Chapter 260 — Barely

CHAPTER 260

Barely

“A wager,” Lin Langtian said, and rubbed his hands. “How wonderful. I was hoping you'd offer.”

“I haven't offered anything yet,” Tuoba Hong said.

“Then I'll save you the trouble,” Lin Langtian said. “If you win, Artificer Hall pays every stone of your inspection fee, takes down our notice and goes home. Fair?”

“More than fair,” Tuoba Hong said. He couldn't keep the smile off his face. “And if you win?”

“Three years of Wujin ore,” Lin Langtian said. “Delivered to our gate, free of tolls, free of inspection, free of anyone's protection. And the twelve wagons released today.”

The ring of miners gasped. Three years of ore was worth more than the whole mine made in a good season.

“You're dreaming,” Tuoba Hong said. “A toad lusting after swan meat!”

“Then you won't mind signing,” Lin Langtian said. “The winner writes the terms and the loser seals them. A gentleman's wager, in front of two hundred witnesses.”

“Seal it,” Tuoba Hong snapped. “I'll sign a hundred of your papers. I'm the chief disciple of Martial Palace, and I don't lose to sweet potato sellers.”

Zhu Liu already had the paper out. He had also found a brush, an inkstone and a flat stone to write on, and he did all of it without taking off the abacus. Tuoba Hong signed with a flourish. Lin Langtian signed with a smaller flourish and a groan.

“My back,” Lin Langtian said. “I haven't fought in months. My joints are old.”

“You look young,” a miner whispered.

“Older than that on the inside,” Lin Langtian said.

Shi Feng watched without interrupting. Lin Langtian’s complaints had become a warning sign to him. The more his senior brother groaned, the more closely Shi Feng wanted to watch the other man’s feet.

“Begin,” Dai Mu said in a heavy voice. The overseer had set his pickaxe down. The head of it sank an inch into the black slag.

Tuoba Hong moved first.

He crossed ten paces in one breath. His right fist came up wrapped in crimson light, and the air cracked as it passed. This was Martial Palace's Pillar-Splitting Fist, and a pillar of the arena hall had once been split by it. The punch went through the space where Lin Langtian's face had been.

“Ow!” Lin Langtian cried.

He was three steps away, clutching his side. Tuoba Hong hadn't touched him. The wind of the blow alone had flipped one end of his sleeve.

“Did you see that?” a miner said. “He took a hit!”

“He's hurt!”

“He's early Nascent Soul, like the young master. Maybe it's an even fight.”

Tuoba Hong didn't wait. His fist came again, then again, each one faster. Crimson light cracked across the yard. A cart overturned. An ore bucket flew up and landed on a roof. Lin Langtian stumbled left, ducked right and yelped with each step. He tripped over his own feet. He knocked his own elbow against a post and swore loudly.

“Hold still!” Tuoba Hong shouted.

“Hold still yourself!” Lin Langtian howled. “Ow! My knee!”

Shi Feng watched his feet.

The stumble always came just as the fist would land. Lin Langtian groaned louder whenever the guards looked back at him. His eyes never chased Tuoba Hong’s fist; he watched the hips that decided the next strike.

Shi Feng thought, He hasn't been touched. Not once.

He counted forty-one near misses. Each fist passed within a finger’s width of a solid hit. Shi Feng was impressed. Nobody could keep that distance by luck, let alone do it while shouting about an injured knee.

Zhu Liu made a small sound beside him. “Senior Brother Shi, is he winning or losing?”

“Watch the sweet potato,” Shi Feng said.

“What sweet potato?” Zhu Liu said.

“The one in his sleeve,” Shi Feng said.

Lin Langtian let out a theatrical gasp. A roasted sweet potato had slipped out of his sleeve and landed on the slag. Tuoba Hong, red-faced and panting, stepped forward for the finishing blow and put his heel squarely on it.

The potato squashed. His boot slid out from under him.

It was a very small slip. It took no more than half a breath.

Lin Langtian's palm met Tuoba Hong's chest with a flat, dull sound, as if a man had slapped a drum. Tuoba Hong flew backward across the yard, crashed through an ore cart, and came to a stop against the wall of a stone shed.

Silence.

“…”

Then Lin Langtian dropped to his knees in the slag and clutched his chest with both hands.

“My ribs!” Lin Langtian wailed. “Someone fetch a doctor! And a stretcher! Don’t leave me lying here—I may never walk again. Zhu Liu, find out what this costs before they treat me!”

“He won,” a miner said in a small voice.

“By luck,” another said. “Even a blind cat catches a dead mouse. Did you see that? He slipped on his own potato!”

“No, no. He slipped on purpose. I think.”

“That was Martial Palace's chief disciple!”

“…”

“Lin Langtian wins,” Dai Mu said at last, and his voice was no longer heavy. Tuoba Hong was getting up with his hand against the shed wall. He didn't speak. His crimson robe was white with dust, and a long smear of black ran down his sleeve.

Lin Langtian lay on his back and groaned toward the sky.

“Barely,” Lin Langtian said weakly. “It was barely, Junior Brother. Write that down.”

Zhu Liu was already writing.

Shi Feng checked the ground, Tuoba Hong’s boots, and the crushed potato. No blood marked the slag. Lin Langtian’s robe remained clean, even at the knee he’d been clutching. He was still performing for all the watching witnesses.

Shi Feng thought, The groaning was the weapon. The potato was only the ending.

He didn't know how much of it he could copy. But he knew exactly which part he wanted first.