Wuya woke to the sound of roosters and the smell of frying dumplings from the street below.
The inn room was still dark, just a hint of gray light creeping through the paper window. He sat up, stretched, and felt his joints pop in a satisfying way. Outside, Silverpeak City was already stirring - vendors setting up their stalls, early risers heading to work, and somewhere in the distance, the rhythmic thud of someone practicing their forms.
He splashed water on his face from the basin in the corner. Cold. Good. It cleared his head.
His sword leaned against the wall where he'd left it. Nothing fancy - plain wooden scabbard, simple wrapped grip, the kind of sword you'd see on any wandering martial artist. He picked it up, feeling the familiar weight, and tied it to his belt.
By the time he stepped outside, the street was filling with people. Most were heading in the same direction - toward the Assembly grounds on the western edge of the city. Wuya joined the flow, keeping his hands in his sleeves and his head down. No point drawing attention before the match even started.
The Assembly grounds were bigger than he'd expected. A massive central arena surrounded by tiered seating that could probably hold thousands. Smaller practice rings dotted the outer courtyards. Banners from dozens of sects hung from poles - Crimson Blade Hall's red and gold, Azure Sky Alliance's blue and white, Emerald Peak's green. He didn't see anything for Clearwater Sect, but that wasn't surprising. They probably didn't even know his sect existed until yesterday.
"Competitors for the preliminary matches, this way!" An official in gray robes waved toward a large pavilion near the main arena.
Wuya headed over. Inside, disciples from various sects clustered in groups, most wearing their colors proudly. Conversations buzzed around him - boasts, predictions, last-minute strategy discussions. A few glanced his way, noted his plain robes, and dismissed him immediately.
"Jin Wuya?"
An older official sat at a table with a roster. Wuya nodded.
"Clearwater Sect. First match, main arena." The man's brush moved across the paper. "You understand the rules? Yield, incapacitation, or ring-out counts as defeat. Killing blows are forbidden - we have healers standing by, but try not to need them. Any questions?"
"No."
"Good luck." The official didn't sound like he meant it.
Wuya found a quiet corner and sat down on a stone bench. Around him, the other competitors continued their chatter. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. In. Out. Steady. The qi in his dantian circulated naturally, following the pathways Elder Feng had spent years helping him establish.
"Well, look who actually showed up."
Wuya opened his eyes. Shen Liya stood in front of him, hands on her hips. She'd changed into cleaner traveling clothes, and her hair was tied back more neatly than yesterday.
"You came to watch?" Wuya asked.
"I paid good silver for a seat in the stands. Figured I should see if it's worth it." She sat down next to him without asking. "You sleep at all?"
"Enough."
"You nervous?"
Wuya considered the question. "No."
"Liar." But she said it without heat. "Everyone's talking about the match. Yan Feng's got a reputation. Five years at Emerald Peak, direct disciple of Elder Shan. He's won every tournament Emerald Peak's sent him to for the past two years."
"Hm."
"That's it? Just 'hm'?" Liya shook her head. "You're either the calmest person I've ever met or completely insane."
"Told you. Probably both."
A gong sounded, deep and resonant. The chatter in the pavilion died down.
"First preliminary match!" An announcer's voice boomed across the grounds, amplified by some kind of qi technique. "Main arena! Jin Wuya of Clearwater Sect versus Yan Feng of Emerald Peak Sect!"
Liya stood. "Don't die, alright? I want to see if you can actually back up that calm act."
Wuya stood and adjusted his sword. "I'll try."
He walked toward the arena entrance. The crowd noise grew louder with each step - excited murmurs, last-minute bets being placed, the rustle of thousands of people settling into their seats. When he emerged into the sunlight, stepping onto the packed earth of the arena floor, the noise became a roar.
Most of it wasn't for him.
On the opposite side of the arena, Yan Feng strode out to cheers and applause. He was tall, maybe a few years older than Wuya, with the kind of confident walk that came from winning often. His green robes were embroidered with silver thread in the pattern of a mountain peak. His sword hung at his side in an expensive-looking scabbard.
Behind him, in a special section of the stands, Elder Shan sat with other Emerald Peak disciples. Their sect banner snapped in the morning breeze.
Wuya walked to the center of the arena. Yan Feng did the same.
The announcer stood between them. "This is a preliminary match of the Autumn Assembly! Standard rules apply - yield, incapacitation, or ring-out determines the victor. Killing blows are forbidden. Are both competitors ready?"
"Ready," Yan Feng said, his voice carrying easily.
"Ready," Wuya said quietly.
"Then... begin!"
The announcer retreated quickly. The crowd leaned forward.
Yan Feng didn't move immediately. He studied Wuya with the careful assessment of someone who'd learned not to underestimate opponents completely. "I heard what happened yesterday. You've got some skill, I'll give you that. But Wei's just a junior disciple. I'm not."
"I know," Wuya said.
"Then you know how this ends." Yan Feng's hand moved to his sword. "I'll make it quick. Nothing personal."
His qi surged. The pressure rolled across the arena like a physical force, and several people in the crowd gasped. It was stronger than Wei's had been - more refined, more controlled. Yan Feng drew his sword in one smooth motion, the blade catching the morning light.
Wuya didn't draw his sword. He shifted his stance slightly, weight settling into his back foot.
Yan Feng's eyes narrowed. "You're not even going to—"
He moved.
Fast. Much faster than Wei. The gap between them vanished in a heartbeat, Yan Feng's sword cutting upward in a rising strike that would catch Wuya from hip to shoulder if it connected.
Wuya pivoted. The blade passed so close he felt the wind of its passage.
Yan Feng was already transitioning, his form perfect. Emerald Peak's Seven Rivers Sword, but executed at a completely different level than Wei's clumsy attempts. Each strike flowed into the next like water, qi enhancing both speed and power.
Wuya moved between the strikes, his footwork minimal and precise. His hands stayed in his sleeves.
*Interesting,* he thought, watching Yan Feng's technique unfold. *He's better at hiding the openings than Wei was. The shoulder telegraph is gone. But there - when he commits to the thrust, his back foot slides just slightly. Half a finger's width. That's when he's vulnerable.*
"Stand still!" Yan Feng's strikes came faster, frustration creeping into his voice.
The crowd was silent now, watching Wuya dodge strike after strike without blocking, without countering, without even drawing his weapon.
In the Emerald Peak section, Elder Shan leaned forward, his eyes sharp.
Yan Feng leaped back, creating distance. Sweat beaded on his forehead. "What are you doing? Fight back!"
"Do I have to?" Wuya asked.
The question seemed to genuinely confuse Yan Feng. "What?"
"You haven't hit me yet. Maybe you should work on that first."
Yan Feng's face flushed. His qi flared brighter, and he launched into a full assault - all twelve forms of Seven Rivers Sword in rapid succession, each strike faster and harder than the last. The arena floor cracked under the force of his movements.
Wuya wove through it all like smoke.
When Yan Feng finally stopped, chest heaving, Wuya was standing exactly where he'd started. Not a single strike had connected.
The crowd didn't know whether to cheer or stay silent.
Yan Feng stared at him, disbelief and anger warring on his face. "How... what kind of technique is that?"
"No technique," Wuya said honestly. "You're just very predictable."
Something in Yan Feng snapped. He roared and charged forward, abandoning form entirely in favor of raw power and speed.
Wuya sighed, pulled his right hand from his sleeve, and tapped Yan Feng's wrist as the sword came down.
The blade went wide. Yan Feng stumbled. And Wuya's left hand emerged from his other sleeve to tap Yan Feng's chest - not hard, just a push with two fingers.
Yan Feng flew backward, skidding across the arena floor and stopping just inches from the boundary line.
The crowd exploded.
Yan Feng lay there, staring at the sky, his sword arm trembling. Slowly, he pushed himself up to one knee. He looked at Wuya, then at his own hands, then back at Wuya.
"I yield," he said quietly.
The announcer rushed forward. "Winner - Jin Wuya of Clearwater Sect!"
The crowd's roar doubled. In the stands, Shen Liya sat with her mouth hanging open. In the Emerald Peak section, Elder Shan's expression was unreadable.
Wuya walked over to Yan Feng and offered his hand. After a moment, Yan Feng took it and let himself be pulled to his feet.
"Your Seven Rivers Sword is good," Wuya said. "But you commit too much qi to each strike. Leaves you unbalanced."
Yan Feng stared at him like he'd grown a second head. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed. It was a bitter sound. "Five years of training. And I didn't even make you draw your sword."
"Maybe next time," Wuya said, and meant it.
He turned and walked toward the arena exit. Behind him, the crowd was already buzzing with speculation and excitement. The nobody from nowhere had just defeated one of Emerald Peak's strongest disciples.
And he hadn't even drawn his sword.
Wuya found a quiet spot outside the pavilion and sat down. His next match wouldn't be until this afternoon at the earliest. Plenty of time to rest.
"Hey!"
He looked up. Liya was running toward him, weaving through the crowd.
"That was—" She stopped in front of him, catching her breath. "What the hell was that?"
"A match," Wuya said.
"You made Yan Feng look like a complete amateur!"
"He's not an amateur. He's actually pretty good."
"Then what does that make you?" Liya demanded.
Before Wuya could answer, a shadow fell across them. He looked up to find Elder Shan standing there, his expression thoughtful.
"Jin Wuya of Clearwater Sect," the elder said slowly. "I think we need to talk."