Year 663 of the Stable Era,

  Twenty-second day of the eleventh month

  A moment before the moment of truth

  In, then around.

  Breath spinning through the five points of creation. Qi danced along its endless dance before he exhaled again, emptying his lungs before he drew another in. Over and over, repeating the unending cycle that flowed so easily through the world around him.

  For a moment, a soft staccato accompanied it. Fingers tapping along with the timeless tempo for a brief, mortal moment before he caught himself. He let himself carry on for two more taps to complete the last beat before his fingers closed, stilling against his staff as he waited for his name to be called.

  This was not the time for nerves. Or tells. Only focus. Focus on his breathing, his cultivation, and the fight ahead. The fight that he could, no, would win. Not because he had to, but because it was possible. Something that was right within his grasp, if he could just dare to reach for it. Just so long as he didn’t—

  He stopped, cutting off the thought at the knees before it could rise against him. This was not the moment for doubt. Not the moment to second guess himself.

  He was in prime condition.

  His body recovered by the Blood and Body Recovery Pill. His mind sharp, refreshed by a moment of rest. His qi fully replenished by a hearty meal of spirit food. Full to the point that his heart was practically humming with it, despite his efforts to contain it. A wild, jittery energy, that seemed to slip through his fingers as he tried to absorb it, as though he was grasping at a ghost.

  An aftereffect of the spices, perhaps? It couldn’t be nerves.

  No, definitely not.

  No, not nerves at all.

  He had nothing to worry about.

  Nothing to drag him down.

  He’d already succeeded far beyond what he could have hoped for the New Disciples exhibition. He’d made it to the finals of his bracket, and then won on top of that! 800 spirit stones were his, an amount that would only double if he made it to the top four. He didn’t need to worry about losing anymore, just winning more.

  Which definitely, definitely, definitely meant that there wasn’t anything else that he needed to be nervous about. For a moment, his storage ring felt heavy as the thought of going over the Five Elements Unification Technique Manual darted through his mind, and he glanced at his storage ring just as the announcer’s voice rose through the arena.

  “And our first competitor! Representing the Teal Mountain Sect—!”

  Chao Ren stepped out of the doorway, staff clacking against the stone as he answered the call.

  “Good luck,” the attending disciple called as he passed, his voice as monotonous as ever as he scratched away at his ever-present list.

  Unsurprisingly the crowd seemed to have swelled again, but he remained undaunted by it. His hearing was already dulled as he stepped towards the stage, leaving only the pressure of their staring eyes and the rumble of their cheers. The noise pressed against his skin, setting his organs vibrating to the pulse of their excitement.

  The sensation stilled as he stepped into the arena’s deadening embrace, his ears twitching as he returned his hearing to normal just in time to hear his opponent arrive. They stepped with the faintest of sounds, like the pinprick puff of an icicle falling into fresh snow.

  They were a tall cultivator, looming above Chao Ren at a narrow eight feet tall. Rare for a human, or even a yaoguai, of their stage, but the papermen of the Great Dessert were the exception to many such things.

  Their angular form cut a sharp silhouette as they took their place, their every motion as smooth as the sheets that made up their folded form. Blade thin legs flared seamlessly into crisp pants of the same azure blue, all crossed by the same esoteric pattern of thin, wavy lines of gold. A design of pure adornment rather than purpose, its intricacies long since explored to death by countless cultivators hungry for the secrets of the Dessert’s strangest denizens.

  Their body grew in detail as they rose, their folds growing increasingly elaborate. Broad shoulders formed the base for sharp, crisp robes, their narrow folds just wide enough to accommodate thin, dexterous fingers that ended in sharp triangular tips. No sign or insignia adorned them—their form alone was all that was needed for such things.

  They stared implacably at Chao Ren, their face empty save for a thickly folded brow and the slight crease of a facsimile hairline a few inches above it. A geometric sphere that he assumed to be a bun rose just past the crest of their head, barely half-visible from where he stood.

  “—et the semifinals of the New Disciple Exhibition begin!” he heard the announcer call, the sound snapping him back to his senses. As the paperman took their first step forwards Chao Ren let his staff fall against his shoulder, clasping a fist into a martial salute as he did.

  “Disciple Chao Ren greets his opponent,” he declared, letting himself fall into the calming embrace of routine as he tried to quiet his mind. He hadn’t caught the paperman’s name, so he persevered the best he could despite that. “Qi Refining Disciple of the Teal Mountain Sect.”

  The paperman stopped, something like a smile creasing their face just above their chin as their right hand folded into a fist.

  “Disciple Shijuushi, Fourteenth-kin of the Azure Stallion of the Fourth Tier and Body Refining Cultivator of the Great Dessert Walkers greets Chao Ren,” they intoned. It was an oddly melodic sound despite its dry tone, almost like the whistle of a leaf flute. They bowed sharply in return, their body folding at the waist before rising again.

  An inauspicious opponent. His name a fourfold omen of misfortune, that repetition itself yet another that he’d need to overcome.

  Chao Ren raised his staff as he took his stance, watching his opponent carefully as their hands disappeared into their sleeves. He’d never seen a paperman fight before, as he’d always been kept too busy during past tournament months to spectate many of the competitions himself. But he did have some idea from what he’d heard from his fellow disciples.

  They rarely used external weapons, instead preferring to shape their bodies into whatever they needed to fight. Similar to those techniques used by those yaoguai cultivators that turned their horns and claws to weapons, but in a far more physical fashion.

  Deceptively sharp, he’d once heard another disciple complain, lamenting the scarred surface of the scabbard that they’d used to match a paper weapon. Even the iron of the lacquered wood had been scored deep, the glint of the exposed metal cutting a reminder into his mind that even something as innocuous as paper could be a deadly weapon in the hands of a capable cultivator.

  Caution it was then.

  Chao Ren approached carefully, slow, sliding half-steps drawing him closer as his opponent moved to meet him. They strode with casual confidence, arms hanging loosely at their sides. It was unthinkably arrogant. A provocation to strike, which grew more insistent by the second as the gap began to shrink at a rapid rate, their steps lengthening as they drew closer.

  Before Shijuushi could push into his territory Chao Ren struck, just before his opponent could force himself into the close quarters that would turn his weapon’s reach against it. The opposite of what Lee Han, the first advocate of unpredictability, would insist upon. But sometimes it was necessary to jump into a trap to escape it.

  His staff connected with a breath of qi and a flash of wood, meeting the paperman’s arm with a sharp crack. The limb bent under the blow, snapping to the side at a sharp angle. But rather than recoil in pain the paperman simply took it in stride, their arm bending further as it whipped around, carried by the momentum of his own attack.

  A jolt of clarity shot through Chao Ren as he realized their intent, his qi surging into action as he pulled back his staff before it could be entangled. A ribbon of wood, long and paper-thin, fell from its end, shaved clear off as his qi was too slow to properly save it.

  Sharp!

  That was the only thought he could manage before the arm snapped closed like a python, its partner already rising in a sweeping grasp as it did.

  He forced his qi into action as he skipped back, pumping more and more into his staff as he felt the thin, clawlike fingers cut through the air. That was sharper than he’d imagined, the qi suffusing the paperman’s limbs far denser than he’d anticipated.

  He couldn’t imagine what would have happened if he hadn’t listened to Bao. Mortal wood would have been cleaved in half, even with his qi reinforcing it to the utmost.

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  He’d need to double, no, triple his investment in his staff if he wanted to match it. And tighten his control. Ensure that there was no lapse, no weak spot that his opponent could use to cripple his weapon so soon into its tenure.

  The air hissed with qi as he sucked in a breath, lashing out at Shijuushi’s thin leading leg as they moved to strike yet again. The paperman’s leg bent inwards without any resistance, their right hand collapsing into a blade as it arched towards him, using his own attack as the fulcrum of another counterattack.

  The butt of his staff rose to block the leaning strike, his arms shaking as the force of the blow hit him. He let it carry him rather than attempt to resist it, sliding back three paces before he caught himself. He could already feel the scar with his qi sense as he did, the triangular indentation pressed into the wood at the point of impact.

  Strong.

  They were strong.

  And clearly a truly dedicated body cultivator at that. One to make even Bailong Shen jealous.

  But perhaps not as durable as…The thought died unfinished as the paperman straightened out, their limbs flattening until not even a crease remained.

  Too weak?

  Or just not enough qi?

  Either way, there was only one way to be sure. As Lee Han always said: if your first strike was not enough, try hitting it harder with the second. This would actually be his third, but the principle still held true!

  His qi sharpened as he tightened his focus, pushing his qi into the rough red wood of his staff until its capillaries were filled to bursting. He wrapped the wood in his will, doing his best to ensure that every inch was infused with his power.

  No gaps, no waste.

  He needed it to work.

  Still, despite his best efforts, wisps of qi slipped through his grasp, lighting the edges of the wood with a faint glow as it met the paper blades again and again. Each strike rocking the foundation before he could finish rebuilding it.

  His control was still too loose, his staff too new for him to truly grasp the idiosyncrasies of its structure. But it should still be enough to get the job done. The paperman’s arms had taken on a new form by the time he’d finished readying himself, folding a strange shape that flared into a pair of blocky fists when they shook out their arms.

  That was bad.

  Pure martial cultivators had an advantage against staff wielders, as their hardened limbs were often durable enough to withstand enough blows to grapple the weapon. Doubly so for body cultivators. With such similar cultivation he had no doubt that they could easily match his weapon, especially if their focus on body cultivation was anything like his last opponent’s. Especially without the cutting power of a blade.

  Distantly, Chao Ren lamented that he hadn’t listened to Min Huan’s suggestion to purchase a staff with a concealed blade.

  But only distantly.

  The ability to cut would have been a boon in this exact situation, learning how to use it properly would have been an endeavor in and of itself. He was still a novice with his current weapon, having spent a mere five years dedicating himself to the staff, and incorporating spear techniques into that with so little time would have split his already focus far too far.

  Their angles, their positioning, all of it was so similar and yet so different in the most crucial of ways. And then, of course, there had been the price… That alone was another good reason not to have—

  Chao Ren cut the thought off before his second mind could spiral around it any further, forcing his focuses to unite for the fight at hand. He’d managed to read his opponent’s last two feints well enough, but he couldn’t afford to let his minds waver any further.

  He couldn’t afford to let one get caught up in idle thoughts.

  He couldn’t let his focus slip!

  He darted to the side as his opponent lurched, hands clenched white around his staff in concentration. A paper fist met the side of his staff, its thrust transitioning into a sweep that sent him stumbling. He barely angled his staff away as the fingers bent in inverse, grasping digits barely deflecting off the smooth wood.

  Gah!

  A paper blade caught his leg, just missing his flesh as it opened a slit from hem to thigh. He swore, barely keeping it in his mind as he dodged a second kick, then parried a third. Every limb was a weapon, all equally sharp when they needed to be.

  Every block, every deflection, however slight, was shaking him to the bone, the paper blows unbelievably heavy despite their apparent weight and speed. He breathed in even as he forced another wave of qi into his faltering staff, the elements stuttering in their cycle as another blow rocked him.

  This time his ribs took the hit, a sharp pain shooting through his side as he felt something crack. He coughed as his qi faltered, barely catching his breath in time to block another strike. It was just like his last fight against one of the Great Dessert’s denizens.

  Tight, controlled power, directed with the utmost precision. Quick disorienting blows to knock him off guard and ensure that their successors would land.

  The fast side of a soft style, as Bailong Shen called it. The side so often forgotten as its tricky holds and throws took center stage in the memories of many. The sort of technique that could overwhelm his more mixed style in a prolonged fight, which this one was already becoming as the paperman began to pick up their pace.

  Their guard was up now, their hands tightened into sharp points, fingers interlocked into swordlike tips. Clearly readying themselves for the next act of the fight, where every second would further ensure their inevitable victory.

  Faster, lighter, sharper. Shallow cuts that drew blood as they landed, finality eschewed in favor of quantity. Their blows probed at his hands, attempting to slide down his weapon and cut at his fingers even as they were deflected.

  What could he do?

  What could he do?

  He couldn’t match them soft for soft, but if he countered fire with earth? Leaned more into a hard style and let a single pivotal blow decide the fight.

  It had worked well against the ant guai, but could it work again?

  Maybe, but his method would have to change.

  Brute force, regardless of his qi, was simply not enough to defeat his foe’s constitution. They were too well disposed against it. He’d need something more. Something…elemental.

  Something that he could manage with his current knowledge and skill. The skill that allowed him his first grasp of a technique, however loose. His mind dove through the wisdom of the Five Elements Unification Manual, while its twin focused on evading his foe’s growing onslaught.

  The manual had mentioned the importance of balance, but also that balance did not mean equality. A focus on a singular element could be maintained, so long as the other four elements were arranged to provide a counterweight, their purposes united in support.

  Each part of the cycle needed to play a role, be it strengthening or weakening their kin.

  For this he would need fire. That much was certain. The easiest element to call upon, and the natural enemy of paper.

  Fuel was easy as well. His meridians were still almost half full of qi despite the slight strain creeping into his breathing, his staff as well. He had the means to carry on the blaze, once he ignited it.

  He just needed to sharpen his control. If he overexerted himself it would all be over. The next round lost even if he won should he fail to control his own qi.

  Without hesitation he bit his cheek, using the twinge of pain to sharpen his senses. The metallic taste lingered on his tongue as he concentrated, visualizing the role each element would play. One mind leapt to the forefront to hold the paperman off, allowing the other to focus on his task.

  Wood to fuel fire, to turn flame to inferno. The base of his attack, in both substance and qi.

  Water to nurture wood, to ensure that it didn’t run fallow, but also to suppress fire. To keep it in line should its fury lead it astray.

  Earth would join it in this task, forming itself from fire’s strength to bleed off more of its excess. To allow metal to form within it, forged in its kiln into something that could reinforce the heart of his staff.

  A tang for his strike.

  A path for the heat to follow as he guided its blaze.

  The dancers shifted into the pace of their new dance, their roles similar yet different, his dantian brimming with power as he felt heat begin to rise within him. He kept his pace even as he allowed his opponent to keep pushing him back, disguising his plan with deliberate leaks of the qi from his staff, adding deeper desperation to his already floundering defense. Bidding his time for the right moment, the right chance to strike.

  He felt the wood start to smolder in his hands, the Red Copper Hickory straining until both ends finally ignited with a fierce pop. He sucked in a breath as the paperman flinched back, roaring flames shrinking to hot coals.

  Too much.

  He’d overestimated his staff.

  At least both ends had ignited, which meant that he still had some element of surprise. A trick over which end concealed his angle of attack.

  His qi spun as he pressed his cycle, keeping the gap between the two close. The paperman’s attacks slowed, as they began to shirk opportunities to strike, aiming more for gaps in his guard than pure clashes.

  Yes, it was tipping. The advantage was his, if he could press it.

  If he could make his move before he burned himself out.

  Five more blows came and went as sweat began to bead along his brow, the heat of his own qi slipping past his ability to control it.

  More water, to quench it.

  More earth, to box it in.

  A waste to spend qi countering himself, but a necessity to ensure that he didn’t break himself with his own strength.

  Two more blows—his own strike deflected, and a sweep to the leg dodged. His calf grazed, the paper robe barely unscathed as Shijuushi’s arm bent out of the way.

  One more—a stomp of his own aiming to pin a paper leg—was evaded, and then it appeared.

  His chance. The moment to strike!

  Chao Ren’s qi roared and he roared with it, his cry focusing his qi as his staff rose, dipping past the edge of Shijuushi’s guard at the last second as he drove it into their chest. Just below where the ribs would have been on a fleshier foe.

  The center of his staff grew hot as the flames he’d been holding back rushed through it, racing along the impact towards his foe. Wood crackled as its moisture evaporated, steam igniting as stray flames chased it through venting grains.

  He heard the crack of his staff ring out against the paper just before it burst, the spirit wood unable to contain his power. The rampant blaze rushed to meet the air, loose qi exploding as it ignited into a fireball.

  His hand rose to shield himself from the blast, sparing his eyebrows from the blazing inferno’s moment of glory. As the light faded a heartbeat later as smoke blossomed, and Chao Ren waited for the familiar sensation of stillness. That feeling of the referee halting his body to announce his victory.

  But none came, and the arena remained silent. No calls of victory or announcement of name.

  Instead a hand shot out of the smoke as his staff jerked forwards, grabbing him by the throat before he could react.

  “My Metal Striker Arts will not kowtow to such a pathetic flame,” Shijuushi rasped, his chest pumping like a forge’s bellows. The last of the flames clinging to his robed form flickered, sucking into their body as their creases glowed with qi. “To forge weakness into strength. That is the first tenet of my Body Tempering Technique.”

  Desperately, Chao Ren kicked at their chest, but it simply collapsed under the blow, their legs rising as it did. They rocked back before shooting forwards, one knocking the wind from his chest as the other took him in the knee.

  He collapsed as he lost balance, the paperman already using the momentum of his strike to flip themselves over his shoulder. They landed lightly behind him, their limbs elongating as they twisted around his own.

  Their left pinned his to his body as it wrapped around his throat, his right straightening as they forced it to remain extended. His staff fell as he tried to break free, even as he felt their legs wrap his ankles against his thighs.

  But it was no use.

  They were too strong, too agile.

  The paperman’s limbs were like steel as they wrapped around him, their body cultivation eclipsing his as his flailing struggles grew fainter and fainter. His breathing grew strained as their grip tightened, each gasp of qi weaker than the last as he sank further into the ground, the edges of his vision twinkling like stars as twilight faded into night.