The tavern’s owner appeared to be missing, but a few of the shelves behind the counter seemed to have been hurriedly emptied of their wares, and Hong Fei’s ears picked out the sound of someone panting in fear from farther in.
He peeked outside, and a hunk of marble about the size of his own head flew at him. Ducking back, he heard it smash against a nearby stairway leading downward into the gorge. More people yelled, then something crashed below. There’d be no going back outside for now, so he turned back toward the tavern’s common room.
A corridor opposite led deeper in. Hong Fei strode toward it and saw what looked like four rooms for rent, with curtains to protect the occupants’ privacy, and a door at the corridor’s far end that likely led to the owner’s residence.
That door was locked when he went to try it, and he heard cries of alarm from the other side, then a small group shushing each other. There were at least five voices, including a pair of young ones. He went back toward the common room.
No way out. It’s going to be a fight for sure. Hong Fei paced, his eyes roving to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. At least there’s nothing made of marble here. The Mountain Man will bring some with him, though. It’s what I’d do. His mind flashed back to when his opponent had first appeared. There’d been no spatial ring on either hand. So, it’ll be just what he or his magic can carry.
Hong Fei continued to check his surroundings. He wiped his palms dry, a layer of skin peeling away. The burn blisters had burst long ago. The area underneath stung, but not as badly as before. New skin had already started to form.
Where will I fight him? The common room is sensible, but it’s the corridor that will lead him to think he has me trapped. I need to have him drop his guard as much as possible, so Auntie Ling can surprise him from behind. But… Hong Fei steadied his breathing. She won’t last long against him, and neither will I unless I introduce a change to the calculations.
The tavern didn’t have anything he could use, he determined, nor did the guest rooms, and he refused to put the family hiding behind the locked door in danger. At least it’ll be a fight worth telling stories about. As long people don’t call it a hero’s last stand.
Hong Fei flourished the blue-steel blade and honed his mind for the fight ahead. I’ll start here in the common room. Test him. See how skilled he really is. I might get lucky that way. Or if not, I’ll withdraw to the corridor. He glanced toward it, estimated the number of paces, and made note of where the furnishings were located so that he wouldn’t trip over them.
The tavern started to tremble. Hong Fei went to once more peek out the front door, and a fist-sized chunk of marble blew past him to smash against the cliffside. He hurriedly withdrew into the tavern. I’m definitely trapped.
A hint of amusement had wound its way through that last thought, a dark and fey giddiness. How many times had Hong Fei faced his end? And how many times had he survived? Countless.
Fear was a warrior’s constant companion, yet there was an understanding among the Hongs that a warrior found their truth at the keenest edge of a sword’s blade. And what Hong Fei had learned of his own truth was this: Either he would die or he wouldn’t.
And however things turned out, he would do his utmost to enjoy the duel. That was the only way for a warrior to live, or at least one attempting to go beyond selling their sword.
Hong Fei’s body ached from the stresses it’d suffered. His unease felt like a stone in his belly. And yet the fear temporarily receded in the presence of this truth. So did his anticipation and even the desire to see the laborers rescued. There was only the confrontation ahead—Hong Fei testing himself and the skills he’d honed.
A memory came to him, then, of Ugly Dog sitting on the floor of the Dreaming Ox, experiencing an expansive freedom of thought after she’d given herself over to death. A moment of clarity, it’d been. Enlightenment even.
A sword is egalitarian, Hong Fei thought. It teaches its truths to anyone willing to learn. Even to a gangster from the low city. Then another thought intruded, which was: She’d wielded a club, not a sword. And finally, a third thought which made Hong Fei smile: To a swordsman everything is a sword, and the sword is everything.
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A chime rang, and Hong Fei felt himself open, like his skin, muscles, and bones suddenly became permeable. Qi poured into him as if falling from the heavens. It spread through his meridians, flowed through his body, and pooled in his lower cauldron.
Delighted, Hong Fei laughed. That was what a warrior would do, even as death stalked ever closer.
A flex of his will projected his card in the air, and he saw that his Mind attribute had increased to 5, which in turn pushed his Cultivation up to 17. He was back at the second tier of the Qi-Gathering realm, though he was taking a very different route than in his previous ascent toward the Dao. That climb had almost exclusively focused on tempering and transforming his body.
The Hongs simply didn’t have the practices to let their members enhance their minds or souls. Nor did they have the techniques to make such practices worthwhile. The magic of Fate’s Attendant had changed that, however. They’d changed him.
If only the rise in tier would actually do him any good. Hong Fei’s smile turned self-deprecating. The fey mood spread, and he was struck by the desire to reunite before his death with Desert Rain. He very nearly acted on that whim to meet his beloved horse one last time. His hand had risen toward the small, night-sky card hovering above his own.
But no, he’d thought, stopping himself, what I should do is be sensible and apply the points to my Body. A small gain is still a gain. Even a mosquito’s leg has meat on it, or so I’m told.
It’s a shame being sensible won’t be enough to tip the calculations in my favor, not against a Q-Blossoming fighter. If I had more time, I’d learn the Ice Spear spell, but wishing isn’t having, and the only thing that might actually introduce a random element to the fight is the blood priest.
If the summoned ally was as easy going as Auntie Ling, that might actually work. On the other hand, if he was as difficult as Sun Han had been at first, it’d take the rest of the day to straighten out matters between them. Unless… There is the cards’ translation magic.
Not one to hesitate, Hong Fei selected the fifth of the five cards currently available.
“Would you like to use 4 Fate Point to redeem the Ilchit Blood Priest? Yes/No”
A moment later, the card expanded, and a silver light surrounded it. The illustration’s colors grew steadily richer, moving from one brushstroke to the next until the card materialized in Hong Fei’s hands. At the top were a 2* for offense and 2* for defense. On the back were the keywords: Shapechanger and Substitute.
“We don’t have much time,” Hong Fei said, summoning his ally.
A thin, lithe man appeared, his head only reaching up to Hong Fei’s shoulders. The card pictured him with a dark, red mud onto his face, but in life he was bare faced, his black hair tightly coiled around the top of his head like a crown. The man wore a harness that crossed his chest and belly, as well as a short, leather skirt that extended down to his knees. On his belt were both a cudgel with a metal spike driven through it and a knife.
The short man grinned fiercely, and Hong Fei saw that the teeth at the four corners of his mouth had been sharpened so that they resembled fangs.
“You’re not Andrew,” the blood priest said in the People’s language. He seemed pleased by the fact, however, and he drew the cudgel from his belt and approached with a look in his eyes that made it clear he intended to put the spike through Hong Fei’s head.
“No, I’m not Andrew, yet I am Fate’s Attendant,” Hong Fei replied, holding his ground. He gestured toward the card still being projected in the air. “The story for how that’s come about is too long to tell right now. There’s a Qi-Blossoming-realm fighter due any moment who wants to kill me.”
The blood priest’s eyes flicked to the card. His grin faded like water pouring from a leaking pail. “This is—” He halted his steps. Confusion showed on his face. “This is not what I was promised. I detest the Hakthoon.”
Not a simple introduction, Hong Fei thought, yet he didn’t lose hope. Aloud, he asked, “The Hakthoon are?”
“You,” the blood priest replied, pointing at Hong Fei with his cudgel. “You call yourselves the People—so arrogant.”
The clarity from earlier lingered, and Hong Fei’s mind was as clear as a cloudless sky. He smiled wryly at the blood priest. “We can be, for certain. Does this mean you’d like to kill some of us? If so…” he gestured to the world outside the tavern, “I can arrange it. Feel that tremor? It’s our foe approaching.”
The blood priest turned toward the exit. Unconsciously, his nose wrinkled at the tavern’s odors. A moment later, he glanced sideways at Fate’s Attendant, which told Hong Fei that the man was at least thinking and not just reacting mindlessly.
“Listen,” Hong Fei said. It was only the one word, but he’d relied on the cards’ magic to layer into it an entire argument’s worth of meanings and instructions, namely his opposition to a group of people who cursed others in order to steal their fate and fortune. One such man was approaching, and the blood priest’s help was necessary to strengthen his allies for the fight ahead. A full explanation of the events leading to the current situation would come later.
The blood priest’s eyes widened. He turned fully toward Hong Fei and considered the information offered to him so succinctly. A shudder went through the man, as if having bitten a bitter fruit. He bared his fangs, yet said, “I will demand that explanation later, and if you do not satisfy my kitchiei then I will kill two of the so-called People today, even if afterward it means I must walk as a ghost until the sun falls from the sky.”
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Desert Rain, Hong Fei's horse, deceased
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Ilchit Blood Priest, a summoned ally whose name is not yet known
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Stone Mountain Ox, leader of the Rock Knife Gang, Qi-Blossoming realm