of the Shaolin manual came back to him now. 

–Robust in defense.  Single perfect blow.–

Pengfei had used the ‘Arhat Fist’ in training matches.  Against his peers that used the quick and darting style of Kunlun, it had been only marginally effective.  The fist method had lost some of its initial mystique to the boy who had imagined Shaolin’s techniques to stand above all others.  It hadn’t worked out that way so far. 

–But now?–

He widened his stance and took in Chodak’s guard as the opponent approached.  He gritted his teeth and prepared to take the next barrage head on.  

The long distance straight punches, and a snapping front kick bridged the gap.  Instead of using his qinggong to dance away from the blows, Pengfei stayed rooted.  

Waiting.  

He blocked the punches and absorbed the impact of the kick straight-on, with a grunt.  The steadfast resolve of the ‘Arhat Fist’.  Many of the techniques were similar to those of Kunlun, different more in focus than in content.  A few novel movements.  Pengfei used one of the more exotic parries now, coming from over the top and scooping another kick off-line. 

But it was that core philosophy that he relied on now.  Defense above all, but not flight.  Not retreat.  The evasive movements were still there, but smaller.  Stay close to the aggressor, wait for the opportunity to subdue with a single blow.

Keeping eyes peeled for an opening.  

It wasn’t coming.  The claustrophobia of the constant attacks closed in from the sides.  But Pengfei still watched.  He pivoted his whole body with another parry, turning into cat stance and flicking a front kick out.  But Chodak was already coming back in.  

–Maybe when he…–

And there it was.  The lama swiped with his palm again.  Energy dragging along with his feline fingertips.  A terrifying attack, but wide.  

The difficulty was not in spotting the opening but capitalizing.  The reaction speed was there.  But the next part went against all normal instincts.  Move toward the attack, not away.  Into the inferno, not out.  

Pengfei’s lead hand went straight out as his body sank deep into the stance.  Sitting into the punch.  The bottom of Chodak’s palm strike passed just above his skull, fingers catching strands of short hair.

The punch landed just beneath the border between chest and abdomen.  

–Fuck, it wasn’t deep enou…–

But the fears evaporated when Chodak took two steps back and fell to his knees, sputtering

Pengfei dropped his outstretched fist and stood straight.  He looked to the groaning cluster of lamas.  Back to his fellow disciples from Kunlun who were cheering boisterously.  

–It didn’t feel like I hit him that hard?–

But the proof of it was kneeling right in front of him.

A giddy chuckle was boiling up in Pengfei’s belly.  It had to come out.  He didn’t try to say anything complicated, afraid he’d find himself tongue tied again.  

“YYYYEEEEESSSS!”

He turned back to his friends and raised his arms in victory to their screaming affirmations.  He only had a moment to bathe in the glory before another lama tackled him from behind.

The rest of the Tibetans charged.  Kunlun’s disciples rushed forward to meet them.  The ensuing brawl favored the Buddhists, at least in numbers.  Until, a moment later, when Horse joined the fight.  Biting, stomping at anything wearing a red robe.