Chapter 383 — Again

CHAPTER 383

Again

The embers fell like rain.

They came down all at once, every red point in the ring, and they fell on the exact lines the spear had walked. Gu Zhan's thrust rose into the storm, and the cinders struck the shaft in a hundred places in the same breath. It was like being hit by a hundred small hammers. The wood rang. The spearhead shook. Gu Zhan's wrist, which had held a steady line for a hundred and one exchanges, bent a finger's width to the left.

A finger's width was enough.

Shi Feng stepped through it.

The grey Sword came across in a short, flat cut, with the whole of Ember Rain behind it. It struck the spear just behind the head. The spear flew out of Gu Zhan's hands, turned twice in the air and landed point-down in the ash, where it stood quivering.

Gu Zhan stared at his empty hands.

The Sword stopped at his throat.

It stopped exactly where the broken blade had stopped at the tournament, a hair under the scarred jaw. Neither man moved. A little ash drifted down between them. On the black stone, a few last embers went out one by one.

Shi Feng looked at Gu Zhan's face. He had seen the blind side in the first ten exchanges, a gap where the scar ran, and he'd left it alone for the whole fight. A man who fought only for the joy of it should be beaten on honest ground. He had made sure of that.

He lowered the Sword.

“One hundred and nineteen,” Sima Lan said quietly. “Spear down.”

Nobody on the plateau said a word.

“…”

“…”

“He's…”

“He didn't even…”

“That was a hundred and nineteen exchanges. Against Gu Zhan.”

“We had eyes and failed to see Mount Tai.”

“I had six hundred stones on that spear,” someone in the Martial Palace line said, in a very small voice.

Shi Feng walked to the spear. He pulled it out of the ash, wiped the shaft once with his sleeve and carried it back across the stone. Gu Zhan was still looking at his hands. When Shi Feng held out the spear in both of his own, the one-eyed man looked up slowly.

“Yours,” Shi Feng said.

Gu Zhan took it. His fingers closed on the shaft, and then, quite suddenly, he sat down on the black stone with the spear across his knees. The ash drifted over his shoulders. He did not look hurt. He did not look ashamed. He looked up at the sky with his good eye and began to grin, wider and wider, until it split his scar.

“You read the whole thing,” Gu Zhan said.

“Yes,” Shi Feng said.

“Sixty exchanges, and I never changed the order. Not once,” Gu Zhan said. He slowly moved his hands through the old grip, then let them rest.

“No,” Shi Feng said.

“And I thought I was fast,” Gu Zhan said. He laughed. It was a big, easy laugh that rolled across the plateau, and a few Valley disciples found themselves smiling before they knew why. “I wasn't. I was loud.”

“You were fast,” Shi Feng said. “I only had sixty exchanges to see it. Most people don't last that long.”

Gu Zhan leaned his head back and laughed again. Then he got to his feet, bowed to Shi Feng, deep and properly, with the spear held flat across both palms, and straightened.

“Again,” Gu Zhan said. “When I'm worth it.”

Shi Feng looked at the scarred face for a moment.

“You were worth it today,” Shi Feng said.

The grin stopped. Gu Zhan blinked slowly. Then the grin came back, so bright and so private that Shi Feng looked away first.

“Master will want to hear this,” Gu Zhan said, and walked off the plateau with his spear on his shoulder, humming.

No invoice followed him. Nobody had written one. Sima Lan glanced at her empty page, then closed the ledger. The two men had settled this between themselves.

Gongsun Ce approached with a small leather bag. He had tied the mouth securely and counted the contents himself. For once, he offered no excuse.

“Twenty stones at three to one,” Gongsun Ce said. “Sixty, plus your stake. Eighty.”

“Payable in stones,” Shi Feng said.

“This time,” Gongsun Ce said. “I did not want to confuse anything.”

Shi Feng took the bag. Behind Gongsun Ce, the inner-court seniors had begun counting their coppers. Yao Min was crying a little, from joy. Another held up a boot.

On the far side of the plateau, the Martial Palace line broke into small, bitter groups.

“Trash,” Hou Ping muttered, to nobody in particular. “He's trash. It was luck.”

A Valley disciple cupped a hand to his ear and called for Hou Ping to speak louder.

“…Trash,” Hou Ping said, even more quietly.

Ling Qingzhu stood among the Valley disciples with her hand resting on her sleeve. She wasn't looking at him. She was looking at the black stone, at the tiny scorch marks the embers had left, and her thumb had finally stopped pressing.

“Bai Chenxi,” Ling Qingzhu said calmly. “Let's go.”

“Yes, Senior Sister,” Bai Chenxi said, glancing once at Ling Qingzhu's hand before turning to call the others.

The Valley line began to move.

Sima Lan rubbed out her chalk with the heel of her palm. She stopped halfway.

“Palace line, third row,” Sima Lan said, without turning her head. “Young man in a white jade belt. Six men behind him.”

Shi Feng looked.

The young man was not cheering. He wasn't shouting or grumbling either. He had watched the whole fight with his hands folded in his sleeves, and now he lifted his eyes and looked straight at Shi Feng across the plateau, with a smile that did not reach them.

“He didn't bet,” Sima Lan said. “He counted you.”

The young man bowed, politely and exactly deep enough.

Then he turned and walked away with his six men following him.