More than forty minutes of dodging and evading with growing proficiency, a basic skill refined by fear and desperation, was put to waste in a single stumble. A stroke of bad luck. One of the far too many pains that his body felt constantly, pushed to new heights just to make him fail. That wasn’t fair. That wasn’t right. But it had happened, and there was no way to change that.

  So, the [Black Fist] rushed to reach Chang Heng, who was in no position to avoid it.

  He could feel the immense power behind it, charged in almost an hour of frustrating chasing. It distorted and discoloured the air around it, a feat that no Qi Acclimation Cultivator should be able to achieve. And yet, it was the second day in a row the boy saw one capable of it.

  This time, it was coming for him, and he had no time to set up any proper defence. Moving away was impossible, he was too slow to cross his arms in front of himself, even just reducing the impact with a step back was beyond what he could achieve. So he did the only thing he could do in that split second: Channel [Three Layers Defence] through his whole body with more energy than he even poured into it.

  Skin of bark, the Wood that endured, protected, no wind and no rain and no pest could pierce;

  Flesh of stone, waiting Earth that withstood the passing of time and the weight of the world, the booming of thunder and the actions of men;

  Bones of the densest, purest iron, the Metal that wouldn’t ever break or bend, tear or blemish, rust or shatter.

  Then the impact came, right in his stomach. It was slightly below his ribs, and yet the power within was so immense that the lowest of them crunched like old, cracked paper being folded. Blood didn’t have time to flow before he was thrown in the air, waiting for the moment the boy tried to scream to choke him. The world spun around him, the ground refused to stop his body, pounding on him far too many times and then scratching him instead.

  Chang Heng’s body told him the movement had ended, that he rested on the cold angle formed between the earthen arena and its stony walls, but his mind was still living the chaos of his flight, fueled by the greatest pain he had ever felt.

  There wasn’t a single part of him that didn’t feel it, from the thousand scratches, to the various bleedings, to the void that was in the middle of his torso. The sensation left by the punch was one of absence, as if his stomach had been torn off instead of caved in, the only proof of its presence the constant stabs it made him live.

  He wanted to curl down and cry. Stay there, immobile, until everything ended on its own. Scream. Call for help. Do anything and everything to stop the pain. Throw up, whether it would end up being bile or blood.

  More than anything, he wanted to be held by his parents and comforted. Be told it would all be fine. Be hugged. To have that, he couldn’t stay there, on the floor. He couldn’t scream, or call for help. He couldn’t run away from those feelings.

  All he could do to have what he most wished for was stand up. So he did.

  The world around him was still hazy, but he didn’t care for it. His warm, vital energy slowly flowed through his body, slowly working on the damage. He fell on his knees and desperately forced himself onto his feet once again. He willed his lazy Vitality to speed up. Patch him up faster.

  Blood rained out of his mouth, so he wiped it off.

  He stared at his enemy.

  “I’m on my feet. Keep going.”

  Xie Mo looked at him, a raging sea of emotions in his eyes. Anger, Fear, Horror, Guilt, but also… Recognition. Understanding. A plea for companionship.

  “You… why did you stumble? What was that pain you felt? Are you- are you…” The bald kid tried to say, his words choking him more than the blood the other was still spitting.

  “Yes. My body is falling apart. It has been since the day I was born.” He spurted out, reflecting the hint of anger that was dissipating from his opponent’s eyes. “Make fun of me, if you want. I dare you. The next time my legs hurt for some Heavens-forsaken bad luck, I’ll make you feel the same pain tenfold-”

  Xie Mo was crying, and it was enough to shut him up.

  “Me… me too.”

  Silence hung in the air.

  The kid looked at his side, on the stands, where a sea of people of all ages dressed in black watched him. Only one registered in his eyes. An old woman with a wrinkled face that still shared some similarities to that of the kid. She was moving her furious gaze from the taller boy who stood in front of him to stare back at him.

  There was a command in it: Don’t stop! Destroy him! But he couldn’t obey it. He was just too exhausted. And his opponent scared him. And his hand and arm hurt. And his illness was getting worse. And… and he had failed her.

  Xie Mo begged Grandma San to forgive him as he passed out, not an ounce of energy left to move his body.

  Chang Heng stood where he was, rooted in place. His legs didn’t refuse to move, his ears didn’t refuse to hear, his eyes didn’t refuse to see his victory, but his mind did. It was running a thousand miles a second, a sea of incoherent thoughts all screaming at the same time, their waves crashing on his head and sending it spinning and falling in far too many directions.

  He had won. He was in pain. The kid was just like him. He was closer to seeing his parents again. There was blood in his mouth. He wasn’t alone anymore. He had proven his strength. There were tears and cracks inside and all over his body. He wasn’t special anymore.

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  He finished taking the first breath since the moment the kid had fallen on the ground.

  The referee started to talk, screaming his name at the crowd.

  A black blur obscured his vision for an instant before he was thrown on the packed-dirt floor of the Colosseo, again.

  “How dare you!” the voice of a young man slightly older than him shouted. “How dare you humiliate my younger brother like that?! I am Xie Shun, and you filthy Chan-”

  Both his voice and his kick were halted by a straight punch to the face, a familiar aura standing between Chang Heng and his new foe.

  He looked up, seeing his cousin standing proud in front of him, his long red hair still flowing in the air, his usual confident smile exchanged for a mischievous, almost taunting one. It was, one way or the other, the figure of a hero.

  Opposite was the young man who attacked him out of nowhere: brown hair, some stubble of the same colour, and the same black robes and pants Xie Mo wore. His neck was the thick one of a strongman, with the callous hands of a warrior and huge muscles noticeable even under his rich clothes.

  Chang Jian was the taller one, and yet the most imposing figure was the one of the mysterious new fighter. More than that, their auras, the natural presence of a Cultivator, were fighting for dominance of the surrounding area. The disciple of the Black Fist Sect was the winner of this first bout.

  “Move away, you Chang freak. This honourless, little turd has to pay.”

  He wanted to retort, hearing his honour insulted, but as his cousin was the only one who could put his words into action, he swallowed his pride and let him talk.

  “My Dear Shun, these words only make you sound like a sore loser. You shundn't talk like that to someone who won fair and square.”

  For an instant, the Black Fist member was confused by the absurdity he just heard, the moment of distraction used by his opponent to close the distance: a foot gently scraped the ground and a [Flint’s Ignition] brought him close enough to land a hook to the chin.

  The following fight was one Chang Heng couldn’t help but gawk at: despite Xie Shun being faster and stronger, the skill of his cousin was far more than enough to keep it fair, neither getting the upper hand.

  The young man in black used a plethora of Fighting Techniques, from the [Black Fist], to the same movement one that Mo used, to many others, showcasing his talent with the sheer volume of them he had learnt.

  Chang Jian, on the other hand, focused only on his [Flint’s Ignition] for moving around and a punch Technique of unclear properties and untold name, occasionally blocking a hit with his katana's scabbard.

  Their movements were dizzying, their martial skill many steps above what he could understand, the power of their attacks beyond anything he could defend from.

  All he was allowed to do was watch, and try to improve his condition as much as he could. And yet, even as he wanted to fully focus on it, a sense of foreboding, that something bad was going to happen, prevented him from truly getting lost in the process. Instead, once again, he pulled the Qi from the air, absorbing all he could while standing there.

  The two figures kept dancing around, their fight too fast and dangerous for him to even consider intervening.

  So, he did the only thing that came to his mind: check the state that Xie Mo found himself in. He knew the kid shouldn’t have been hurt- he hadn’t landed a single hit in their so-called fight- but his passing out worried him. Even more, without admitting it, he also wanted to make sure that the last thing he had said was true.

  He slowly walked there, moving at a pace that allowed him to continue gathering Qi. That growing sense of danger forced him to.

  The other two young men kept their strikes coming, the weight behind them only growing as time passed. Eventually, Chang Heng gave up looking at them, focusing fully on the two tasks left.

  When he finally got close enough to Xie Mo to touch him, see his state properly, the movements of one of the auras changed radically, forcing him to look in the opposite direction. There, he saw Xie Shun running straight at him, fist raised, his cousin following behind, not fast enough to reach him.

  Every instinct screamed, all the tiny pieces of experience he had earned told him the same thing, his natural reflexes wanted only one thing: MOVE OUT OF THE WAY!

  Chang Heng had all the time to do it. The distance was more than needed to do that, despite the young man’s speed. But he noticed one thing, as soon as he raised the first foot that would begin his run: once the closed fist missed him, it would continue on its path, hitting behind him.

  Right where Xie Mo was, passed out.

  The foot hit the ground. Then the other was raised too, and it too hit the ground. But those weren’t steps. They weren’t the beginning of a rush, a dodge, any kind of evasive manoeuvre. Instead, he had taken a stance, spreading his legs and lowering his centre of gravity.

  He was going to block the attack.

  For the second time in a few minutes, he was forced to block a hit from a member of the Black Fist Sect that he was not supposed to be able to. He didn’t want to this time either, and felt unfair just the same. The referee should have intervened. His Patriarch. The City Lord. But none of them did, and there he was, standing ready.

  The first time, he had tried to conserve some of his energies, giving himself a better chance once the next rounds came. The second, he didn’t, pouring all the Stamina he had left into his [Three Layers Defence].

  Against Xie Mo, it had been a rushed work, the biggest amount, sure, but only the biggest he could channel in a split second. With the incoming Xie Shun, he had the time to let a lot more of his energy flow. But he didn’t stop with one technique. He could survive, maybe, but the punch would most likely throw him in the air and keep moving forward, where it could not be allowed to go. Instead, he focused on the understanding Chang Jian had shared with him of his other one during the break.

  It was supposed to be [Mountain Weight Fist], an attack enhanced with added, extreme weight on impact.

  To grasp it better, they had broken it into smaller pieces, from a jumbled mess of symbols to sections with their own meaning and smaller effect. Weight, Destruction, Acceleration, Energy, Hardness, and many more. He took some, then did the same with [Three Layers Defence], with the Vitality technique he had been practising and failing, with the ideas and possibilities he had gathered with Patriarch Guang.

  More than half a dozen coming from his family. One more, inspired by the City Lord Liu Peng, he made up on the spot. Three Elements. One Technique.

  An armor and shield of Metal, protecting those standing behind it.

  A colossal barrier of stone, the Earth that guarded Green Leaves City for so many years.

  A small house of Wood, with thin walls barely enough to keep the cold out. More than enough to let a kid feel safe, as he waited for the company of his parents to come back from work, or his sister from school.

  It didn’t have a name, not yet.

  Half his Stamina went into it, the other half to the move he knew already well.

  He accepted the punch, for once not only with desperation, but a burning desire to.